Seek the Magic in Every Story

When Words Were Meant to Last

There was a time when a letter was more than a message. It was an event.

The arrival of the postman could make a heart race. A familiar handwriting on an envelope could bring tears of joy or a sudden wave of apprehension. A letter might contain wonderful news, a declaration of love, a long-awaited apology, or simply the comforting assurance that someone, somewhere, was thinking of you.

And sometimes, a letter could change a life.

Today, we live in a world where communication is instantaneous. We send messages across oceans in seconds. We exchange photographs, share our thoughts, and express our feelings with a few taps on a screen. We have never been so connected.

And yet, I sometimes wonder whether, in gaining such extraordinary speed, we have lost something precious.

Something that cannot be measured in seconds.

The Anticipation of a Letter

Imagine waiting weeks, perhaps months, to hear from someone you love.

There were no text messages to reassure you that everything was fine. No video calls to bridge the distance. No little notification announcing that your message had been read.

There was only waiting.

And then, one ordinary afternoon, a letter would arrive.

Perhaps you recognized the handwriting immediately. Perhaps you held the envelope for a moment before opening it, savoring the anticipation. And when you finally unfolded those pages, the distance between you and the person who had written them seemed to disappear.

For a few precious minutes, they were there with you.

Their words carried their laughter, their worries, their hopes, and their love.

A letter was not simply something to read.

It was something to hold.

When Love Traveled on Paper

Some of history’s most beautiful love stories have survived because someone took the time to write a letter.

Napoleon Bonaparte wrote passionate letters to Joséphine. The poets Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning exchanged hundreds of letters during their courtship. During wars, separations, and long journeys, countless ordinary men and women entrusted their deepest feelings to sheets of paper.

Some of those letters were beautifully written. Others were awkward, filled with crossed-out words, imperfect grammar, and sentences that wandered from one thought to another.

But their imperfections made them human.

There is something extraordinarily touching about imagining a person sitting beside a candle, struggling to find the right words to tell someone how much they are missed.

Perhaps the writer paused, smiled at a memory, or brushed away a tear.

Perhaps the letter was rewritten three times before it was finally sealed.

And perhaps, many years later, someone would discover those pages tucked inside an old book or hidden in the bottom of a drawer.

The people who wrote them might be long gone.

But their love would still be there.

The Handwriting That Remains

I have always thought there is something deeply personal about handwriting.

Every person has a unique way of forming letters. Some handwriting is elegant and flowing. Some is hurried and uneven. Some leans dramatically across the page, as though the words themselves cannot wait to be heard.

And when someone is gone, their handwriting becomes something remarkable.

A few ordinary words—With love, Mother—can suddenly become priceless.

An old birthday card, a recipe written in a grandmother’s hand, or a note tucked into a book can bring back a voice we thought we had forgotten.

The paper may yellow. The ink may fade.

But the connection remains.

A digital message can preserve the words, certainly. Yet there is something about holding a piece of paper that another person once held, seeing the pressure of their pen, perhaps noticing a tiny stain or a hurried correction.

It feels almost as though time has briefly folded in upon itself.

And the past has reached out to touch the present.

The Letters That Were Never Sent

Of course, not every letter reached its destination.

Some were lost in transit. Some arrived too late. Others were written but never mailed.

Imagine the stories hidden in those forgotten pages.

A confession of love that never found its way to the beloved.

An apology written too late.

A goodbye that remained unfinished.

A promise that someone waited a lifetime to hear.

As a writer, I find these possibilities endlessly fascinating.

A single forgotten letter could hold the beginning of an extraordinary story. It might reveal a family secret, reunite people separated by circumstances, or change everything someone believed about the past.

Perhaps that is why old letters have such a powerful hold on our imagination.

They remind us that behind every historical date, every faded photograph, and every forgotten name, there was a living, breathing person with dreams, regrets, and a heart capable of love.

History is not made only of great events.

Sometimes, it is written in ink on a small sheet of paper.

Have We Forgotten How to Write?

I am not suggesting that we abandon our phones or return to the days when a letter took three weeks to arrive.

Modern technology is a wonderful gift. It allows families separated by continents to remain close. It lets us share moments that previous generations could only have imagined.

But I wonder whether convenience has made our words a little too disposable.

We type quickly. We send quickly. We move on quickly.

A message that feels important today may disappear beneath a hundred others tomorrow.

A handwritten letter asks something different of us.

It asks us to slow down.

To sit quietly with our thoughts.

To consider what we truly want to say.

There is no need for perfect language or beautiful penmanship. A letter does not have to be poetic to be meaningful.

Sometimes, the simplest words are the ones that matter most.

I was thinking of you today.

Do you remember when we…

I never told you how much that meant to me.

I miss you.

I love you.

Such ordinary words.

And yet, written by hand and saved for years, they can become extraordinary treasures.

A Small Invitation

Perhaps this November, as the days grow shorter and the world begins preparing for the holiday season, we could revive one small, beautiful tradition.

Write a letter.

Not an email. Not a text message.

A real letter.

Choose someone who matters to you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while, someone who once made a difference in your life, or simply someone who deserves to know how much they are loved.

Find a piece of paper. Pick up a pen.

And write.

Tell them a story. Share a memory. Thank them for something they may have forgotten. Tell them what you have always meant to say.

Don’t worry about making it perfect.

The beauty of a letter lies not in its perfection, but in its sincerity.

And who knows?

Perhaps one day, many years from now, someone will discover your letter in an old drawer, carefully folded and lovingly preserved.

They will unfold the pages, read your words, and smile.

For one brief moment, they will feel as though they know you.

And something of you will live on.

Because perhaps the greatest magic of a handwritten letter is this:

It allows a moment to become a memory, a memory to become a treasure, and a few simple words to outlive the person who wrote them.

And isn’t that a beautiful kind of immortality?

What about you? Do you still have an old letter that you treasure? Perhaps one from a parent, a grandparent, a childhood friend, or a long-ago love? And when was the last time you wrote a letter by hand?

I’d love to hear your stories.

— Stella May

• A Veterans Day Reflection*

Before they were soldiers, they were sons and daughters.

They were dreamers, students, sweethearts, young men and women who imagined ordinary futures filled with extraordinary possibilities. Some dreamed of becoming doctors, teachers, musicians, or writers. Others wanted nothing more than a modest home, a loving family, and the simple happiness of growing old surrounded by those they loved.

Then came a moment when life asked something different of them.

They put on a uniform.

And with that uniform came responsibilities few of us can fully comprehend. Yet beneath the fabric, the insignia, and the medals remained the same human hearts, filled with hopes, fears, memories, and dreams.

This Veterans Day, I find myself thinking not only about what these men and women did for their country, but about who they were before they served—and who they became afterward.

The Lives Behind the Photographs

Have you ever looked at an old photograph of a young soldier?

Perhaps it is black and white, its edges yellowed by decades. A young man stands proudly in his uniform, his shoulders straight, his expression serious. Or perhaps a young woman smiles at the camera, her hair carefully arranged beneath her military cap.

They look so young.

Sometimes impossibly young.

And I wonder about their stories.

Was there someone waiting for them at home? A sweetheart who kept their photograph beside her bed? A mother who watched the mailbox every afternoon? A father who concealed his worry behind a reassuring smile?

Did they leave behind an unfinished book, a half-written poem, or plans for a future they could barely imagine losing?

History remembers battles, victories, defeats, and dates. It records the names of generals and the movements of armies.

But history is also made of millions of private moments that never find their way into textbooks.

A letter folded carefully into a pocket.

A photograph kissed before a dangerous mission.

A whispered prayer in the darkness.

A promise to come home.

These are the stories behind the uniform.

The Courage of Ordinary People

We often speak of courage as though it belongs to extraordinary individuals.

But perhaps the most remarkable thing about courage is how often it emerges from ordinary people placed in extraordinary circumstances.

A young man frightened of the unknown finds the strength to help a wounded friend.

A nurse, exhausted after endless hours of caring for the injured, continues working because someone still needs her.

A service member thousands of miles from home discovers reserves of patience, resilience, and determination that they never knew existed.

Courage does not always announce itself with grand gestures.

Sometimes it is quiet.

Sometimes it trembles.

Sometimes it is simply the decision to do what must be done, despite being afraid.

And sometimes the greatest courage begins when the uniform comes off.

The Journey Home

We celebrate homecomings with photographs of embraces, tears of joy, and families reunited.

Those moments are beautiful.

But returning home does not always mean leaving the past behind.

For some veterans, the transition to civilian life is joyful and uncomplicated. For others, it is a long journey of adjustment, healing, and rediscovery.

The world they return to may look familiar, yet they themselves may have changed.

Some carry memories they willingly share. Others keep their experiences private, tucked away in places where even the people closest to them cannot reach.

And still, life continues.

They become parents and grandparents. They build businesses, teach children, repair houses, volunteer in their communities, and grow gardens.

They laugh at family dinners. They celebrate birthdays. They watch their children take their first steps.

They create new memories alongside the old.

Perhaps this is another kind of heroism we do not acknowledge often enough: the quiet determination to build a meaningful life after extraordinary experiences.

Because a veteran’s story does not end when military service ends.

In many ways, another chapter is just beginning.

The Stories We Must Preserve

Time has a peculiar way of changing our relationship with history.

What was once a living memory becomes a family story. A family story becomes a photograph in an album. And eventually, unless someone takes the time to ask questions, even the names and faces begin to fade.

I often think about how much history disappears simply because no one thought to write it down.

How many extraordinary stories have been lost because someone believed their experiences were too ordinary to matter?

How many grandparents took their memories with them because their grandchildren never thought to ask?

Every veteran carries a piece of history that belongs not only to the nation but also to the generations that follow.

We should listen while we can.

Ask about their lives. Not only about their service, but about their childhoods, their friendships, the places they traveled, the people they met, and the dreams they carried home.

And if they choose not to speak about certain experiences, we should respect their silence.

Sometimes listening means understanding that not every story is ours to hear.

But every life deserves to be remembered.

More Than a Day of Gratitude

Veterans Day is a time for flags, ceremonies, speeches, and expressions of appreciation.

These traditions matter.

But gratitude should reach beyond a single date on the calendar.

It can be found in a conversation with an elderly veteran who has so much to tell and so few people willing to listen.

In a community that welcomes returning service members.

In opportunities that help veterans build fulfilling civilian lives.

In remembering that the people we honor are not symbols carved from stone, but human beings with ordinary needs, extraordinary experiences, and lives that continue long after their service.

Perhaps the most meaningful way to honor veterans is to recognize the fullness of their humanity.

Not simply the uniform they wore, but the individuals who wore it.

Not simply the sacrifices they made, but the dreams they carried.

Not simply the history they helped shape, but the lives they lived.

The Stories Behind the Uniform

On November 11, when the flags wave and the words of gratitude are spoken, I hope we will remember something simple.

Behind every uniform is a human story.

A story of beginnings, of choices, of courage, of separation and reunion, of loss and hope, of yesterday and tomorrow.

Some stories are dramatic. Others are quiet. Some are remembered by an entire nation. Others live only in the hearts of a handful of people.

But each one matters.

Because the true measure of history is not found only in the great events that changed the world.

It is also found in the individual lives that carried us through those events.

This Veterans Day, let us honor not only their service, but their stories.

Let us remember not only what they gave, but who they are.

And above all, let us never forget the human heart behind the uniform.

To all who have served, and to the families who have stood beside them: thank you.

Happy Veterans Day. 🇺🇸

One day. One destination. One extraordinary journey through time. Where would you go?

Imagine waking up tomorrow morning to discover a rather unusual invitation waiting on your doorstep.

The envelope is thick, the paper slightly yellowed, and your name is written in elegant, old-fashioned handwriting.

Inside, you find a single card:

You have been granted twenty-four hours in any century of your choosing.

No restrictions on the destination. No complicated travel arrangements. No tickets to purchase or luggage to pack.

You may visit any place, witness any event, and experience any moment in history. There is just one condition.

When your twenty-four hours are over, you must return to the present. Now, here is the question.

Where would you go?

I have to admit, I would have a terrible time choosing. After all, how does one select a single day from thousands of years of human history?

An Evening in Victorian London

Perhaps I would begin in nineteenth-century London. Imagine stepping from a horse-drawn carriage onto a cobblestone street, your elegant gown rustling beneath a velvet cloak.

Gas lamps illuminate the evening mist. Carriage wheels clatter against the stones. Somewhere in the distance, the bells of a church announce the hour. And tonight, you’ve been invited to a grand ball.

Inside a magnificent mansion, crystal chandeliers illuminate the ballroom. A small orchestra begins a waltz. Ladies in silk gowns and gentlemen in formal evening clothes move gracefully across the polished floor.

There is something undeniably romantic about the scene. Of course, I would conveniently overlook the uncomfortable corsets, the absence of modern plumbing in many homes, and the rather limited opportunities available to women.

After all, I’m only visiting for one day. And I fully intend to enjoy the dancing.

Paris in the Roaring Twenties

Or perhaps I would choose Paris in the 1920s. What an extraordinary time to be alive! The First World War has ended, and the city is bursting with artistic energy.

Imagine spending the afternoon in a bustling café, where writers, painters, musicians, and philosophers argue passionately about art, literature, and the meaning of life.

You might catch a glimpse of Ernest Hemingway scribbling in a notebook or hear the latest gossip about Pablo Picasso.

As evening approaches, the city transforms. Jazz spills from crowded nightclubs. Women in fashionable dresses dance the Charleston. Champagne glasses sparkle beneath glittering lights.

The world seems determined to celebrate life. Of course, we know what lies ahead—the Great Depression, another devastating war, and the end of an extraordinary era.

But for one glorious evening, Paris belongs to the dreamers. And I think I would fit right in.

Florence During the Renaissance

Then again, how could I resist Renaissance Florence?

Imagine walking through the streets of fifteenth-century Florence, surrounded by magnificent architecture, bustling markets, and workshops filled with some of the greatest artistic minds in history.

Perhaps you could watch a young Leonardo da Vinci sketching an invention centuries ahead of its time. Or stand quietly in a workshop as an artist brings a masterpiece to life. The city is alive with curiosity, ambition, and an almost breathtaking belief in human possibility.

Art, science, philosophy, and discovery are transforming the world. What an extraordinary privilege it would be to witness the beginnings of ideas that would shape civilization for centuries.

Although, I suspect that after a few hours of navigating crowded streets without modern conveniences, I might begin missing my comfortable shoes.

And my morning coffee.

New York at the Dawn of the Twentieth Century

Another tempting destination would be New York City around 1900. Imagine arriving at the harbor aboard a great steamship, watching the Statue of Liberty rise against the morning sky. For millions of immigrants, that sight represented something almost impossible to describe.

Hope. Opportunity. The promise of a different life.

The streets are crowded with horse-drawn wagons, streetcars, newspaper boys, and people speaking dozens of languages. The city is noisy, chaotic, ambitious, and endlessly fascinating. New buildings reach toward the sky. Electricity is transforming everyday life. Automobiles are beginning to appear alongside horses.

The modern world is taking shape before your eyes. And somewhere among those crowded streets, countless ordinary people are quietly writing extraordinary stories of courage, sacrifice, and new beginnings.

I think I would spend much of my day simply listening. Every person would have a story. And every story would be worth remembering.

But Would We Really Want to Stay?

Here is where our romantic adventure becomes a little more complicated. We tend to imagine the past through its most beautiful details.

The magnificent gowns. The elegant architecture. The candlelit dinners. The music, the art, the grand romances. But history was never quite as comfortable as we like to imagine.

Disease was more dangerous. Travel was difficult. Social restrictions could be severe. Opportunities depended heavily on where you were born, your wealth, and your position in society.

Even the most glamorous centuries had their shadows. And perhaps that is why our imaginary invitation is so appealing. We get to experience the wonder without having to endure the hardships.

We can dance at a Victorian ball, admire Renaissance masterpieces, or listen to jazz in 1920s Paris. And when the clock strikes midnight, we return to a world of modern medicine, comfortable homes, and hot showers.

Not a bad arrangement, if you ask me.

The Irresistible Mystery of Time Travel

As a writer, I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of stepping beyond the boundaries of our own time. Perhaps that’s why time travel has found such a special place in my imagination. There is something irresistible about the possibility that the past isn’t entirely beyond our reach. That somewhere, somehow, a door might open. An old clock might strike an impossible hour. A forgotten key might unlock more than an ordinary door.

And suddenly, the world we thought we understood becomes infinitely larger.

Of course, in my Upon a Time series, traveling through time is rarely as simple as taking a pleasant historical vacation.

My characters discover that the past has its own plans, and returning home isn’t always guaranteed. But isn’t that part of the magic of storytelling?

For a little while, we can believe that the impossible might be possible.

And Now, It’s Your Turn…

So, let’s return to that mysterious envelope. Your invitation is still waiting. You have twenty-four hours.

One journey. One chance to experience a world that exists only in history books, paintings, photographs, and imagination.

Would you attend a royal celebration in Versailles? Watch Shakespeare perform at the Globe Theatre?

Experience the elegance of Vienna during the age of the great composers? Dance beneath the glittering lights of the Roaring Twenties?

Or would you choose something entirely different?

Perhaps you would travel not to witness a famous historical event, but simply to experience an ordinary day in a world that no longer exists. To hear its sounds. To breathe its air. To discover what life really felt like before it became history.

As for me, I still haven’t decided. Although I must confess, that Victorian ballroom is becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

Now I’d love to hear from you. If you could spend one day in another century, where would you go—and why?

Leave your answer in the comments. I have a feeling some of your choices might surprise me. And who knows? Perhaps somewhere, in a quiet old house, an antique grandfather clock is waiting for someone brave enough to turn its key.

After all, time has always been full of surprises.

— Stella May

Sometimes, the most beautiful beginnings arrive disguised as endings.

There is something about November that makes us slow down.

Perhaps it’s the way the sunlight grows softer, casting long golden shadows across the afternoon. Perhaps it’s the crispness in the morning air, the rustling of fallen leaves beneath our feet, or the quiet realization that another year is drawing to a close.

October arrives dressed for a celebration, wearing its brilliant reds, fiery oranges, and dazzling golds. November, on the other hand, enters quietly, without fanfare, as though it has nothing left to prove.

And perhaps that is precisely its charm.

November doesn’t ask us to admire its beauty. It simply invites us to notice it.

The Wisdom of Falling Leaves

Have you ever watched a leaf surrender to the wind? It doesn’t struggle to remain attached to the branch. It doesn’t cling desperately to the summer that has passed. When its time comes, it simply lets go, floating gently toward the earth. There is something profoundly beautiful about that.

We humans aren’t nearly as graceful when it comes to letting go. We hold on to old disappointments, conversations we wish had gone differently, dreams that never quite materialized, and versions of ourselves that no longer fit the people we’ve become.

Sometimes we hold on simply because the familiar feels safer than the unknown. But nature reminds us, year after year, that letting go isn’t necessarily a loss.

Sometimes, it’s an act of courage. Sometimes, it’s an act of kindness toward ourselves.

And sometimes, it’s the only way to make room for something wonderful that hasn’t arrived yet.

The Beauty of Slowing Down

We live in a world that celebrates constant motion.

There is always another goal to accomplish, another task demanding our attention, another reason to hurry.

We measure our days by how much we manage to squeeze into them, often forgetting that some of life’s most precious moments happen when we’re doing absolutely nothing productive.

November seems to understand this.

The gardens grow quiet. The evenings arrive earlier. The world begins to settle into a slower rhythm.

And suddenly, the simplest pleasures become extraordinary. A steaming cup of coffee on a chilly morning. A favorite book and a comfortable chair. The sound of rain against the window. An unexpected phone call from an old friend. A conversation that lasts longer than planned.

These moments rarely make it onto our calendars. Yet, when we look back, they are often the ones we remember most fondly.

Perhaps November is reminding us that a meaningful life isn’t necessarily a busy one.

Making Peace with What Was

As the year approaches its final chapters, it’s natural to look backward.

We remember the plans we made in January, the hopes we carried into spring, and the unexpected turns that changed our direction along the way.

Some dreams came true. Others remain unfinished. And a few may have quietly disappeared altogether.

It’s tempting to measure the year by what we accomplished or failed to achieve. But life is not a report card, and our worth cannot be calculated by a list of completed tasks.

Perhaps this November, instead of asking ourselves, What haven’t I done? we might ask something different.

What have I learned? What made me smile? Who brought light into my life? What difficult moment did I survive that I once thought I couldn’t?

And perhaps most importantly: What am I finally ready to leave behind?

Not every unanswered question needs an answer. Not every disappointment deserves another year of our attention. Some things are meant to become memories, not permanent residents in our hearts.

Gratitude for the Ordinary

November is also the month when many of us turn our thoughts toward gratitude.

And while it’s easy to be thankful for life’s grand blessings, I believe there is something especially beautiful about appreciating the ordinary.

The people who remember how we take our coffee. The familiar voice on the other end of the telephone. The home that welcomes us after a long day. The laughter that erupts unexpectedly around the dinner table. The simple privilege of waking up to another morning. These things may seem small, but they are the quiet threads from which a beautiful life is woven.

We spend so much time waiting for extraordinary moments that we sometimes overlook the extraordinary nature of everyday life. November invites us to look again.

A Season for Gentle Beginnings

There is a common misconception that new beginnings belong to spring. But I don’t believe that.

Sometimes, the most important beginnings happen when the world around us appears to be winding down.

A decision to forgive. A promise to take better care of ourselves. The courage to begin a long-forgotten dream. The willingness to release an old regret. Or simply the realization that we no longer need to be the person we were yesterday.

Not every new beginning announces itself with fireworks. Some arrive quietly, like November itself.

And perhaps those are the beginnings that change us most.

A Little November Wish

As we welcome this beautiful, thoughtful month, I have a simple wish for all of us.

May we find the courage to release what weighs heavily on our hearts.

May we learn to appreciate the quiet moments instead of constantly chasing the extraordinary.

May we forgive ourselves for the things we didn’t accomplish and celebrate the strength it took to get this far.

May we remember that growing older is a privilege, changing direction is not a failure, and starting over is always possible.

And may we enter the final weeks of the year not with regret for what has passed, but with gratitude for what remains.

Because perhaps November’s greatest gift is its gentle reminder that we don’t have to bloom in every season.

Sometimes, simply being is enough.

Welcome, November. We’re ready for your quiet kind of magic.

— Stella May

Some characters never step onto the page, yet somehow they fill every room.

Every family has one.

The great-aunt everyone quotes at holiday dinners. The grandfather whose sayings are still repeated decades later. The woman whose name comes up whenever someone needs courage, or a good laugh, or a reminder of who they come from.

You may never have met her. You may not know what she looked like. And yet, you feel as though you know her.

In A Mission in Time, that person is Verochka.

For Maggie, Verochka has always been something of a legend—a woman whose name is spoken with affection, whose remarkable spirit seems to echo through the family, and whose very existence is wrapped in mystery.

But for those of you who have traveled through the Upon a Time series with me, Verochka is much more than a name. You’ve glimpsed her courage, her humor, her fierce devotion to those she loves, and her extraordinary ability to believe in the impossible.

Today, I’d like to look at this remarkable woman through Maggie’s eyes.

A Name That Means Faith

Maggie has always thought the name Verochka sounded like poetry, or a soft melody. I have to agree with her.

Verochka is an affectionate Russian form of the name Vera. It’s the kind of name a family uses for someone they adore, the way we might call a beloved Elizabeth “Lizzie” or a dear Catherine “Katie.” There is warmth built right into it.

And the name Vera itself carries a lovely meaning. In Russian, vera means “faith.”

I can’t think of a more fitting name for this woman.

Faith runs through her family’s story like a golden thread. It takes faith to follow your heart when every rule of science says you can’t. It takes faith to let someone you love leap into the unknown. And it takes faith to believe that love can reach across a distance no map could ever measure.

[Stella, if there’s a personal story behind the name—someone in your own life, or the moment you knew she had to be called Verochka—this would be a lovely place to share it.]

Violet Eyes and Missing Portraits

For most of her life, Maggie has known only one thing about Verochka for certain.

She had violet eyes. The same violet eyes Maggie sees in her mother’s face, and in her own reflection.

Everything else has been a mystery. Was Verochka tall or petite? Blonde, brunette, or perhaps a redhead? What did her laugh sound like? Why was there not a single portrait of her, or of anyone else in her mother’s family, anywhere in the house?

As a little girl, Maggie asked those questions again and again. Her mother always found a way not to answer. For years, Maggie assumed there had been some painful estrangement, a family quarrel too sad to talk about.

The truth, as she discovers on her eighteenth birthday, is far more extraordinary. Verochka isn’t lost to the past. She lives in another time entirely: in the distant future.

I love the idea that a family resemblance can travel across centuries. Maggie may never see Verochka’s portrait. But every time she looks in the mirror, a small piece of her great-grandmother looks back.

Isn’t that true for so many of us? We carry our families with us in ways we don’t always notice: a grandmother’s eyes, a father’s laugh, an aunt’s stubborn streak, a favorite expression we didn’t realize we’d inherited until someone pointed it out.

“Impossible Dreams Are the Only Kind Worth Having”

When Maggie’s mother, Nika, speaks of Verochka, the words tumble out: classy and beautiful, adventurous and courageous, witty and spunky, with a wicked sense of humor. But above all, kind, fiercely loyal, and possessed of immeasurable integrity.

And then she gives up altogether. There simply aren’t words, she says. Verochka is… Verochka.

I must confess, that’s one of my favorite lines in the book. Haven’t we all known someone like that? A person so entirely themselves that no description ever quite does them justice?

Of everything Verochka has passed down to her family, my favorite is a single sentence: Impossible dreams are the only kind worth having.

Maggie’s mother repeats it with a bittersweet smile, and it’s easy to see why. She has lived those words. She followed her heart across time itself, defying science, reality, and every sensible voice that told her it couldn’t be done.

I think Verochka would be proud of her. I suspect she would be proud of Maggie, too, who is only beginning to discover how much courage runs in her family.

As a writer, I find myself returning to that motto again and again. Every story begins as a kind of impossible dream: a “what if…?” that seems far too big to fit onto the page. And yet, if we’re brave enough to chase it, sometimes it finds its way there after all.

Perhaps that is Verochka’s greatest gift. Not a portrait, not a family heirloom, but permission to dream boldly, and the faith to believe those dreams might come true.

Meeting Verochka

So, who is Verochka?

She is a name spoken with love. A pair of violet eyes passed down through generations. A woman her granddaughter can’t describe without tears in her eyes. And a reminder that the people we come from can shape us even when they are very, very far away.

As for the rest? I’m afraid you’ll have to discover it for yourself.

A Mission in Time, the sixth and final book in my Upon a Time series, will be released on November 17. I can hardly believe this journey is coming to a close, and I can’t wait for you to follow Maggie as she begins to uncover the secrets of her extraordinary family.

[Add pre-order link here]

Until next time, happy reading—and never stop chasing impossible dreams.

Stella May

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I’d love to hear from you! 💜

Is there someone in your family—a grandmother, a great-aunt, a beloved relative—whose stories or sayings have been passed down to you? What words of theirs do you still carry?

Share your thoughts in the comments. I’d love to know!

This weekend, the clocks turn back. What would you do with one borrowed hour?

This Sunday, November 1, something quietly remarkable will happen.

At two o’clock in the morning, while most of us are fast asleep, time will simply… step back. Two o’clock will become one o’clock again. An hour that has already happened will happen once more.

No machines. No mysterious portals. No ancient pocket watches humming with strange energy.

Just a small, ordinary adjustment that we’ve all grown so used to that we barely notice it.

We grumble about resetting the clock on the microwave. We wonder why the car clock is always wrong. We wake up on Sunday morning feeling oddly well rested, and then, a few days later, we’re startled when darkness falls before dinner.

But have you ever stopped to think about how extraordinary it is?

Once a year, time gives us an hour back.

Confessions of a Time-Travel Author

I must admit, as someone who has spent years writing about people who slip between centuries, I find this night rather delightful.

My characters have tumbled through time in all sorts of dramatic ways. They have stepped out of the twenty-first century and into 1909. They have searched for answers in equations, in old houses, and in the stubborn certainty of their own hearts. Their journeys come with danger, wonder, and more than a few complications.

And here we are, the rest of us, traveling back an entire hour with nothing more than a good night’s sleep.

It isn’t quite the same, of course. Nobody wakes up on Sunday morning to discover they’re wearing a corset and standing on a cobblestone street. (At least, I hope not. If you do, please write and tell me everything!)

The idea itself isn’t new, either. Benjamin Franklin once wrote a playful essay suggesting that Parisians could save a fortune in candles simply by getting out of bed earlier. Over a century later, countries began moving their clocks in earnest, and we’ve been springing forward and falling back ever since.

Still, I like to think there’s a little magic tucked inside that ordinary hour. For one night, the clock doesn’t only move forward. It pauses, turns around, and lets us live a moment twice.

If You Could Choose Your Hour

Here is the question that keeps tugging at my imagination.

What if that extra hour weren’t simply the hour between one and two in the morning? What if we could choose which hour we got back?

Some of us might choose something small and sweet. A lazy Sunday morning from childhood, with cartoons on the television and pancakes on the stove. A summer evening on the porch when the fireflies came out. The last hour of a wonderful vacation, before the suitcases had to be packed.

Others might choose an hour with someone they miss.

One more cup of coffee at a familiar kitchen table. One more phone call, with a voice we would give almost anything to hear again. One more chance to say “I love you,” “thank you,” or simply “I’m sorry.”

And some of us might choose an hour we wish we could do differently. The conversation that went wrong. The door we didn’t knock on. The moment when we were too proud, too frightened, or too busy to notice what mattered.

I suspect that if we were honest, most of us already know which hour we would ask for.

It’s a tender thought, isn’t it? We spend so much of our lives wishing for more time. Yet when we imagine having just one hour back, we rarely think about quantity at all.

We think about people. We think about moments. We think about love.

What Time-Travel Stories Are Really About

Perhaps that is why I have never grown tired of writing about time travel.

Readers sometimes assume these stories are about the mechanics. How does it work? What are the rules? What happens if you change the past?

Those questions are great fun to explore, and I certainly enjoy them. But the longer I write in this genre, the more convinced I become that time travel is rarely the true heart of the story.

The heart of the story is always the people.

When Nika Morris found herself in 1909, the real adventure wasn’t the leap across a century. It was what she discovered there: Eli, a love she never expected, and a life she would have to choose with her whole heart. When Andrew went searching for his sister, his equations could point the way, but they couldn’t tell him what it would cost to follow.

Time travel simply gives my characters what the rest of us can only dream about. A chance to reach the moment that matters most. A chance to find someone who was out of reach. A chance to do it differently.

In real life, we don’t get to choose our hour. We can’t go back to 1909, or to last spring, or even to yesterday afternoon.

But in books? Well, you know how I feel about that. In books, the clock can turn back as far as our hearts need it to go.

And as I prepare to share the final book in this series, with A Mission in Time arriving on November 17, I find myself thinking about time more than ever. How much of it I’ve spent with these characters. How quickly the years have gone. And how grateful I am that so many of you have traveled alongside them.

How Will You Spend Your Extra Hour?

We can’t choose which hour we get back this Sunday. It will arrive in the middle of the night, and most of us will sleep straight through it.

But perhaps that’s all right.

Because the most important hours were never the ones we get back. They are the ones still ahead of us.

The hour we could spend calling an old friend. The hour we could give to a child, a parent, or a neighbor who could use a little company. The hour we might finally devote to that book on the nightstand, that letter we’ve been meaning to write, or that dream we keep postponing until “someday.”

We don’t need a time machine to make an hour count. We only need to notice it while it’s here.

So this weekend, when you change your clocks (and inevitably forget one of them until Wednesday), I hope you’ll take a moment to think about what you would do with one more hour.

And then, perhaps, go and do it.

Until next time, happy reading—and may all your hours be filled with a little magic.

Stella May

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I’d love to hear from you! ⏰

If you could have one hour back from any moment in your life, which would you choose? And how will you spend your extra hour this weekend: catching up on sleep, or curling up with a good book?

Share your thoughts in the comments. I’d love to know!

There is something wonderfully mysterious about Halloween.

Perhaps it’s the flickering candlelight inside carved pumpkins, the rustling of autumn leaves beneath our feet, or the strange excitement that comes with a night when ghosts, witches, and creatures of the imagination seem to come alive.

For one evening, the ordinary world becomes just a little extraordinary.

Children transform into superheroes, princesses, vampires, and monsters. Houses glow with orange lights, skeletons appear on front porches, and even the most sensible adults occasionally surrender to the temptation of a spooky costume.

But have you ever wondered where all these traditions came from?

As it turns out, Halloween has a history far older—and more fascinating—than most of us realize.

When the Living and the Dead Shared a Night

Our story begins more than two thousand years ago, among the ancient Celtic peoples of Ireland and Britain.

They celebrated a festival called Samhain (often pronounced “SOW-in”), marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter.

For communities whose lives depended on the changing seasons, this was an important turning point. The warmth and abundance of summer were giving way to the darkness and uncertainty of winter.

According to traditions recorded in later centuries, Samhain was also a time when the boundary between the world of the living and the supernatural world seemed unusually thin.

Spirits, mysterious beings, and forces beyond human understanding were believed to wander more freely.

Imagine standing beside a roaring bonfire on a cold autumn night, surrounded by darkness, listening to stories of spirits and strange happenings.

It isn’t difficult to understand how such traditions captured the imagination.

Although historians continue to debate precisely how ancient Samhain customs evolved into modern Halloween, the festival remains an important part of the holiday’s historical background.

How Halloween Got Its Name

As Christianity spread across Europe, new religious observances became associated with this time of year.

November 1 became All Saints’ Day, also known as All Hallows’ Day, a celebration honoring saints.

The evening before was called All Hallows’ Eve.

Over time, the name was shortened to Halloween.

November 2, All Souls’ Day, became a time to remember and pray for the departed.

These observances, together with older seasonal customs and local folklore, contributed to the rich mixture of traditions we recognize today.

What fascinates me is how holidays evolve.

Centuries pass. Civilizations change. Beliefs and customs take new forms.

And yet, something of the original mystery survives.

The Curious History of the Jack-o’-Lantern

What would Halloween be without pumpkins?

Those cheerful—or sometimes terrifying—orange faces glowing from porches and windows have become one of the holiday’s most recognizable symbols.

But the tradition didn’t begin with pumpkins.

In Ireland and parts of Britain, people once carved frightening faces into turnips and other root vegetables, sometimes placing lights inside them.

One of the best-known legends associated with these lanterns concerns a rather unpleasant fellow called Stingy Jack.

According to Irish folklore, Jack was a clever trickster who managed to deceive the Devil himself.

Unfortunately, his tricks eventually left him condemned to wander the darkness, carrying a small light inside a hollowed-out turnip.

Thus, the legend of Jack of the Lantern—or Jack-o’-Lantern—was born.

When Irish immigrants brought their traditions to America, they discovered something much easier to carve than a stubborn turnip.

Pumpkins!

Large, plentiful, and wonderfully suited to frightening faces, pumpkins soon became the preferred choice.

And I must admit, I’m rather grateful.

Can you imagine trying to carve an elaborate Halloween masterpiece out of a turnip?

Why Do We Dress Up?

Halloween costumes also have a fascinating history.

Disguises and masquerading were associated with various seasonal celebrations in Europe, including traditions surrounding Samhain.

In later centuries, people in Ireland and Scotland practiced guising, dressing in costumes and visiting homes, sometimes performing songs, jokes, or recitations in exchange for treats.

Other customs, such as souling, involved visiting households and receiving food in return for prayers for the dead.

These traditions helped shape the Halloween activities that eventually developed in North America.

Today, of course, the possibilities are endless.

Witches, ghosts, pirates, vampires, movie characters, and creatures from every corner of the imagination fill our streets.

And isn’t it wonderful that, for one night, we are allowed to become almost anyone we wish?

As a writer, I find that idea particularly appealing.

After all, isn’t that exactly what fiction allows us to do every day?

Trick-or-Treat: A Sweet Tradition

The familiar cry of “Trick or treat!” may seem ancient, but the custom in its modern form is relatively recent.

Although it draws on older European traditions, trick-or-treating became increasingly popular in North America during the twentieth century, especially in the years following World War II.

As suburban neighborhoods grew and

Halloween celebrations became more family-oriented, children began going from door to door collecting candy.

And what a successful tradition it became!

Today, Halloween is almost unimaginable without miniature chocolate bars, colorful candy wrappers, and excited children comparing their treasures at the end of the evening.

Of course, there’s always the great Halloween mystery:

How does the candy disappear so quickly, even when the children haven’t eaten it all?

I suspect a few parents might know the answer.

Why We Love a Good Ghost Story

Now, here is the part of Halloween that fascinates me most.

The stories.

Ghost stories, haunted houses, mysterious strangers, unexplained footsteps, and secrets buried in the past have entertained—and frightened—people for centuries.

Long before horror movies and television specials, families and friends gathered around fires to exchange tales of the supernatural.

Some stories were meant to frighten. Others warned against dangerous behavior or explored questions about death, justice, and the unknown.

But the best ones did something more.

They awakened our imagination.

Think of the enduring appeal of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, or Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

These stories have survived generations because they touch something deeply human: our fascination with what we cannot fully explain.

Perhaps we enjoy being frightened when we know we are safe.

Perhaps mysteries allow us to explore the unknown without actually confronting it.

Or perhaps we simply love a good story.

Personally, I vote for the last explanation!

The Magic of Halloween Today

What I love most about Halloween is how many different things it can mean to different people.

For children, it is an evening of costumes, excitement, and candy.

For families, it offers an opportunity to decorate, carve pumpkins, bake seasonal treats, and create memories.

For history enthusiasts, it is a fascinating example of ancient customs surviving in unexpected forms.

And for writers and readers?

It is a celebration of imagination.

Halloween reminds us that the world becomes infinitely more interesting when we allow a little mystery into our lives.

We don’t have to believe in ghosts to appreciate a ghost story.

We don’t need to fear witches to enjoy a wonderfully elaborate witch’s costume.

And we certainly don’t have to live in a haunted mansion to appreciate the atmosphere of a dark autumn evening, a glowing fireplace, and a book that refuses to let us sleep.

Sometimes, a little make-believe is exactly what we need.

A Little Halloween Wish

As Halloween approaches, I hope you find a little magic in the season.

Perhaps you’ll decorate your porch with pumpkins, watch an old favorite movie, enjoy a mysterious novel, or simply admire the beauty of autumn.

Whatever your traditions, may your Halloween be filled with laughter, imagination, sweet surprises, and just enough mystery to make the evening memorable.

And if you happen to hear a strange noise in the middle of the night…

Well, perhaps it’s only the wind.

Or perhaps…

No, let’s not think about that!

Happy Halloween, my friends! May your treats be plentiful, your tricks harmless, and your ghosts exceptionally friendly!

Until next time, happy reading—and keep a little magic in your life.

Stella May

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Let’s talk Halloween! 🎃

Do you enjoy spooky stories and haunted houses, or do you prefer the sweeter side of Halloween—pumpkins, costumes, and candy?

And here’s another question: What’s the scariest book you’ve ever read?

I’d love to hear your answers in the comments!

There is something irresistible about a story that offers its characters a second chance. Perhaps it is because, deep down, we all wish we could have one. A chance to say the words we never said. To make a different choice. To hold on to someone we lost. To return to a moment when everything seemed possible and take a different road. Life, unfortunately, doesn’t come with a rewind button. We cannot erase our mistakes, undo our regrets, or turn back the clock.

But in books? Oh, in books, anything is possible.

The Beautiful Possibility of Beginning Again

Think about the stories that stay with us long after we’ve turned the final page.

Very often, they are not stories about perfect people living perfect lives. They are about people who have stumbled, suffered, lost their way, or watched their carefully constructed worlds fall apart.

And then, somehow, they find the courage to begin again.

Perhaps a woman who has lost everything discovers that her heart is still capable of love. Perhaps a man burdened by years of regret finds an unexpected opportunity to make things right. Or perhaps two people, separated by circumstances beyond their control, discover that their story isn’t quite finished.

We love these stories because they remind us of something important:

An ending is not always the end. Sometimes, it is simply the beginning of a different chapter.

Why Imperfect Characters Touch Our Hearts

I have always believed that the most memorable fictional characters are not necessarily the strongest, bravest, or most admirable.

They are the ones who feel real.

They make mistakes. They say the wrong things. They allow pride, fear, or stubbornness to interfere with happiness. Sometimes they hurt the very people they love most.

And sometimes, life hurts them in ways they never deserved.

But what makes their stories extraordinary is not what happens to them. It is what they choose to do afterward.

Do they surrender to bitterness? Do they close their hearts forever? Or do they find the strength to trust, forgive, and hope again?

As a reader, I find myself rooting for that moment when a character finally realizes that the past does not have to dictate the future.

As a writer, I find that moment even more compelling.

Love Deserves Another Chance

If there is one theme I return to again and again in my writing, it is the extraordinary resilience of the human heart.

Love is rarely simple. It is complicated by circumstances, misunderstandings, distance, pride, and sometimes by forces entirely beyond our control.

In my Upon a Time series, I have explored the idea that even time itself should not necessarily have the final word when it comes to love.

In my Rostoff Family Saga, the characters must confront painful secrets, difficult choices, and the consequences of decisions made years earlier.

And in Rhapsody in Dreams, love reaches beyond the boundaries of a single lifetime.

Different stories. Different characters. Different circumstances.

Yet beneath them all lies a question that fascinates me:

What if life gives us one more opportunity to find the happiness we thought was lost forever?

Would we recognize it?

And, perhaps more importantly, would we have the courage to embrace it?

A Second Chance Doesn’t Mean Forgetting

There is something else I find particularly moving about these stories.

A second chance does not erase the first experience.

The grief remains part of us. So do the memories, the lessons, and sometimes the scars.

And perhaps that is exactly as it should be.

The woman who learns to love again is not the same woman she was before her heartbreak. The man who finally finds peace carries the wisdom of his mistakes. The person who starts a new life does not magically become someone untouched by the past.

Instead, they become someone who has survived it.

I think there is tremendous beauty in that.

We do not always get to choose what happens to us. But sometimes, when the worst has passed, we discover that we still have a choice about what happens next.

The Stories Yet to Be Written

Lately, as I’ve been thinking about new characters and new stories, I find myself returning to this theme once more.

What happens when someone who has experienced unimaginable loss is offered the possibility of a new beginning?

Not an easy beginning. Not one without complications, uncertainty, or fear.

But a beginning nonetheless.

I am fascinated by the quiet courage it takes to open a door when every instinct tells you to keep it closed.

Sometimes, the greatest adventure is not traveling across oceans, discovering a secret, or stepping into another century.

Sometimes, it is simply daring to believe that happiness might still be waiting somewhere ahead.

And perhaps that is why I will never grow tired of writing stories about second chances.

Because no matter how many times life disappoints us, how many dreams fall apart, or how many doors close, there is something wonderfully human about continuing to hope.

One More Chapter

Maybe we are drawn to stories of second chances because they give us something we desperately need in the real world.

Not the promise that everything will turn out perfectly.

Not the illusion that every mistake can be corrected or every loss restored.

But the comforting possibility that our lives are bigger than our worst moments.

That love can return in unexpected ways.

That joy can find us again.

And that even when we think our story has reached its final page, life may surprise us with one more chapter.

After all, who among us hasn’t wished for a second chance?

Until next time, happy reading—and never stop believing in new beginnings.

Stella May

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I’d love to hear from you!

Do you enjoy stories about second chances? Is there a particular book or character whose journey of healing, forgiveness, or rediscovered love has stayed with you?

Share your thoughts in the comments. I’d love to know!

Sometimes the best stories are the ones that surprise their authors.

Have you ever started something with a perfectly clear idea of where you were going, only to discover that life—or your imagination—had entirely different plans?

Welcome to the wonderful, unpredictable world of writing fiction!

People sometimes ask authors where their stories come from. It’s a perfectly reasonable question, and I wish I had a perfectly reasonable answer.

But the truth is, inspiration rarely arrives with a polite knock on the door and a neatly organized outline.

More often, it sneaks up on you when you’re doing something completely unrelated. You’re drinking your morning coffee, taking a walk, or trying to fall asleep when suddenly a thought appears.

What if…?

Two innocent little words.

And before you know it, you’re researching historical events, inventing complicated family relationships, and having imaginary conversations with people who don’t exist.

At least, that’s how it works for me.

When a Simple Idea Becomes Something Much Bigger

When I began writing my Upon a Time series, I certainly didn’t anticipate just how many lives, loves, secrets, and adventures would grow out of that first story.

What started with Nika Morris, a modern-day contractor who unexpectedly finds herself in 1909, and Elijah Coleman, a businessman from another century, gradually became an entire world.

Other characters stepped forward, demanding their own stories.

Some arrived quietly. Others practically kicked down the door.

And somewhere along the way, I discovered something fascinating about writing fiction: the author may create the characters, but the characters don’t always cooperate with the author.

They fall in love with the wrong people. They make decisions you didn’t anticipate. They reveal secrets you hadn’t realized they were keeping.

And occasionally, they refuse to do what they’re told.

It’s terribly inconvenient.

It’s also one of the reasons I love writing.

The Characters Who Refuse to Stay in the Background

Every author knows this peculiar phenomenon.

You introduce a character to serve a small purpose. Perhaps they’re supposed to appear in a chapter or two, deliver a bit of information, and quietly disappear.

Except they don’t.

Suddenly, that supposedly minor character has a personality, a history, an opinion about everything, and quite possibly enough emotional baggage to fill another novel.

And there you are, wondering how someone you invented has managed to take over your carefully constructed story.

I suspect readers sometimes imagine that authors sit at their desks like all-powerful directors, controlling every movement of their fictional creations.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

In reality, there are days when I feel more like a referee trying to keep an unruly group of imaginary people under control.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A Lighthouse, a Woman, and an Unexpected Beginning

Recently, I’ve been thinking about writing something entirely new.

After spending years with the characters of Upon a Time, I wanted a fresh setting, a different story, and perhaps something a little less complicated.

A standalone novel, I told myself. Something simple. Famous last words.

It began with a lighthouse. An old, weather-beaten lighthouse standing on a rugged coastline, surrounded by the restless sea and the echoes of a long-forgotten past.

That was all. Just an image in my mind. But then, as so often happens, the questions began.

Who had lived there? What secrets might those crumbling walls hold? And what if someone, many years later, stumbled upon something that was never meant to be discovered?

Before long, characters began appearing in my imagination. They don’t have their entire stories yet, but they’re already becoming surprisingly persistent.

And naturally, what I originally imagined as a simple little novel is beginning to develop a mind of its own.

I’m not quite ready to share the details. After all, the story is still finding its way, and I have a feeling it may surprise even me.

But I will tell you this: there’s an old lighthouse, a mystery waiting to be uncovered, and perhaps a love story that nobody saw coming.

For now, that’s all I’m saying.

The Magic of Not Knowing Everything

One of the greatest pleasures of writing is discovering something about your own story that you didn’t know when you began.

A character reveals an unexpected vulnerability.

A conversation takes an unforeseen turn.

A seemingly insignificant detail suddenly becomes the key to everything.

Those are the moments when writing stops feeling like work and begins to feel like discovery.

Of course, not every surprise is welcome.

Sometimes a brilliant idea creates three new problems. Sometimes a character’s perfectly reasonable decision destroys an entire chapter you’ve already written.

And sometimes you stare at your computer screen and wonder why you ever thought becoming an author was a sensible occupation.

But then something clicks.

A scene comes together. A character finally makes sense. A story finds its heart.

And you remember exactly why you started writing in the first place.

Perhaps Life Works the Same Way

The more I write, the more I realize that stories and life have something important in common.

Neither always follows the outline we carefully prepare.

We make plans. We imagine how things will unfold. We convince ourselves that we know what comes next.

And then life introduces an unexpected character, opens a door we hadn’t noticed, or sends us down a road we never intended to travel.

Sometimes those detours are difficult. Sometimes they’re wonderful.

And sometimes they become the most meaningful chapters of all.

Perhaps that’s why I love stories so much.

They remind us that an unexpected beginning doesn’t have to be a mistake.

It might be the beginning of something extraordinary.

And So, a New Adventure Begins…

As I prepare to say goodbye to the Upon a Time series with the upcoming release of A Mission in Time, I find myself standing at the beginning of another adventure.

I don’t know everything that will happen to Gabriela, Lorenzo, or Joshua.

I have ideas, of course.

Quite a few, actually.

But if experience has taught me anything, it’s that my characters will undoubtedly have ideas of their own.

And somewhere between what I’ve planned and what I haven’t yet imagined, a new story will find its way onto the page.

I can hardly wait to discover it.

And now I’m curious about you, dear readers.

Have you ever started something that turned out completely differently from what you expected? Perhaps a journey, a friendship, a career, or even a love story?

Sometimes the most wonderful chapters of our lives are the ones we never planned to write.

Until next time, happy reading—and never be afraid of an unexpected beginning!

Stella May

By Stella May

There is something magical about autumn. The crispness in the air, the brilliant reds and golds of changing leaves, the comforting aroma of freshly baked pies, and the wonderful feeling of gathering with people we love.

For our neighbors to the north, this beautiful season brings a particularly meaningful celebration: Canadian Thanksgiving.

Tomorrow, October 12, Canadians across the country will gather around their tables to celebrate family, friendship, the harvest, and the many blessings life has given them.

But have you ever wondered why Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving in October, while we Americans wait until the fourth Thursday in November?

And did you know that the history of Canadian Thanksgiving may actually reach further back than the famous Pilgrims’ feast of 1621?

Let’s take a little journey into history.

A Thanksgiving That Predates the Pilgrims?

When Americans think about the origins of Thanksgiving, we usually picture the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag people gathering in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1621.

But the Canadian story takes us back to 1578, more than forty years earlier.

That year, English explorer Martin Frobisher was searching for the Northwest Passage, a sea route through the Arctic that might connect Europe with Asia.

His expedition faced treacherous waters, dangerous ice, and unpredictable weather. After surviving these hardships, members of his expedition held a religious service of thanksgiving in what is now Nunavut, Canada.

It wasn’t exactly the Thanksgiving feast we imagine today. There were no elaborate tables laden with turkey, cranberry sauce, or pumpkin pie. Instead, the sailors reportedly dined on such humble provisions as salted beef, biscuits, and peas.

Yet the sentiment was familiar: gratitude for survival, safe passage, and the blessings of life.

Of course, the tradition of giving thanks on this continent began long before European explorers arrived. Indigenous peoples had celebrated harvests, nature’s generosity, and the changing seasons through their own ceremonies and traditions for countless generations.

Over the centuries, these different histories and customs helped shape the Canadian Thanksgiving we know today.

Why Does Canada Celebrate Thanksgiving So Much Earlier?

The answer is partly geographical, partly historical, and actually quite logical.

Canada’s harvest season generally arrives earlier than ours.

Because much of Canada lies farther north, its growing season is shorter. By early October, farmers in many regions have already gathered their crops, and the first hints of winter may be just around the corner.

It makes perfect sense to celebrate the harvest while autumn is still in its full glory, rather than waiting until late November, when snow may already be covering the fields.

But there is another interesting reason.

For many years, Canadian Thanksgiving didn’t have a fixed date. It was celebrated at different times, sometimes even in November.

In 1879, Thanksgiving became an annual national observance in Canada. Later, its timing became closely associated with November’s Remembrance Day, a solemn occasion honoring those who served and sacrificed in war.

Eventually, the two observances were separated, allowing each to have its own significance.

Finally, in 1957, the second Monday in October was officially established as Canadian Thanksgiving.

And that is why, while Americans are still planning Halloween costumes and contemplating Thanksgiving menus, our Canadian friends are already enjoying their holiday feast!

Different Dates, the Same Beautiful Traditions

Despite the difference in dates, Canadian and American Thanksgiving celebrations have much in common.

There is turkey, of course, often accompanied by stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, roasted vegetables, and that irresistible autumn favorite—pumpkin pie.

There are family gatherings, long conversations around the dinner table, laughter, memories, and perhaps a little friendly disagreement over who makes the best stuffing.

Some families celebrate on Sunday, others on Monday, but the spirit remains the same.

And isn’t that the wonderful thing about Thanksgiving?

It isn’t really about the turkey or the pies, although I certainly wouldn’t turn down a generous slice of pumpkin pie!

It’s about pausing for a moment in our busy lives and remembering what truly matters.

The people who love us. The friendships that enrich our days. The small kindnesses we sometimes overlook. The challenges we’ve overcome and the opportunities still waiting ahead.

And perhaps most importantly, it’s about recognizing that even in difficult times, there is usually something worth being thankful for.

A Special Thanksgiving Wish to My Canadian Friends

I have quite a few wonderful Canadian friends, and this post is especially for you.

Although we may live on opposite sides of a border, friendship has never cared much about geography. A kind word, a shared laugh, a thoughtful message, or a helping hand can travel any distance.

And for that, I am truly grateful.

So, to all my dear Canadian friends and readers, I wish you a very Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!

May your homes be filled with warmth, your tables with abundance, and your hearts with love and gratitude.

May the coming year bring you good health, happiness, prosperity, and countless reasons to smile.

May your dreams continue to grow, your friendships flourish, and your blessings multiply.

And may you always have someone special beside you with whom to share life’s most precious moments.

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada! 🍁

With warmest wishes and gratitude,

Stella May

P.S. Whether you celebrate Thanksgiving in October or November, I’d love to know: What is one thing you’re especially grateful for this year? Share your thoughts in the comments. After all, gratitude is even more beautiful when we share it.