I recently had a discussion with friends about pepper spray. . . One friend keeps a canister with her and even sent me the link to the one she likes. I haven’t ordered it yet, but it’s in my cart, ready to purchase next time I place an order. Two of us have daughters who are college-aged and both have been in situations that make me cringe when I think about them. As moms of older children, we can no longer dictate their actions or what places they frequent, but at the same time, we can arm them with something that might help them in a difficult situation. In uncomfortable conditions like dark parking lots, I normally walk with my keys fisted in my hands, one pointing outward in preparation for some kind of attack I’m optimistic will never really happen. I’m even happy to see that as time passes more places are installing the police call boxes that are an easy jog from every position. Also, I’ve read an amazing book about trusting your instincts and being aware of the danger around you. I highly recommend The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Becker. I believe everyone should read…

Research has a way of pulling us historical authors down into a never-ending spiral of, oooh, I must know more. For some of us, it’s the most fascinating part of our job and for even more of us history geeks, it’s like catnip. We’ve always been infatuated with those who came before us. But that must be the reason we love the genre to begin with. Recently, I was listening to a YouTube video of the song, The Massacre at Glencoe, sung by John McDermott. I found this ballad on a previous trip down the research rabbit hole and I’m still occasionally haunted by it, so when the mood strikes, I pull it up and listen again. The song is about the true story that inspired the “Red Wedding” in Game of Thrones. It’s the tale of the slaughter of innocent members of clan MacDonald by Campbells, who were under the MacDonald roof as guests and it has always touched me emotionally. This particular day, I started bawling. That’s when I decided to go on a quest. There must be something about me that makes this reach into my soul the way it does. I suddenly remembered the magazine I’d…