Janie Steele's Blog

I need to say thank you again to everyone who has read or is reading Closing Costs.

Readers are everything. Reviews are everything. And the time you give to reading and reviewing means more than you know.

The one-star review recently — that one hurt. No commentary, private account. Maybe they really did hate every single line. Maybe they follow me somewhere on social media and just don’t like me. I don’t know.

As a newbie, I don’t have much practice looking away from the negative. You feel it, for sure. But I’m working on it.

Today was grey and drizzly all day. I was busy as hell, but I couldn’t shake this scene in my head:

It’s raining. A woman plants one bulb in the ground. Slowly. She’s soaked, but you can still see the tears on her cheeks. She stands, picks up her basket, and the camera pulls back — revealing her entire garden. Hundreds of tulips and lilies scattered everywhere. No pattern. No design. Bare dirt. Plenty of room for more.

As she turns to walk away, she sees a man in the distance. She drops her basket, falls to her knees, and releases a slow, gut-wrenching scream.

Where that goes? Who knows. But Closing Costs started with one scene about Deborah in the book. It grew from there. Morphing over and over. This is the fun part - one scene. One thing I can't stop thinking about. We'll see...

Thank you!

Ugh. That two-star review stings a little. I know it’s part of the deal—everyone has their own preferences, taste, and style. But still… a tiny detail in the story was clearly a big turn-off for that reader, and once that switch flipped, I’m sure everything else went downhill for them.

There’s so much more layered into this book, though. Yes, some parts are pure entertainment—girl talk, spicy conversations, neighborhood gossip, and the usual shenanigans. But bigger themes are running underneath it all too.

And for the record, I am a Realtor… and yes, the book is FICTION. But I’ll be honest: there’s not much I haven’t seen or heard. So take that for whatever it’s worth.

And in life? Oh, trust me—entirely too much for one lifetime. Take that to the bank.

Hopefully that two-star review doesn’t scare someone away from reading—or at least sampling—the first few chapters. Within the tiny tidbit that review gave away, there’s so much more at play.

Us indie authors have a hard road, and plenty give up before they ever gain traction… if they gain any at all. I’m not going anywhere. I know it’s an uphill climb, and I know Closing Costs will be a perfect fit for some and not for others.

My writing style is simple and not overly elaborate. It’s character-driven and rooted in storytelling. My imagination—mixed with that “too much in one lifetime” reality—
that’s exactly where I find my fuel.

I see Closing Costs on the big screen—or at the very least lighting up your living room screens. I’m not too shy to say that.

Too big of a dream?
Oh, you have no idea 😂

I’ve been so magically touched by anyone reading my book. That was obviously the game plan — get readers!

While I’ve been writing in one form or another my entire life, I’m about fifty steps below a novice in this industry. I grapple with words and always lean toward simplicity—that’s what I love in storytelling. I’ve never really thought of myself as an author; I’m a storyteller. Those who can effortlessly weave metaphors, imagery and amazing emotion do it beautifully. They are the Authors.

Goodreads? NetGalley? I didn’t even know they existed until two months after self-publishing! That’s how disconnected I was from this world. I launched nothing in the ordinary fashion, which has certainly not helped my cause, but I’m learning — and the more I learn, the more I’m in awe.

When I finally stop running, marketing, and networking 24/7 to gain more readers and traction, I’m left with this overwhelming gratitude for the devoted book lovers who’ve taken the time to read. Reading a book is a big commitment. It’s not a three-minute song or a thirty-minute show — it’s hours carved out of your life, and I can’t thank you enough for giving me, and my book, your time. I am truly grateful and touched.

The timeline in all of this is slow, and yes, I’m pushing day and night to break the rules, the standards, and the bubble of what “breaking through” is supposed to look like in this industry. Why? That’s a long story, for sure.

But one thing I know — without avid readers willing to take that leap of faith and commit their time to discovering new stories, new writers, and new voices that might just move them in unexpected ways, there’s no shot in h-e-double-hockey-sticks at breaking through the unbelievably hard 'rules', norms, and barriers of this industry.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. ❤️

I'm bursting with excitement right now - 20 lucky readers will be getting signed paperback copies of my book soon!

This story has been such a labor of love, and knowing it's about to land in reader's hands gives me butterflies.

But that's not all...
I'm also launching a Free Kindle Promotion for 50 readers! Yep - fifty! So if you've been waiting to dive in, this is your chance to grab it, read it, and (pretty please 🙏) share your thoughts.

Every feedback, every message, every bit of support means more than I can say. Thank you for being part of this journey - I can't wait to hear what you think!

Janie Steele

I'm bursting with excitement right now - 20 lucky readers will be getting signed paperback copies of my book soon!

This story has been such a labor of love, and knowing it's about to land in reader's hands gives me butterflies.

But that's not all...
I'm also launching a Free Kindle Promotion for 50 readers! Yep - fifty! So if you've been waiting to dive in, this is your chance to grab it, read it, and (pretty please 🙏) share your thoughts.

Every feedback, every message, every bit of support means more than I can say. Thank you for being part of this journey - I can't wait to hear what you think!



Closing Costs: A Steamy Midlife Romance of Secrets, Desire, and Second Chances

Janie Steele

I’ve been writing since I was a kid, though I didn’t call it that then. At twelve, I wrote a song for a boy I met at Pismo Beach in California. Three days of sunshine, waves, and endless volleyball, and I was convinced I had fallen in love. When I left, I wrote my heartbreak into a notebook—believing somehow that if I pressed it into words, it wouldn’t slip away.

I often wrote about my father. Always my father. Occasionally my mom, but she was an illusion I more often kept in my head. He was the rescuer of a world he was also guilty of creating.

My stories always painted him in different shades—but always as the hero—and they always ended the same: me, the baby slung over his shoulder, staring out at the world from that high perch. That image was my definition of safety, even if the ground beneath was always only caving more.

Looking back, I think writing was survival. Some kids had diaries with locks. I had a couple of notebooks, more often loose pages—the light grey kind with soft lines you’d get from school—filled with versions of life I wanted to believe in.

Escape routes, reminders of who not to be, and many warnings. None of it lasted long. I was always destroying them so the adults around me wouldn’t read them. Privacy wasn’t a thing in my world. And if people caught me writing short stories about my dad rescuing us, that was a problem in itself. Writing was my way of releasing something—one thing or another—so I could breathe.

Years later, like all of my stories, Closing Costs started the same way—with something I couldn’t shake. An image. A conversation about an awful tragedy. And while I didn’t live it, I couldn’t let go of it once it got into my head. I tend to hyperfixate on tragedies, especially other people’s tragedies. They just sit with me, digging in. I find myself circling the same questions: How do people go on after the worst happens? What does recovery even look like when the unimaginable leaves its mark?

At first, that image shaped the story. It was dark, raw, and stuck in me. It was meant to be a mystery—a murder mystery. But as the words piled up, the focus shifted. A minor change here, another there. And then, as the characters grew, they began to dictate the story. The more I wrote, the more they twisted, moved, and refused to stay in the roles I thought I had planned for them. And then one day, they simply fit—and it only made sense in one way.

It was always about a murder mystery among midlife women—friends moving through their awakenings, their starting overs—and how this tragedy-turned-mystery would break them, or maybe reveal them. There was always going to be romance, deep relationships, and choices. But as David developed in particular, he refused to stay where I tried to put him. The story grew legs and ran in the only direction I could keep writing.

That happens to me a lot. I have four dozen stories, all unfinished, because when they morph and I don’t run with it, I get writer’s block and can’t finish. I fight what is pulling me to write the story as it wants to be written… and eventually I can’t continue. So they sit. And wait. Like me. Or like I once did.

Maybe that’s what writing has always been for me. I start with something I can’t put down—a boy on a beach, a father’s shadow, an image that won’t leave me alone—and I follow it until it shifts into something new. Writing never erases the weight, but it changes the shape of it. It makes it possible to carry. Or it sparks enough hope to keep believing in the impossible.

I don’t really consider myself an author. I don’t write pretty, fluffy words you get lost in. I don’t like metaphors, and fancy language has never been my strong suit. I write how life sounds. How people sound. How a story would be told if we were sitting around a campfire drinking a beer. I’m a storyteller—not Ernest Hemingway or Pat Conroy. And for me, it works.

So this is where I start—with Closing Costs. The story morphed so hard it became the fastest book I’ve ever completed. Because for once, I didn’t fight where it wanted to go. I listened to what it wanted to be, and I followed it this time. I followed me.