There was a time when I thought a “good day” needed proof. Something completed. Something shared. Something worth explaining. Lately, I’ve been learning how to love the days that don’t announce themselves — the quiet ones that arrive without ceremony and leave without a headline. The days that move slowly, softly, and almost invisibly. The ones that don’t look impressive from the outside, but feel deeply nourishing on the inside.

A love letter to cozy, character-driven films.

I’ve always been drawn to stories that unfold gently. The ones that don’t rush to impress. The ones that linger in silence. The ones that trust the audience enough to let meaning rise slowly, like warmth spreading through cold hands. In a world that feels louder and faster by the day, I find myself craving stories that don’t shout to be heard. Stories that sit beside you instead of pulling you forward. Stories that leave room to breathe.

There’s something about the turn of the year that carries a strange kind of pressure. Even though I genuinely love the ritual of New Year’s Eve—the reflection, the quiet hope, the symbolic reset—I’ve realized that my energy doesn’t actually reset in January. If anything, it rests.

What Love at the Lantern Trail Is Unlocking for Me…

There’s a particular feeling that settles into my body when I sit down to write Love at the Lantern Trail. It isn’t urgency. It isn’t pressure. It’s recognition. This story feels like a reunion with parts of myself, with places I’ve loved, and with a version of storytelling that feels less like striving and more like remembering.

Directing The Christmas Witch has been one of the most transformative experiences of my creative life. It asked something of me that writing alone never had: a willingness to trust. Trust myself. Trust my team. Trust the story. Trust, I learned, is its own kind of surrender… a loosening of the grip I didn’t even realize I had. I’ve always associated trust with letting go of control, and while I wasn’t sure at first whether that was a strength or a vulnerability, this year taught me it’s both. It has led me down incredible paths, and it’s also stretched me in ways that required me to pause, reevaluate, and grow. Directing isn’t about holding every detail in your hands. It’s about opening your hands enough so others can hold the story with you.

Every cozy town has that one restaurant… the place where comfort, conversation, and community gather around good food like old friends. For me, that place is The Bistro at Annie’s. If I could eat here every day, I would. This restaurant is not only delicious; it’s meaningful. It’s the backdrop of so many beautiful memories: birthdays curled in candlelight, romantic date nights with my husband, business meetings for the Show Low Film Festival, and those deep, soul-hugging chats with friends when the world feels tender.

Ever wondered which Amberlight Valley character you’re most like? Maybe you’re a dreamer who sees magic in the everyday… or a healer with secrets stitched into your heart. Perhaps you’re the one who brings warmth to others even when you’re still finding your own light.

There are days when my body feels louder than my mind… when the tension gathers in my shoulders, my breath gets shallow, and everything inside me tightens before I even know why. Anxiety, for me, often arrives in my body first. It shows up as pressure, buzzing, heat, or that familiar sense of being “too full” even when nothing is happening on the outside. Over the years, I’ve learned to meet these moments with tenderness instead of shame. When my body feels overwhelmed, these are the five things that bring me back home to myself… gently, quietly, and without pressure. Each one is a soft doorway to calm. A ritual. A reminder that I’m still here.

Another year is closing softly, quietly, like a storybook page turning under warm lantern light. And as I sit here reflecting on everything that unfolded, I feel both humbled and deeply proud. This year stretched me, transformed me, held me, and taught me. It asked me to rise in new ways while also returning to pieces of myself I thought I had outgrown. More than anything, it reminded me why I tell stories in the first place: to create connection, to offer comfort, to leave a little light for someone else to find their way. Here are the moments that shaped my year and what I’m carrying with me into the next chapter.

There are book boxes… and then there is Once Upon a Book Club, where the magic leaps right out of the pages and lands in your hands. It’s immersive. It’s whimsical. It feels like story alchemy. What makes OUABC special is the way the team collaborates with authors to transform story elements into real-life treasures… a scarf from the book, a journal the character uses, a symbolic item wrapped in mystery until the exact moment you reach that page. It’s like the story whispering, Here… this is for you.

There are moments in life when a story arrives like a whisper… soft, persistent, impossible to ignore. Hashtag Blessed was one of those whispers for me. It came during a season of transition, healing, and rediscovery… and it became the start of a journey I never expected to take.

There’s something about Nick L. Klaus that feels both familiar and extraordinary. The kind of presence that makes you wonder if what you just witnessed was pure coincidence… or a touch of magick. Like the valley itself, we don’t truly know how long Nick has been around… only that he’s woven into its very fabric. He’s part secret, part guardian, part friend. A quiet constant. The kind of presence you can rely on, even if you can’t explain why. Meet Nick L. Klaus: Amberlight Valley’s Very Own Santa.

Whether you’re curling up solo, gathering the family, or winding down after a long day, there’s something sacred about a cozy movie night — that quiet pause between the chaos where you can just feel. Here are some of my favorite films to reach for when the air turns crisp and the cocoa’s warm — stories filled with heart, humor, and the kind of hope that glows even in the coldest season.

Ever wonder which Hashtag Blessed character you’re most like? Maybe you’re the heartfelt dreamer who still believes in second chances… or maybe you’re the one keeping everyone else together (with a side of sass and baked goods).

After every creative storm comes the quiet. A space that asks not for output, but for softness. I’ve learned the hard way that rest isn’t a reward; it’s part of the art itself. The body knows when it’s time to exhale, even when the mind still wants to sprint.

The week after filming always feels like the in-between of worlds… too full of echoes to be silent, too quiet to be loud. There’s also a special kind of fatigue that comes after pouring your whole soul into a story. It’s equal parts joy and ache. This time, instead of rushing to the next thing, I decided to treat recovery like another creative ritual… one made of slow mornings, cups of tea, and small acts of gentleness.

The moment I stepped through the door of Woodland Wellness, I could already feel the Amberlight Apothecary stirring to life. The scent of herbs and candle wax, the way sunlight pooled across the floor, the quiet hum of transformation… it was as if the world I’d written had finally decided to step out of the page and breathe beside us. This enchanting transformation wouldn’t have been possible without my dear friend Ryanna Hendrix, the owner of Woodland Wellness. Her kindness, creativity, and willingness to open her space to our production brought so much heart to this part of the film. I’m endlessly grateful to her for sharing it with us.

The first time I watched Legally Blonde, I knew two things:

1. I wanted a bend-and-snap moment someday.

2. I needed a go-to nail girl in my life.

Years ago, I met Jamie when she was working in another salon. Even back then, her work stood out, and I adored every appointment I had with her. Fast forward to today, and Jamie is the proud owner of Posh & Polished, a women-owned salon right here in Lakeside.

Directing is one of those roles that looks glamorous from the outside, but when you’re in the middle of it, it’s equal parts creativity, problem-solving, and trust. Every day on set is full of decisions—some small, some huge—all of which shape how a story comes alive on screen. Today, I want to share a few of my favorite lessons and tools with you—whether you’re a filmmaker yourself, a storyteller curious about the process, or just someone who loves a peek behind the scenes.

When I first stepped into the world of film, I didn’t expect to find myself in the director’s chair. Writing has always been my first love, but directing? That felt like another world entirely. And yet, over time, I’ve discovered how naturally the two roles intertwine. Stories are meant to be seen and felt, not just read—and directing has given me a new way to bring them to life. Today, I want to share a few reflections from my director’s journey so far, in case you’re curious about what it looks like behind the scenes (or secretly dreaming of directing your own stories one day).

One of my very favorite events each autumn is the Show Low Film Festival, a celebration of storytelling that brings filmmakers from around the world right here to our mountain town. Each October, our theaters fill with new voices, fresh perspectives, and stories you won’t find on streaming platforms. And what makes it even more special? This festival is born out of love… love for film, for connection, and for our White Mountain community. I thought I’d share a little behind-the-scenes look at the festival, along with reasons you’ll want to join us whether you’re a filmmaker or simply a lover of good stories.