A Pause for Beauty and Creativity in Paris

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By Norma Hopcraft

I urge you to take a moment to bathe in stained glass beauty. 

The walls of St. Chapelle in Paris are mostly made of glass. It's an architectural feat by the French who pulled this off in 1248. 

If the wall isn't made of glass, it's stenciled with all kinds of designs in gilt paint (a detailed photo below).

Saint Chapelle is breathtaking. 

What places, either man-made or in nature, have you been in that you thought were exquisite? Please comment below and share it with all of us so we can explore it too!

Now I'll let you enjoy St. Chapelle in peace:

What places, either man-made or in nature, have you been in that you thought were exquisite? Please comment below and share it with all of us so we can explore it too!

Adirondack High

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By Norma Hopcraft

The scent of a foot of new-fallen snow. Just pause for a moment and imagine it. Take a relaxing break to think about "woodsbathing" (Japanese term) in a forest with every twig dusted by white powder.

Please do come with me now to enjoy the cross-country skiing I did over New Year's.

I was there for four nights, during which we got 16 inches of snow. One morning it was 6 degrees when I got up, with a "feels like" temperature of -1.

But the pristine snow was beautiful!! The woods were beautiful!! 

I was in the Tughill area of the Adirondacks, in a ski lodge called Osceola XC Ski. Kristin and Tom are the excellent hosts, and they're crazy about winter. Good thing, because there's lots of it here.

Blue-eyed Barrow

He's one of Kristin's two Euro Hounds. These dogs are bred to pull sleds mid-distances (30-300 miles in a day). They are a blend of husky, German short hair pointer and saluki. Kristin says she has yet to truly tire them out, but I can testify: they are on the run ALL day.

Barrow went out with me on my first try at snow-shoeing. He would gallop way ahead, turn, and wait. He'd disappear around a curve, and I'd think, I've lost him. But when I got around the curve, there he was! Then he'd dash past me, heading toward the lodge. I thought he was abandoning me in favor of checking to see if there was kibble in his bowl yet. But no, back he would come, galloping at top speed. Then stop, turn, and wait. He stuck with me the whole time I was out, except when we were once again in sight of the lodge. I was very glad to have his company my first unsteady time on snowshoes.

He and his half-brother Slate followed other skiers too, every day, all day. They did not stop for one moment. More pics of the Euro Hounds below.

Me, heading out onto the groomed trails.

The wind would toss the tops of the 40-foot-tall Christmas trees and snow would slip to the next lower branch, and the next -- a mini avalanche of pure powder! Beautiful. Would have filmed it for you but I never knew when it would happen. 

Despite day-after-day below-freezing temperatures, this stream was still running, cutting a path through the drifts.

We got a lot of snow.

My athletic sister, a twinkle-toes on skis.

I highly recommend this place -- rustic, with friendly, helpful hosts. You can rent or buy skis and snowshoes, boots and poles, with personal guidance from Kristin. 

Just one of the beautiful trails.

Left a Mohawk on this big car, where I couldn't reach.

This is how folks who live in the Adirondacks get around in winter. Snowmobiles parked outside the self-styled "World Famous Osceola Hotel."

Tom grooming the trails with Slate and Barrow supervising.

They do rest, but they don't really NEED to rest.

Be sure to see the short video of the two black dogs frolicking with each other on pure white snow, below.

Getting home was easy. The roads are thoroughly sanded after every snowfall -- it must be like Jones Beach around here in summer. I was able to easily drive home to Rochester. Don't let fear of the roads stop you from XC ski! 

This poem explains winter in the Adirondacks beautifully. It crossed my path by pure serendipity. I would credit the writer if I knew his or her name:

And one last glimpse of Slate and Barrow:

 

Seven tips for greater creativity in the New Year

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By Norma Hopcraft 

Take some basic steps toward exercising your native creativity in 2026.

The first step is to realize that you ARE creative -- every human has to be in order to 1) survive and 2) thrive. Give yourself credit for the coping mechanisms you've developed, and for the cooking, workplace strategies, fun childcare, homemaking, garage organizing you've done. You ARE creative!

Be open to the idea that in art, you can't do anything wrong. Even something that you'd like to label a mistake can be worked in to make something better. 

Cultivate a mindset of readiness to be delighted. This could be with people you see every day -- you feel like you know them, but be open and ready to be amazed. And inspired.

Is surfing in a storm creative? Say why or why not below! Was my sister creative to capture this moment? You betcha! Watching for serendipities counts.

Take an awe walk. Be open to being awestruck by clouds, trees, sky. This practice has been studied and found to be effective in alleviating pain and depression, if practiced regularly. It will lift your mood for creativity too.

Strike up conversations with strangers, if you don't already. Chat about the weather and listen for a quirky comment -- then ask a polite follow up question. Get ready to laugh, or disagree quietly, but we all have much in common that can be explored.

Then do some sitzplatz: that's German for stay in one place (I call it "butt in chair") long enough to apply some paint to canvas, get some words on paper, pick out a woodworking project. Some people stride around as they paint, but they stay near the project they're working on.

Set a goal for what you want to work on in 2026, then make some room to do sitzplatz every day, even if only for a short while. Best if it's at the same time every day. That way, your muse will know what time to meet with you.

Please comment below with your goals and plans. What will you be working on in 2026? I'd be delighted to learn from you and encourage you!

Dublin, Paris, the Irish and the French

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By Norma Hopcraft

Dublin was just okay after the beautiful architecture of Paris. Dublin was gritty and reminded me of NYC. 

But the Dubliners are so nice! I stepped off the bus from the airport, completely disoriented, not knowing which way was which. I asked an older gentleman to point the way to the street I needed. "Let me help you, pet," he said with a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous smile. He got me oriented and then said, "You just go like t'at, and you'll be fine, love!" 

So kind and charming, the Irish! No other stranger could get away with calling me "pet" and "love"!

I was at Dublin Castle and asked the man at the information desk, "Where's the Beatty Museum," which is on the same large grounds. He was a little Irish man leaning on a cane. 

“If you’d like, I’ll show you the secret door so you don’t have to go all the way around,” he said in a marvelous brogue.

“I love secret doors in castles!” I said.

I found on this trip that I was liking the Irish but not Dublin that much -- scooters and bikes whizzed in every direction, stepping off the curb was to risk your life, buses coughed by constantly, and the architecture just wasn't beautiful like it is in Paris.

A young French guy was handing out headsets at Christ Church Dublin. He said he likes Dublin better than Paris.

“Why?”

"It’s vibrant. There’s music everywhere. And the people are so nice.” 

Yes, whereas the Parisians are so glum, I admit it. Complaining is a national sport in France. But the buildings in Paris are far more pleasing to the eye than the gritty thoroughfares of Dublin. 

I have the answer: Let’s take the cheery Irish on another one of their diasporas (America, Australia, the Caribbean), only this time we'll ask the Parisians to leave and put the Irish in their place. 

Voilà! The perfect city! 

Compare for yourself:

The Louvre and the Seine by moonlight.

The Musée D'Orsay and -- guess what?

L'Institute de la France.  Can a city be this beautiful?

Now for Dublin:

The bell tower of Trinity College. Not bad.

The Dublin riverfront at the River Liffey.

The riverfront in late evening.

Looks like the set for an Irish movie.

What do you think? Which city would you prefer, and why? Comment below!

The Glories of French Libraries

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"I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library." -- Jorge Luis Borges.

I've always loved reading, books, libraries, and writing. 

From the moment I realized that little black marks on a page could form pictures in my mind, I wanted to be a writer. I loved that experience, even if it was just "See Sally run," and I wanted to create that experience for other people. For me, it's all about the joy of communicating with each other with images made of words.

As I kid, I read every spare second. I read the toothpaste tube, the Cheerios box, the Rice-A-Roni carton, just for something to fill my voracious appetite for words.

Now I make a point of reading widely: some science, particularly about the stars and about the tiniest particles. Lest you think I'm a total nerd, I also read favorite mystery writers (nothing very gory, please) and classic novels (Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters being favorites). I push myself to read poetry--I prefer stories, but poets say the most with fewest words, a good habit for prose writers too.

I love books and have a pile in my reading corner. One must have a chair, a lamp, and a book. There are a number of folks who say you also need a cat in your lap, or a dog at your feet. I don't have a cat now, but I have happy memories of Ninja, a Siamese. I bought him fresh out of my divorce, splurging on him when I could have gone to a shelter and gotten an American cat. When the owner named her price, I sat in stunned silence. Then she brought the price way down. 

Really, one ought to practice stunned silence. It works.

And I love libraries. I own one cocktail table book, and it's about the world's most beautiful libraries. I've been in a few of them now, but not yet in the Library of Congress, which is stunning.

Here's that quote again, because its worthy of being repeated: "I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library," wrote Jorge Luis Borges.

I agree. In Paradise I will also compose music like Bach, do the high jump like an Olympic athlete, and write novels even better than Jane Austen. In heaven, I will be published to critical and popular acclaim! My dream for 30 years, still waiting for it to come true. Maybe in Paradise.

There's a beautiful library in Paris where I wrote The Paris Writers Circle ten years ago, when I lived in Paris for a year. I commuted to it six days a week. It's called the Bibliothèque Historique de la Ville de Paris. BHVP for short.

I've explored other historic libraries in Paris. In my 2019 trip, I worked on my next novel in The Richelieu, The Arsenal, and The Mazarine.

This November 2025 trip to Paris, however, I made a new start on writing that novel. It's about a set designer, and a fashion designer wanna-be, sharing an apartment in Brooklyn and working in Manhattan (I don't do the Bronx, Queens, or Staten Island :)

I had written almost half in 2019 and recently decided to start absolutely from scratch. Every chapter written fresh. 

It's going well, thanks to the guidance of story consultant Lisa Cron's book. She says each character has to have a third rail. I had read that each character should have a visceral desire and an inner struggle that blocks her. But Cron brings those two elements together and says each character should have a third rail with two sides to it: the want and the misbelief that blocks it. 

I love the way she integrates the character struggle! My first couple of re-written chapters are electro-magnetically charged!

Now I'd like to share pictures from the BHVP. It was built as a mansion for a duchess in the 1500s. The United States has nothing like this:

Here are the gates, on Rue Pavée in the neighborhood known as Le Marais.

Do you often see a facade like this in the U.S.?

In the corner, the door to Paradise, the library.

This is the workroom. It's silent even though it's full of people. Everyone is focused on their work. It's the most marvelous place I've ever been in to write. I love, love, love it.

More of the facade.

The opposite corner from the door to Paradise.

A detail of the beams in the work room. Every day I asked for a seat "under the angels, because I work better there." That I said it in French (after looking up the word for beams), tickles me.

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A Story from my journalism career

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By Norma Hopcraft

Down the right hand column of this blog you can see my three new covers for the Tricia Maguire romantic suspense series.

Tricia Maguire is a feisty, funny young widow and journalist who takes big risks to find the stories that will lift her from her small Central Jersey newspaper to The New York Times.

She takes risks and lands in precarious situations. Just as I did when I was a reporter in Central Jersey.

I'll allow that she takes bigger risks than I ever did.

Here's the story:

Even though I didn't take the risks my character does, sometimes I was really scared.

At one point I was given an assignment to go to a fur salon in Central Jersey and interview the owner. His neighbors kept complaining—to the police, and when they did nothing, to the newspaper I worked for—that he was training pit bulls in his backyard. He had a full-length leather suit with thick gauntlets and targets for the dogs to attack -- the whole set-up for training dogs to attack intruders.

So I went on the assignment, not too concerned, thinking I’d interview the owner amongst the mink coats. Instead, he led me to his break room in the basement – where six pit bulls were hanging out!

He said they would be fine. I didn’t want to admit that I was scared out of my mind with this arrangement. But I couldn’t let my editor down. I wanted to fulfill my assignment. I was ambitious to do well at the newspaper.

So I stepped into the break room. The dogs ignored me. Thank God. In retrospect, I should never have taken that risk.

My character Tricia has the same desire to fulfill assignments—and not just that but a burning desire to rise in the journalism world. In my novel Envy Kills, she interviews an ex-con who has a German Shepherd on a leash—and then he lets go of it. She takes even bigger risks than that in the story. Both you and I can enjoy her tale from the comfort of our armchairs.

Click on one of the covers to the right to order your book today. Envy Kills went live today, and reviews are in:

"I love it! It's fun! It's a page turner!" -- Val J.

"Deep, rich, with interesting, believable characters -- and I'm an English major!" -- John M.

Next up: Photos from Paris, where I'm staying with friends and enjoying the City of Light.

Back to the Sahara desert for a beauty fix

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 By Norma Hopcraft

In desert camp I laid in the sand that night for a while to soak in the vast display of stars, sharp and clear, with the Milky Way a cloudy streak across the apex of the sky. So many billions of stars in just one galaxy, and there are an estimated 2 trillion more galaxies. That's up from an older estimate of 100-200 billion because of the Hubble and Webb space telescopes.

I left the night-sky vista reluctantly when the desert chill drove me into my tent. I was grateful to crawl between clean white sheets, with a soft blanket above, and then the rough camel-hair blanket. I was overnighting in a tent in the Sahara desert. It was beyond my wildest dreams.

The desert was beautiful in morning light.

Camels were still with us, some nestled into the sand overnight. I believe that the Tuareg tribesmen, les hommes bleus, who guarded the camp overnight, used them as their mode of transportation to get to their jobs.

The temperature is about to go up with the sun.

I couldn't get enough of these exotic (to me) creatures.

A panoramic view of the desert, ending with our mode of transporation back to civilization.

Our driver, whose name I regret forgetting. All the Tuareg drivers displayed an infectious joie de vivre. Their music does to (look into downloading some Tinariwen, Grammy-award winning Tuareg musicion). Tuaregs are a specific ethnic group within the larger Berber people of North Africa, who are known for their nomadic culture and distinct Berber language, Tamasheq.

"Berber" comes from Roman times and means "barbarian" or "foreigner." The Berbers refer to themselves as Amazigh, or "free people."

Here's yours truly in blue.

Our SUVs took our group back to town, perched precariously at the edge of the dunes, in a scene that's at least 1,000 years old--except for the SUV on the left edge.

In town, a tower inscribed with Berber designs.

Our bus headed away from the parched region into the High Atlas mountains.