Boardroom & Bakery

My Dear Readers,

Yesterday we celebrated my biggest success so far in this four-year journey.

Today, let’s talk about failures.

And I mean total flops.

You see, I have ADHD on the autistic spectrum. Undiagnosed, but very much present. And with this comes a kind of humor that isn’t easily understood by other people. What I think is funny might come across as confusing or even offensive to others.

I tried to be funny twice with my books.

Both times, it didn’t work out.

Boardroom & Bakery

In February 2025, I launched Boardroom & Bakery for Valentine’s Day.

A magical later-in-life romantic comedy with Greek mythology, slow-burn romance, and small-town charm.

The premise: When Zeus notices plummeting romance rates among successful mid-lifers, he calls in his most sophisticated matchmaker. Cupida, who prefers Armani suits to angel wings, has spent millennia proving that the best love stories aren’t just for the young.

In my mind, I cast Emma Thompson in the role of a jaded Cupida.

But maybe there’s too much chaos in this book.

Dionysos organizing parties. A sourdough starter giving love advice. Perhaps I should have avoided all the chaos and the Greek mythology altogether.

There are only a few text reviews, and the one-star reviews far outweigh the positive ones.

This one hurt.

But I didn’t give up. I still thought I could write romantic comedies that readers would enjoy.

Sunshine Retirement Village

That’s how the Sunshine Retirement Village series came to life.

Think Golden Girls and Grace and Frankie—on steroids:

Welcome to Sunshine Retirement Village, where unexpected romances flourish, juicy gossip abounds, and lawn ornaments may be up to something.

This series follows a lively community of seniors who refuse to slow down—in life or love. Each book introduces a brand-new couple discovering connection, laughter, and second chances, all set against the backdrop of Florida sunshine and a community filled with chaos, friendship, and flamingo-related feuds.

At the heart of it all is Dolly McGraw—a former Vegas showgirl, current self-appointed Activities Queen, and the sparkly glue that binds this wild and wonderful place together.

The reviews have been good.

But the sales?

A handful of copies per book, no matter what I did.

Sometimes you write what you love, and the market simply doesn’t want it.

That’s the reality of this business.

If you’re curious about Boardroom & Bakery, I’ve included the prologue at the end of this newsletter.

And if a retirement village full of sass and second chances sounds like your kind of escape, the Sunshine Retirement Village series is available here: Sunshine Retirement Village

Thanks for being here. Thanks for reading my stories.

Take care wherever you are.

Much Love,

PS: Tomorrow, Day 7, takes us to the Starfish Inn on the New England coast. 🎄🎅

PROLOGUE: Boardroom & Bakery

Cupida stood in the ethereal elevator of Mount Olympus Enterprises, watching floor numbers tick by in a non-linear fashion. 1, 7, Pi, Infinity, Basement, 42...

She rolled her eyes. Zeus and his penchant for the dramatic.

As if summoning her wasn’t theatrical enough.

With a ding that sounded suspiciously like a thunderclap, the doors slid open to reveal the penthouse floor. Cupida stepped out, her stilettos clicking against marble that shifted between solid stone and wispy clouds. A ball of golden thread rolled past her feet, chased by three squabbling old women.

“Ladies,” Cupida nodded to the Fates, who were too engrossed in their eternal argument to notice her. Some things never changed, even after millennia. Unlike the décor, apparently. She arched an eyebrow at the newest addition: a life-sized ice sculpture of Zeus in a power pose, lightning bolt in hand.

“Subtle,” she muttered, striding past.

As she approached Zeus’s office, the doors flew open with a gust of wind that ruffled her perfectly styled hair. Cupida sighed, patting it back into place. “You know,” she called out, entering the vast space, “there’s this marvelous invention called a doorknob. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Zeus’s booming laugh filled the room, seeming to shake the very foundations of the building. He sat behind a desk that could easily double as a helipad, his silver hair and beard windswept. Today, the office had decided to mimic Mount Olympus itself, complete with misty peaks and the occasional eagle soaring by.

“Cupida, my dear!” Zeus’s voice rolled like thunder. “So glad you could join us. I assume the elevator didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Oh no,” Cupida replied dryly, settling into a chair that materialized beneath her. “I always enjoy a trip through non-Euclidean space before my performance reviews.”

Zeus’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Performance review? Who said anything about a performance review?”

“Why else would you summon me to this... charming replica of your midlife crisis?” Cupida gestured to the mountain scenery. “Surely not for the pleasure of my company.”

A rumble of thunder shook the room, and dark clouds began to gather around Zeus’s head. “Now see here, young lady—”

“I’m older than most civilizations,” Cupida interjected.

“—we have a crisis on our hands!” Zeus plowed on, ignoring her comment. He waved his hand, and a series of holographic charts appeared in the air between them. Cupida squinted at the fluctuating lines and numbers.

“Our love metrics are down! Way down!” Zeus jabbed a finger at a particularly depressing red line that seemed to be in a race to the bottom of the chart. “Especially in the 45 to 65 age bracket. Do you know what this means?”

Cupida examined her perfectly manicured nails. “So, middle-aged mortals have finally realized that love is a biochemical reaction designed to perpetuate the species, and they’re better off with cats?”

The storm clouds around Zeus’s head darkened ominously. “It means,” he growled, “that we’re losing market share! Fewer weddings, fewer anniversaries, and fewer sappy posts on that Facepage thing!”

“Facebook,” Cupida corrected. “And since when do we care about ‘market share’?”

“Since the mortals started outsourcing our jobs to silicon chips and algorithms!” Zeus stood, his form seeming to grow until he loomed over the desk. Outside the window, lightning forked across the sky. “Love is our business, Cupida. Our essence. If the mortals stop believing in love, they stop believing in us. And if they stop believing in us...”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Cupida felt a chill that had nothing to do with the storm brewing in the office. She’d seen gods fade before, withering away as mortals forgot them. It wasn’t pretty.

“Fine,” she sighed, standing up to face her father. “What do you want me to do? Shoot the entire middle-aged population with arrows? Because I’ve got to tell you, Dad, the repetitive strain injury alone would be—”

“No, no, no!” Zeus waved his hand dismissively, and the storm in the office calmed somewhat. “We need to be smarter about this. More... what’s the word they use now? Proactive!”

Cupida raised an eyebrow. “Have you been reading mortal management books again?”

Zeus had the grace to look embarrassed. “The point is,” he continued, “we need to show these mortals that true love isn’t dead. That it’s not just for the young and photogenic. We need a success story, Cupida. A big one.”

“And let me guess,” Cupida said, a sinking feeling in her stomach, “you want me to deliver this miracle?”

Zeus beamed, and a ray of sunshine broke through the clouds, illuminating him like a spotlight. “Exactly! I knew you’d understand. You’ve got one month to create the greatest love story of the modern age. Something that’ll go... what do they call it? Bacterial?”

“Viral,” Cupida corrected, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, let’s say I agree to this ludicrous plan. How exactly am I supposed to create this epic romance without being obvious? In case you haven’t noticed, mortals aren’t too keen on divine intervention these days.”

Zeus stroked his beard thoughtfully, static electricity crackling between his fingers. “You’ll have to be sneaky. Infiltrate their world. Become one of them, but with, you know...” he waggled his fingers, “...your godly pizzazz.”

Cupida stared at him. “Pizzazz? Really? Did Dionysus spike your ambrosia again?”

But even as she snarked, her mind was whirring. An idea began to form, outlandish and ridiculous, but then again, those tended to be the ones that worked best with mortals.

“Alright,” she said slowly. “I think I might have a plan, but I’ll need resources—and a really good cover story.”

Zeus clapped his hands, and a bolt of lightning struck the desk, leaving behind a sleek, golden briefcase. “Everything you need is in here: paperwork, credentials, mortal money—the works.”

Cupida picked up the briefcase, surprised by its weight. “You seem oddly prepared for this.”

Zeus shrugged, a twinkle in his eye. “I may have had a chat with the Fates. Or bribed them. Details, details.”

Rolling her eyes, Cupida turned to leave, but Zeus’s voice stopped her at the door.

“Cupida,” he said suddenly serious, “remember what’s at stake here. It’s not about us. These mortals—they need love. Real love. More than ever.”

For a moment, Cupida felt a twinge of something—an emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in centuries. She quickly suppressed it. “Save the sentimental crap for Hallmark, Dad. I’ll get it done.”

As the elevator doors closed behind her, Cupida allowed herself a small smile. A challenge. This could actually be… fun.

Back in her office—a much more modest affair compared to Zeus’s extravaganza—Cupida began her preparations. She pulled up a holographic display of her target: Victoria Chase, CEO of Chase Innovations.

“Victoria Chase,” Cupida mused, scrolling through the file. “Divorced for 15 years, married to her job, hasn’t taken a vacation in… ever?” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you a bundle of joy waiting to happen?”

The image showed a striking blonde woman with sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the hologram. Everything about her screamed power and control, from her impeccable suit to her ramrod-straight posture.

“Let’s see how you handle a little divine intervention, Ms. Chase,” Cupida smirked, reaching for her golden bow.

She nocked an arrow, aimed at the hologram, and let it fly. The arrow should have dissolved into a shower of rose petals—her usual flair for the dramatic. Instead, it bounced off the hologram with a comical ‘boing’ and ricocheted around the room.

“What the—” Cupida ducked as the arrow whizzed past her head, leaving a trail of confused butterflies in its wake. It finally embedded itself in her office wall, transforming her tasteful abstract painting into a garish velvet portrait of Elvis.

Cupida stared at the portrait, then at her bow. “Well,” she said dryly, “that bodes well.”

Three days later, Cupida stood in the lobby of a gleaming skyscraper in downtown Boston, her golden briefcase replaced with a sleek, professional leather portfolio. She had traded her flowing, ethereal gowns for a sharp designer suit that would make even Athena nod in approval. Her hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, and she had swapped her usual subtle glow for a more mortal-friendly highlight.

As she waited for the elevator, Cupida overheard two employees gossiping nearby.

“Did you hear? The Ice Queen is looking for a new PR firm,” one whispered.

“Victoria Chase? Good luck to whoever gets that job. I heard she made her last PR rep cry,” the other replied, shuddering.

“Cry? I heard she turned him to stone with her glare!”

Cupida smirked. If only they knew what a real Medusa could do.

She approached the reception desk, channeling every ounce of corporate confidence she’d observed in mortals over the centuries. “Cupida Amora,” she announced. “I’m here to see Victoria Chase. I have an appointment.”

The receptionist, a young man who looked like he subsisted entirely on espresso and anxiety, blinked up at her. “Oh, yes, Ms. Amora. Ms. Chase is expecting you. Fifty-second floor. Her assistant will meet you.”

Cupida nodded her thanks and headed for the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she allowed herself a moment of doubt. Was she really going to pull this off? Pretend to be a mortal PR consultant to orchestrate a grand love story?

“Well,” she muttered to herself as the elevator began its ascent, “beats shooting people with arrows.”

She absentmindedly reached into her portfolio to double-check her proposal. Instead of paper, her fingers brushed against something soft and fluttery. Frowning, she opened the portfolio wider.

A dozen white doves erupted from the folder, cooing and flapping around the elevator in a feathery frenzy. Cupida swatted at them in panic, acutely aware of the security camera in the corner.

“Oh, come on!” she hissed, trying to stuff the birds back into her portfolio. “This isn’t Ancient Greece! We don’t do doves anymore!”

By the time the elevator chimed for the fifty-second floor, Cupida had managed to make the doves disappear—though she wasn’t entirely sure how or where. She took a deep breath, smoothed her suit, and stepped out, the picture of professional composure.

She strode confidently down the hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor. As she rounded the corner to Victoria’s office, she came to an abrupt halt.

There, leaning casually against the assistant’s desk with a charming smile, was a face she knew all too well. A face that had no business being there.

Anteros turned, his eyes widening slightly as they met hers. His surprise quickly morphed into that infuriatingly handsome smirk she’d both loved and hated for millennia.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his velvety voice sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Cupida, darling. What an unexpected pleasure.”

Cupida’s carefully crafted plan crumbled around her. As she stood there, staring at her eternal rival and sometimes-something-more, only one thought managed to break through her shock:

This was going to complicate things.

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