Invariably, I wake up before the rest of my house — dogs included.

This has been going on for years. And for years, I’d fritter away the peaceful space of the dark morning hours clicking and scrolling. Occasionally, I’d read as I worked my way through a pot of coffee. Then last April, I decided to do something.

Write.

Rob and I had spent the first fifteen years of marriage creating small humans. With our youngest child in school full time, I needed something to do in between the infrequent clients coming in for divorce mediation. I still wanted to be creative, though not in the making of people. I needed a new baby.

A half dozen babies later, I drifted to sleep last night thinking about how to get the protagonist from Novel #1 and the protagonist from Novel #4 to work a case together — perhaps where a minor character from Novel #3/#5 is accused of some heinous crime.

See: all of my stories have cross-over characters. I have an entire fictional place in my head where people eat at the same Chinese restaurant, shop at the same grocer, and pump out coffee into to-go cups from the same convenience store.

I’ve been asked, “Is it a series?”

Nope.

I regard it as a “place-centric” collection with recurring crossover characters.

So should Lara and Mitch team up to help out Patrice? Maybe. I’m not sure yet.

What I can guarantee: the decision will be made by moonlight.