Jessica Settergren's Blog

I received and ARC of this book from NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.

Fifteen years ago, young graduates Rhett and Lucinda are a month out from their wedding when Jenn comes to their small town and catches Rhett’s attention. Unfortunately for Jenn, her arrival unintentionally sets off a series of events resulting in Jenn’s death and bitter ripples for the young couple that reverberate through their relationship, their families, and the town for years to come. Now, Lucinda and Rhett are again on the brink of disaster as new evidence, a judge who isn’t in their overbearing patriarch’s pocket, and an old grudge come back to accuse Rhett again of killing Jenn, bringing back all the buried hurts and family secrets.

Where the Truth Lies is part domestic thriller, part murder mystery, and part sheer frustration for me. I’ve read Greene’s work before so I know she loves complex characters who aren’t necessarily likeable. That approach works well if your goal is to keep the reader guessing the whodunit, and it’s true I didn’t guess the whodunit until the very end (well played!). But I also ended up annoyed because not a single character was likeable. I didn’t have anyone to root for, and every time I thought “oh maybe they’re redeemed” something even worse came out and I was disgusted or angry. If that was the point, Greene did a fabulous job.

There’s quite a bit of domestic ick in this book, both overt violence and emotional/control abuse. Trigger warnings should be all over the place here. The plot is mostly fast paced, the writing is fairly tight although there are some scenes that drag a bit. The time jumps between current and fifteen years ago combined with the point of view changes start to feel contrived by two thirds into the book, as though they’re intended to drag out the final reveal. The final reveal IS satisfying as hell, though, and I was pleased with the ultimate resolution, so as a thriller this story ticked all the right boxes for me.

If you like Harlan Coban / Netflix style twists where a steady dribble of data changes the painting every time you see it until the final picture is completely different from the one you originally looked at, Where the Truth Lies is definitely a book for you.

At the end of last winter I bought myself cross country skiing gear. I had a hysterectomy between Yule and New Years in 2024/2025, so there wasn’t any point in getting geared up during the season, but I wanted to be ready for this winter. This winter has been a little wild with house renovations and all the December madness of school things and holidays, but on the last day of 2025 I finally managed to dig my skis and poles out from the back of the garage.

We had newish snow, the golf course has been closed for a few weeks, and I’d had a migraine earlier so I was hoping fresh air would help some. First I watched a YouTube video as a refresher how-to. When I was very little, around 8 or 9, my grandpa taught me how to CC ski. He loved outdoor activities, and I have good memories of him showing me how to get up a hill, stop, and glide. He was a tall man, always in excellent shape, and made it look easy. I remember it being easy.

I was MUCH shorter and lighter at 8 than I am forty years later. Much.

I thought for this first attempt I’d go from the first tee box bench (which you can see from the back of our house) down the property line that the golf course shares with us along the woods, straight down and back. My experience with ice skating a few years ago was enough of a “first attempt may be tiring” warning. My expectations were far too high.

I made it .24 of a mile. That’s down AND BACK. I went less than half the anticipated distance, and I was exhausted. On top of that, my balance as a six foot tall heavy woman is so very different from when I originally learned: I couldn’t glide at all. I shuffled, swore, laughed at my shitty balance wobbles, and huffed and puffed my way along in the snow until I had to pause to catch my breath. I am proud that I was able to turn without falling. I am less proud that I tipped over standing still with zero provocation while resting on the straightaway. Sigh.

No, I wasn’t hurt. No, I couldn’t get back up with skis on: I took the left one off, stood up, clipped my ski boot back into the binding, and huff-shuffled my way back to the bench.

I’m still sore in muscles I forgot I owned.

Tomorrow, I try again.

It’s the week between Solstice/Yule/Christmas and the New Year, which means it’s that weird twilight zone time where nothing means anything, everything is dark and sleepy (at least for me), and work is a series of super productive bursts followed by long fallow periods of brain rot.

So far this week I’ve managed to read the new Dan Brown book and discover I missed two in the series. Dang it. Also Secret of Secrets is fast paced and great and if you like Dan Brown it’s 100% worth reading.

I also wanted to share a couple of my favorite social media/media folks in this post, because I’ve taken time to catch up on all their stuff lately and it’s wonderful.

First: Shawna the Mom. Seriously her skits are like an epic family movie I can’t stop watching. She’s on all platforms, but you can catch the omnibus Part One on YouTube here: https://youtu.be/krH8BWEgPzA?si=h03D_dRPXnPidWBJ.

Second: Digital Hammurabi. I found these two excellent folk via Megan’s “Dial a Deity” on Instagram, which had me absolutely cackling more than once. Again, I’m referring you to their YouTube page because there’s a bit of everything there, but they also have all the platforms, a couple of books, AND language classes! Yes, OF COURSE I signed up for the learn Sumerian class. Fuck yes I did.

Third: Ruhama’s Food on Insta. Good Goddess, her recipes are just heaven. I’ve been saving them until my kitchen is back and I have the right pan unpacked.

And of course, That Midwestern Mom. If you haven’t found her on all the platforms, you need to. First, Amber is a phenomenal opera singer. Second, her character TMM is HILARIOUS. Also, yep the recipes are real. I’m sorry.

I suck at Instagram because I hate doing videos unless it’s just me recording the dogs, but I do love Insta and YouTube for the fantastic folk willing to put themselves out there to share their knowledge, skill, and talents with the rest of us. Thank you for making my twilight week so much fun!

It’s dark in Minnesota most of the time* these days. The sun comes up after 7:30am and sets by 4:30pm as we roll toward the winter solstice this weekend. Today is weirdly warm: everything is melting and rainy out, which seems odd and ominous. Not because of global warming, necessarily, although that’s an overriding issue, but because this soft and melty mush will be glare ice by the end of the day.

Current view from my temporary office, the very cramped space between the bedroom window and my side of the bed. But I can see all the delivery drivers and construction works coming up the driveway, and watch squirrels fight. Each other, not construction workers or delivery drivers, although I’d make popcorn for that.

*To my friends who lived in Oslo, Norway and others I know who live more North than I do, I know the 9am to 3pm midwinter sun is worse than a MN winter. I hear you, and good lord I hope you have enough coffee for December. And also, if you’re far enough North to be in Midnight Sun territory, do you just have a more extreme version of the sleep loss/sleep gain I get with stupid daylight savings time changes? Like, do you sleep almost not at all for light month in summer and sleep most of dark month in winter? Circadian rhythms must be wild up there.

Anyway, the world seems like it’s on fire lately with every day bringing another tragedy, another exhausting political display, another scary invasion notice, or another attempt to take rights away. The struggle to find something constructive to do that bolsters the self, the family, and the community, to keep the faith and find anything positive in the face of all the hate right now is overwhelming. So is the struggle to keep from becoming numb or burnt out and continue to have compassion and empathy.

On top of that, life continues flowing along and we’re in the midst of a holiday season when, in many faiths, good will toward others, generosity, light, and warmth are the high points of the darkest time of the year. So, as we approach the winter solstice I say this is a time to bring the light and welcoming generous spirit wherever you are able, how you’re able, and that includes to yourself!

Please, give yourself a little grace and compassion for getting through the day, especially if it’s not a joyous time. Grief manifests in so many ways, and this can be a dark season in all the definitions. I hope you are as gentle with yourself as you can be, and that the return of the light in the coming months brings renewed spirit for us all.

In the meantime, it’s ok to rest. Hugs are restorative, so are naps. If weather allows, walks in nature help sooth spirit. Make comfort food or order in. Watch whatever holiday movies help your mood. Take a hint from nature’s playbook and den up as much as you need:

Minerva, confidently sleeping the sleep of a dog who isn’t usually allowed in the bed but gets to be here while construction is going on. That isn’t a comforter: it’s an extra sheet we’re using as a hair-barrier over our actual bedding. No, we haven’t finished dusting after sheetrock install. Don’t judge me. Ragnar snoring so loud it reverberates through the floor so SK can hear it in his office below this room. The satisfied sleep of a fAngus who disappeared overnight, causing worry that he’d been left outside, only to emerge from the depths of the closet (which WAS CHECKED MULTIPLE TIMES) to yawn, poop on the carpet, and THEN run to the front door of the house to go out. I’m convinced there’s a cat portal to somewhere else in that closet.

Ok, this book happened a bit by accident or divine intervention. I was at a Barnes & Noble looking for Yule cards and needed a quick break. The section by the restrooms in that BN is NOT poetry nor mythology: it’s political non-fiction, but this book was eye level on the shelf facing me as I walked past to the restroom hallway and immediately caught my eye. I couldn’t leave it there when I passed it again on the way out (and no, no one else was in the area or the bathrooms, so I wasn’t taking it from someone who’d set it there temporarily). The universe is demanding and persnickety sometimes.

Hekate The Witch is Nikita Gill’s gorgeous homage to the Goddess in Greek Mythology often dismissed these days (except in certain groups, of course) as Goddess of Crossroads or maligned as Goddess of Witches. In this book, Gill gives Hekate the reverent, detailed, and colorful story such a bold and audacious Titan Goddess deserves.

Her story begins in war, because while Hekate is an immortal child of powerful and feared Titan parents, the Titans and Olympians have been at war for centuries by the time she’s born, and the Titans are losing. When Hekate is still very young, she and her mother, Asteria, must go on the run from Zeus and Poseidon. They find refuge in the Underworld, where Hades, their pursuers’ brother, offers safety to the child who has yet to come into her powers, but cannot save Asteria. So begins Hekate’s new life as an orphaned immortal child in the Underworld struggling to find her place and create a life for herself.

Loss, loneliness, independence, the constant push and pull between settling into others’ constraints and living for yourself: true to Greek myth, Hekate’s story mirrors human struggles in an amplified way. None of her path is easy, none of her relationships are straightforward, and that makes this book captivating. I had a hard time putting it down, and lost sleep over it.

Nikita Gill is a true artist with poetic imagery. The format of Hekate is poetry, so it’s both a fast and stunningly evocative read. If you worry about reading poetry please don’t let that intimidate you: Gill’s writing style is beautiful and accessible. Instead of pages of narrative prose, we have shining moments of description to keep us on the path, evoking the senses in a scene without overwhelming the story’s plot. The characters are still fully developed, the settings are wonderfully painted, and the format allows for fast paced action scenes that work perfectly for battle.

Hekate The Witch is one of my favorite books from 2025. I loved every moment of Hekate’s story, and I can’t wait for the next book in Nikita Gill’s Goddesses of the Underworld series.

A few weeks ago I went on a quick girls’ trip up the North Shore to a gorgeously quiet cabin resort. Part relaxing-few-days before the insanity of the holidays hits, part traditional fall writing inspiration trip, we holed up in a two bedroom wooden cabin with no TV, no kids or spouses, and no concrete plans. Just books, snacks, and a blissful few days by my favorite inland spooky freshwater ocean.

Looks inviting, doesn’t it? She’s so calm here, not like an angry ship-swallowing freshwater sea with giant waves at all.

One of my favorite phrases for Lake Superior is that she doesn’t give up her dead. Superior’s combination of extreme cold and extreme depth makes her dark waters inhospitable to the sorts of bacteria and critters who decompose dead things, and so shipwrecks that settle at the bottom stay there, unbothered. And those who drown can sink, never to rise again.

Since I was just a little ‘un, the thought of all the things that could exist, natural and supernatural, in the dark depths of that lake have often been on my mind. I have whole book series’ planned and outlined around them.

I have notes and inspiration and all the motivations to wrap up the novel in the next month or so after spending time at various excellent beaches and the view from our cabin. We did a little road trip starting at Black Beach in Silver Bay, spent time sitting on Iona “Pink Beach” near Split Rock Lighthouse watching waves crash in and out of secret caves within the rocks, hit up the requisite shopping at the agate store and Christmas store in Beaver Bay, all the fun usual things.

Then we stopped somewhere new, and discovered the following…interesting…signs:

Beware, tsunamis? Wave Monsters? Actually not that weird, I suppose. Some crazy *ahem* brave surfers come to Lake Superior in the winter for a reason.Thing is, there wouldn’t BE a sign had someone not done this. Why, people? Why? FTR this isn’t a flush toilet: it’s a sad facsimile of a toilet set over an outhouse hole in the ground, far too close to the shoreline as far as I’m concerned, in a public park. What the actual fuck.Small tourist town park bathrooms, keeping things classy, in case the fisherdude dumping his fish guts in the toilet is looking for other services.

This post is a little late going up because things are wild at my house right now with construction and holidays and such, but I have more coming in December and January as book reviews and writing have taken a front-row priority again. If you’re in the States, hope your Thanksgiving was wonderful and your short jaunt through the weeks leading to Yule are as slow as possible, because good GODS there is not much time there.

The other day I got an email titled “Gen X Women: The Latchkey Crones” and honestly, that sounds like murder mystery series I’d read. Or watch. Preferably set in some small village somewhere, although it’d more likely be tired-as-fuck middle aged women who add murder solving to managing teenage dramas, the usual everyday life partner issues, teaching driving, construction, getting homework handled, coordinating aging parents/grandparents/inlawparents, neighborhood to-dos, middle management work bullshit, pet disasters, school conferences, work trips, and a pile of laundry that never ends. What’s a little murder added to the never ending chore list**?

**that’s a list compiled from just a few of my friends’ recent lives.

Well. Now I’m tired.

If it’s set in Scotland and the ladies are cranky, I’d watch the shit out of that show.

There’s an owl outside my window hoo-hoo-hooHOOing loud enough I can hear it despite Ragnar sitting next to me breathing VERY heavily with the occasional deep sigh of disgust. We have no fenced in yard at the moment, and he’s hoping for yet another walk today, because construction stress has all pets in various forms of tizzy. fAngus is wide-eyed in stress most of the time these days, and only emerges from under the middle of the bed or the depths of the closet for food and to sit miserably by the front door so he can escape after the workers have gone. If caught outside when the work trucks arrive, he runs like hell to get in the house and disappears for the day in the depths of the bedroom.

Cat leaf-peeping this time of hear is an important fAngus chore he takes quite seriously, and should not be confused with the human version. Human peeping of leaves is often advertised with pictures of women in varied versions Han Solo gear (leggings, sleeved shirts, vests, knee-high leather boots) holding mugs of cocoa (I presume heavily spiked with whiskey, but that’s just me) watching trees perform their final yawning blaze of glorious color before winter sleep.

Cats care nothing for the weird autumnal rituals humans follow, finding both boots and vests a waste of time. Feline leaf-peeps involve silent-stalking practice, butt-wiggling without rustling, and leaping into piles of crunchy tree leftovers, occasionally accompanied with a horrified death-squeak. If your feline thinks you incompetent at leaf peeping, they may bring you one of their successes, because they worry the human they are in charge of keeping alive will starve without sufficient mouse meat. Stupid humans.

fAngus, unfortunately, has been nursing a sprained shoulder for the past few weeks, and so he’s been keeping his peeps pretty tame due to a limp. He often comes in after patrolling the dangers of the driveway and edges of the woods with us on the last walk with the dogs, because it’s his job to watch for the demons in the dark on our behalf. That’s what cats do, after all. If he feels perky, he’ll take a swipe or two at Minerva, just for fun. Both dogs are a little scared to walk past fAngus on the stairs.

As they should be.

I’m wrapping up this post the morning after I started it: no more hoo-hoo-hooHOOing going on. Sadness. Murder Mittens is currently adorably curled up under a dresser in the bedroom, all pets are napping in the blessed quiet on a day when no construction is going on, all kids are at school (presumably the college one is as well, but I have no actual confirmation of that), it’s Friday, and I have not a single room to pack for demolition. I would totally binge watch a Latchkey Crones murder show this weekend. Dammit.

I received an ARC of this novel from NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.

Powerful mortal women of Greek and Roman myth rarely fared well against the masculine prowess of the Big Damn Heroes on their divinely blessed/cursed quests, even Queen Dido, who was a legendary leader long before she had the…misfortune…of kindly assisting war refugees from Troy. In Aeneas’s myth, she is reduced to a lovestruck tragedy. In The Wandering Queen, Claire Heywood gives Dido the full independent story she deserves as a Princess of Phoenicia, founder of Carthage, and Queen in her own right.

The story starts with young Elissa, Princess of Tyre, playing hounds and jackals with her father and learning to rule. The night her baby brother, Pygmalion, is born, she is awed and promises to always love and protect him. Unfortunately, when they’re grown and the king dies, his wishes for Elissa’s succession are thwarted by corrupt officials and a spoiled Pygmalion, and she is forced to make other choices. Much of the book is the retelling of her early life, how she came to be married to her beloved husband, and how hard she played the political games she learned from her father to take back her rightful place as Queen of Tyre, failing at the game, and becoming Queen of Carthage. It’s a twisty and fascinating tale full of intrigue and machinations long before Aeneas and his fellows land on the beach at Carthage.

Interestingly, Elissa/Dido’s friends, family, and advisors were mostly well rounded folk, but the character development of Aeneas, and therefore the couple’s corresponding love subplot, in The Wandering Queen is so light it’s nearly an afterthought compared to everything else on Dido’s mind. Instead of detracting, I thought it was effective showing how much she handles in her life and how he’s only one small part of it. It also helped highlight Dido’s obsessive lovestruck behaviors later in their affair as a reflection of her perceptions of their relationship, not actual love: a symptom of being “in love with love” versus being in love with the actual person, if you will.

The worldbuilding and culture Heywood has created in The Wandering Queen gives the reader snippets into daily life of a variety of people and places in the ancient world. Perhaps the only negative I can say about this book is the odd lack of awareness Elissa/Dido seem to have about the fall of Troy and the end of the war. Heywood is a classicist with a depth of knowledge of the time period that I envy, so I was surprised that the characters are just surprised by war refugees landing at Carthage. Phoenicians were traders and travelers, and both Tyre and Carthage were port cities who would’ve gotten a pretty steady stream of news, so it seemed odd and pulled me out of the story a bit. However, that’s perhaps an ancient history nerd’s nitpick that most readers may not notice, and while it gave me pause it didn’t detract from Dido’s story.

Overall, I was thrilled that Queen Dido finally got the retelling she deserves in The Wandering Queen, painting her as a smart, politically savvy, complex woman who survived the attempts to take her down and came back swinging. Heywood’s rich tapestry of Dido’s life gave me the answer to the big question the patriarchy-driven myth of “suicidal Dido” always had me asking. This woman fought her way back from a stolen crown to found a whole new city and rule it on her own, she’s sort of woman who kept fighting no matter what came at her, who inspired people to follow her into the total unknown, so why would that woman throw herself on a fire she started to burn an ex-lover’s stuff when he left town?

Five stars. I loved it.

Photo is the cover of Defying Shadows captioned with “Book Signing with Jessica Settergren: “Defying Shadows: For Witches and Pagans Battling Cancer and Chronic Illness” SUNDAY, OCTOBER 26, 2025 2:00PM CT Author Event

Not long ago I wrote about steps to success, and how getting a book I wrote on the shelf at a Barnes & Noble hits me deep in the feels as a “ok, real writer” step.

Well, my last scheduled appearance for Defying Shadows is at the Eagan, MN Barnes & Noble in a few weeks. The link to the event details is here.

The last few appearances I did were a mix of wonderful (heavy, but wonderful, I’m looking at you Lincoln City!), disappointing (I had one that no one showed up for at all, and it was as though the store didn’t remember I was coming, so that was unfortunate), and exhausting even when they’re the best possible outcome. On top of that, the fall return-to-school schedule, construction schedule, unexpected family stuff, and a fAngus emergency room visit, this fall has been a lot to manage. We need to have our kitchen, living room, and basement packed up and moved to the garage/barn/garbage asap and…well, let’s just say things are nowhere near ready.

To be completely frank, I need a break after this one. I haven’t written anything substantial since April: it’s time to refocus what little free time I can squirrel away and hoard for myself back into writing. SO. If you haven’t gotten your book signed yet, if you haven’t picked up your copy because you were waiting for a signing that’s local, October 26th is the time! Come see me, bring a friend!

I completely understand that times are scary and money is tight: I wholeheartedly support libraries and would love to find my book there, so by all means request it from your local library. I’m happy to do more appearances/signings/book clubs/talks/events, just not until 2026.

Back to the usual weirdo blog posts next time!

Due to a death in the family, I’m unable to attend the Women & Spirituality Conference tomorrow in Rochester, Minnesota. I’m sorry to miss it, and I’m terribly sorry if you were planning on attending my time slot, but the funeral is this weekend.

The best prepared plans are nothing to Fate, schedule.

May all of you at the conference enjoy every second of it, and may your journey be full of cup-filling, spirit soothing moments this weekend.

If you were looking for an opportunity to chat about cancer and chronic illness or Defying Shadows, I’ll be at the Eagan, MN Barnes and Noble on October 26th. More to come on that appearance, and what I’ve been up to lately, in another post.