What Will Book Number Four Be About?

        Yep, that's me, reading a book. A friend took this photo, and I use it a bunch because I like it and it tells you a lot about me. Some people ask me why I read so much, which, I must say, astonishes me. I can't imagine not reading a lot! And it's not just because I'm a writer; it's because I love to read, I always have, because reading takes me places I'd never visit if it weren't for stories, for books, for tales, for the imagination of others. 

        Now I'll tell you something that absolutely flabbergasts me: I know a few people, nice people, who tell me that they don't read because 

A) they don't like to read or 

B) they don't have time to read or 

C) it's boring or 

D) they're not "into" reading. 

        I could go on and on with the reasons I hear from people telling me why they don't read. These same people have plenty of time to make and post videos online and play games online; in fact, they pretty much spend their whole day online, not reading, mind you, but playing mindless games. As my Mama used to say, it just floors me when I hear these excuses. Because, really, that's what they are. 

        How can someone NOT like to read? Is it because they can't read? Is that even possible in this day and age when you can read a book on a tablet, a laptop, a phone (albeit with difficulty), a magazine, a few dozen other ways?

        What about the ones who say they don't have time to read? Time is just a concept, a number. That's even more ridiculous. They have time to play six hours of video games online or watch six hours of horror or thriller or action movies on TV, but they don't have time to read a book? Ever see a photo or movie of a kid using a flashlight to read a book under his sheets and blanket when he was supposed to be asleep? Those images are real; I know because I was that kid. There was never enough time in a day to read everything, so you snuck in some added reading time when you were supposed to be sleeping. 

        Don't get me started by saying that reading is boring. What? You have to be constantly pumped up with adrenaline by watching horror and other adrenaline-pumping movies to be entertained to feel alive?

        And that last one about not being "into" books, well, I don't even know how to begin responding to that one. 

        Now that I've made my opinion about reading absolutely, indubitably crystal clear, I'll get back to the point of this post: I've begun musing on book #4 in my cozy murder mystery series, which honestly just kinda tickles me. Why, you ask? Because when I wrote the first book in the series, The Wedding Dress Quilt, it wasn't meant to be the first in a series. It wasn't meant to be part of a series at all. Oh heck, I didn't even have a murder or mystery in mind. It was just a sweet, short story about a woman who inherits a big, beautiful house in Texas, finds a lovely wedding dress in an attic, and makes it into an award-winning quilt. It was around 1200 words; that was it. Had it not been for a friend who read it and encouraged me to lengthen it into a full-length novel and submit it to a publisher, I wouldn't be sitting here with a contract to write five cozy murder mysteries. But here I am with two books on the market, a third, the Lost Lone Star Quilt, coming out in February 2027, and a fourth zooming around in my head like a ping-pong ball, making me wonder where it's going to land and what its final story is going to look like. 

        This brings up another question I am often asked. Where do I come up with the ideas for my books, and so quickly? Well, isn't that the million dollar question! If I knew the answer, I surely would make a million dollars answering it. I wish I knew. The ideas just pop into my head. Often they pop into my head when I'm still writing the previous book. Then as I'm writing said book I change my mind and have to hit the delete button, erase everything I've typed and start all over. Have you any idea how frustrating that is? All I can say is that it is incredibly frustrating and annoying. You'd think I could get my act together by now but ya know, sometimes a story idea seems really great and I start typing it up, and I get part way through and then I begin to read what I've written and I wonder what in the heck was I thinking? Then back button here I come! That back button as well as the delete button have become close personal friends. We're tight!

        Okay, enough rambling. It's the first of September, the start of the new school year. Stop into a library and borrow a book, or buy a new one at a book store. Either way, expand your mind -- read a book!

Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

 

 

Does Your Cat Sploot?

Let me start over: do you have a cat or two, and if so, is it painfully hot where you live right now? Hot as in you're dreaming of winter? If it is, chances are you've seen your cat doing this, like the one in the photo, which is not my cat by the way, sticking its back legs out, and its front legs forward. Maybe this is the first time you've heard this term: splooting. It's a real word. I'm not kidding. It means lying in a spread-legged, prone posture. Typically, it pertains to four-legged mammals such as dogs and squirrels when they want to relax or cool down in the heat. Both of my cats do it, and my dog does it on the wood and tile floors. And yes, I've seen the squirrels do it in the backyard. I'm guessing that the position maximizes their bodies against the coolest parts of the floors.


One of my cats will wait on the kitchen floor until he sees me washing dishes and the second I turn on the faucet he will jump up on the counter and stick his paw under that faucet and start scooping that water toward his face to cool himself down. Granted my sink water doesn't get terribly hot, nevertheless I worry about him burning his paw or face with that hot water. But you know what? That smart feline doesn't seem to care. He's oblivious, really. I swear, he has more gray cells than most cats.



His name is Willie, and he is remarkably clever. Our second cat is pure black; we named him Simcha, for joyful. He was found on the town's streets and was given to us at eight weeks old. We decided that was the end of his days of homelessness, though Simcha had different ideas. When Willie joined our household two years later and made it clear he was an indoor/outdoor kind of guy, we cut a deal with him that if he would keep the property clear of rodents, he could come and go as he pleased.


Well, Simcha decided that if Willie got to come and go, then there was no reason why he couldn't exercise the same privilege. And every time the back porch door was slightly cracked open, Simcha would attempt to dash out like a flash of lightning. We could almost hear that black cat laughing at us, that he sure fooled us; that he finally managed to sneak out that door before we caught him. No matter how many times Simcha thought he got past us, he didn't get four feet down the steps before Willie appeared out of nowhere, and I mean literally out of nowhere. Willie could have been on the roof, in a tree, a neighbor's yard, or down the block, and he would appear like an apparition, instantly landing right smack on top of Simcha, his mouth holding Simcha around the back of his neck just like a mother cat does with her young. Now mind you, I'm talking about two fully grown male cats here. Simcha is about 10 or 11 pounds, and Willie is around 16-18 pounds. These are no kittens. Indoors, they play like they are, but outside, it's different rules.



I suppose that Willie understands that it's dangerous outdoors (there are venomous snakes and possums and mean blue jays in our neighborhood). And while Willie knows how to escape the predators, somehow he must know that Simcha doesn't, and even though he's younger than Simcha, he has taken on the responsibility of being his caretaker. I don't know how animals figure out that hierarchy, but clearly in Willie and Simcha case they have. Willie has also figured out that our Schnorkie dog who is half mini-schnauzer and half yorkshire terrier isn't the brightest crayon in the box. He's as sweet as sweet can be, but smart? Not so much. When we found the shed skin of a five-foot rat snake outside our gardening shed and our dog went to investigate, Willie batted our dog and chased him off. The snake was long gone, but no matter. Willie knew that something threatening had been there, something that could harm the dog, and batted him away until he got my attention; when I saw the snake skin from a distance, I quickly rushed the dog into the house. A few minutes later, Willie sauntered inside himself.



I don't know how such a smart cat adopted us, but I sure am glad he decided to pick us for his family. He could have picked anyone on our street. I guess he figured we needed him. He was sure right about that.





Till Next Time,


Jeffree Wyn

 It's About Time I Posted Something 

       

And boy howdy, do I have a doozy for ya! I finished another book. The third in the Waxahachie cozy quilt murder mystery series. Yeah, yeah, I know, the last post I put up was about finishing my second book in the series -- for The Mercy Quilt. I can't believe it's been so long since I've posted anything, and here I am posting that I have a new book.

Well, don't get too excited. It's finished, but you can't get your eyeballs on it yet. The official publication date is February 23, 2027. I can tell you that the name of it is "The Lost Lone Star Quilt." Because you know that all my cozy mystery quilt novels are titled after a quilt, right? 

So, here's the deal: you can find it on Amazon, in fact, you can preorder it now on the Big A. And if you keep checking my publisher's website, C&T, you can preorder it there too, which is preferable. And I can tell you a few other things too, like you'll be back reading about all your favorite characters, lots of lip-smacking Texas food, a new romance, a juicy one I might add, with a hunky leading man, some dire threats on our heroine's life, and.....oh, you get the idea. So, you know how book #1 was about Lisbeth aka Savannah Mae, and book #2 was Emma's story? Well, who do you think #3 will focus on? My lips are sealed, I'm not telling. But if you read the summary that's floating around on several of the websites, I'm sure you can figure it out. And when you do, you'll probably be surprised that she left her beloved beaches of California to help out her bestie in Texas. Oops! Did I say that? Darn! Cat's outta the bag.

Till next time, which I promise won't be book #4!

💖, Jeffree Wyn

 

The Mercy Quilt is Here!    

    Woo-hoo! And I do mean Woo-Hoo, in a BIG WAY. On Feb 24th, of this year, 2026, The Mercy Quilt was published by C&T. It's now available e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e! Amazon, WalMart, Barnes and Noble, Missouri Quilt Company, Thriftbooks, Booktopia in Australia, really everywhere! If you don't watch where you're going, you'll trip over it while walking down the street. Just Google it. 

    Here's me holding a copy of it, proof that it's here, really here. Get yourself a copy. The reviews are coming in, and friends, they're FABULOUS. And lest you think I'm making them up, go check em out on Amazon. I could not be more proud. Not only are they fabulous, but readers can't figure out who the murderer is, and then when they do find out who it is, they're dumbfounded. I didn't really mean to pull the proverbial wool over my readers' eyes; I was just trying to extend how long it would take for readers to figure out who the murderer was. I didn't expect it to take until the end of the book. Guess I'm becoming a real, honest-to-goodness-murder-mystery-writer! Read on! I've already finished writing book #3 in the series. There's lots more to come, dearies!

        

    💘, Jeffree Wyn 

 

    

       

 

 

Halloween is Scarier Than Ever!

    When I was growing up, admittedly eons ago in the last century, we had fun on Halloween. We'd go to haunted houses, the Halloween fair at the elementary school, giggled at seeing adults dress up giving out candy, and laughed at the creative decorations on the porches where we screamed "Trick or Treat!" At some houses, we bobbed for apples, and at others, our friends' mothers spent days making homemade treats you couldn't get any other time of year. Some people even carved their pumpkins with really outrageous faces. But they'd have only one pumpkin, not 10, nor would they cover their whole front yard in scary decorations. It wasn't like today, where many of the decorations could scare the you know what out of you. I must be getting old because I don't understand why Halloween decorations are now so frightening. Is it because our society is much scarier? 

    

    In my little town, many of my neighbors began putting up their decorations in September. And the funny thing is that few kids trick or trick in my town because a day or two before Halloween, the city sponsors a Trunk or Treat event downtown, where kids can walk or drive by with their parents to safely collect their treats. Very few kids actually go door-to-door trick-or-treating. We used to do the Trunk or Treat event, then a few years back, we stopped doing it and began giving out treats just to our neighborhood kids on Halloween. They know us, we know them, it's safe for everybody. 

    This year, I don't know if we will get that many kids because we don't have "cool" decorations. Not like some of the homes in our neighborhood. We don't have one of those 12-foot-tall, $250 skeletons or mechanical ghoul sculptures standing on our lawn, nor does fake fog rise up from a fog machine, looking like the dead will rise any moment. We don't have a skeleton dog or cat, either, or a terrifying Grim Reaper. We do have a singing vampire, though, with a motion detector that starts singing "After Midnight" when a kid walks near our door. When we got it years ago, it scared the littlest kids. These days, I doubt it could frighten a baby. But we'll put it out anyway, because we're old school and we like it, and that vampire has been with us so long he has come to be like family.

    It seems like these days Halloween has become a lot like Christmas; it's all about making a profit. I don't think it's about having fun anymore. It's just an opportunity for companies to sell as many of those giant skeletons and animated sculptures as they can. Have you ever priced any of those things? Out of curiosity, I have. Buy a few of them, (and many people have several on their front lawns) and you might as well forget about making this month's house payment. But they aren't the only ones milking the formerly fun holiday. Don't forget the candy companies that are now charging $12-$22 for a bag of candy, and the costume companies that are selling costumes starting at $40 that will be worn only once. 

    I guess I am getting old. I remember Halloween used to be fun. I'm not sure that it is any more. I can't imagine that it is for the parents and homeowners who are paying $1000+ to make their houses look scary, and buy outrageously priced costumes, and overpriced candy. Where's the fun in that?

Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

 

        A Seat On a Plane 

    Airports have a strange way of showing the full range of humanity — joy, impatience, excitement, exhaustion, all packed into one loud, humming space.

That’s where I was on a gray Thursday afternoon, sitting near Gate 27, waiting for a flight to Chicago. I wasn’t paying much attention to anything — just scrolling through my phone and sipping an overpriced latte — until I noticed the man at the counter.

He looked like any other traveler — mid-thirties, worn denim jacket, travel backpack slung over one shoulder. But what caught my eye was the tiny girl clinging to his leg, her pink shoes dangling off the edge of the counter as she watched the planes outside.

The airline agent asked politely, “Sir, how old is your daughter?”

He smiled proudly. “She just turned two last month.”

The agent nodded, typing quickly. “Okay, does she have her own ticket?”

The man’s smile faded. “No, she’s under two. I was told she could ride free.”

The agent hesitated. “Sir… if she’s already two, she’ll need her own seat.”

You could feel the air shift. The man blinked, trying to process. “No, that can’t be right. When I booked this flight, she was still one. Her birthday was just a few weeks ago. She’s just a baby.”

The agent sighed, kind but firm. “I understand, but FAA regulations require that all passengers aged two or older have their own ticket. I’m really sorry.”

He looked down at his daughter, who was now playing with the zipper on his jacket, completely unaware that her dad’s world had just tilted. “How much is the ticket?” he asked quietly.

The agent checked. “$749, sir.”

I saw him close his eyes for a moment, the kind of pause that comes when reality hits harder than you expected. He thanked her softly and stepped away from the counter, carrying his daughter to a bench across from where I was sitting.

He set her down and took off his hat, rubbing his hands through his hair, his face pale. Then he took out his phone and made a few calls — hushed, desperate ones.

“I don’t have it right now, Mom… No, I didn’t know about the age rule… I can’t miss this flight.”

He hung up, holding his daughter close. His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby girl. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

She just giggled and patted his cheek.

That’s when a woman sitting two seats over from me stood up. She was maybe in her forties, wearing a red coat and carrying a tote bag covered in travel stickers. She walked over to him and knelt beside his bench.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I overheard. You’re having trouble getting your daughter’s ticket?”

He nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah… it’s my fault. I didn’t know the rule changed once she turned two. I don’t have the money to rebook today.”

The woman smiled — the kind of smile that feels like a warm blanket. “Don’t worry about that.”

He frowned, unsure if he’d heard her right. “Ma’am?”

“Let’s get her on that plane,” she said, standing and motioning for him to follow her back to the counter.

The gate agent looked up, surprised to see them back so soon. The woman pointed toward the little girl, who was now tugging on her dad’s sleeve.

“I’d like to buy her ticket,” the woman said calmly.

The agent blinked. “Ma’am, this ticket is seven hundred and forty-nine dollars.”

The woman nodded. “That’s fine.”

The agent hesitated, almost disbelieving. “You… you know how much that is?”

“I do,” she said, pulling out her card. “And she’s worth every penny.”

Silence hung in the air for a second. Even the people in line stopped pretending not to listen. The agent took the card, swiping it with a shaky hand.

When the receipt printed, she handed it to the woman and said quietly, “You just gave me goosebumps.”

The man’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t even know your name,” he said.

She shook her head. “You don’t need to. Just pay it forward someday.”

He knelt down beside his daughter and said, “Can you say thank you, sweetheart?”

The little girl looked up with wide brown eyes and said, “Tank oo!” — her voice high and cheerful, the kind of sound that can melt even the hardest heart.

The woman smiled. “You’re very welcome, sweet girl.”

As the boarding call began, the man hugged her — not the quick, polite kind of hug, but the kind that carries the weight of gratitude words can’t hold. “You don’t know what this means,” he said through tears.

The woman smiled again, her eyes shining. “I think I do.”

She turned and walked away quietly, disappearing into the crowd.

The man boarded the plane holding his daughter’s hand, still looking back like he wanted to memorize the moment — the kindness that came out of nowhere, at the exact time he needed it most.

I never saw the woman again. I don’t even know if she ever told anyone what she did that day. But everyone at Gate 27 saw it. Everyone felt it.

And maybe that’s how kindness works — quietly, without cameras, without hashtags, without asking for anything in return.

That day, at an ordinary airport gate, I watched a stranger remind us all that compassion still exists — and that sometimes, the smallest child can carry the biggest lesson:

That love, when given freely, can move mountains… or at least, one little girl’s seat on a plane.

Credit due to Lisa Resnik

 

On the Home Stretch

    For those of you who have asked if there will be a sequel to The Wedding Dress Quilt and, if so, when, I have big news to share with you. The Mercy Quilt, aka the sequel, will be available at the end of February 2026. 

    You can preorder a copy here: https://ctpub.com/collections/fiction-and-mysteries/products/the-mercy-quilt?_pos=10&_fid=bef28bb9d&_ss=c&filter.p.m.custom.show_in_store=1

And if you are a book, library, or quilt store and you wish to order multiple copies, you can preorder now through whatever book ordering service you use, or check this page on the C&T website for a list of  distributors: https://ctpub.com/pages/retailer-info

    I am currently buried in front of my laptop reviewing the final layout of the book, looking for typos, and any other errors we don't want to see make it into the final print version or ebook. This is the very last review. If I miss anything here, well, you'll see it when you read the book. The senior editor, copy editor, and graphic designer have done an extraordinary job of finding every tiny minutiae that needs fixing. Even so, they are human, and we're dealing with machines and software here, which means things like extra spaces and extra lines slip through. I'm trying to pace myself as I have five days to finish my review and sign off on it so C&T can send it off to print. I'm also trying to keep the butterflies in my stomach from doing a major flip-flop. I'm so nervous I'll miss something! I just have to get through it as I've done with previous books. It's not like this is something new. You'd think I'd be used to this process by now. What I can tell you with great pride is how beautiful the book is, both inside and out. Yes, the cover is lovely; but the inside, which includes the font, the title pages, and special characters the graphic designer used gives the book a very special look and feel. I think you're gonna love it. 

    Till Next Time,

    Jeffree Wyn