March 2026

Dear ,

In like a lion, out like a lamb, they used to say of March. The reality of that has always been hit or miss here in Western New York — growing up, we were likely to have more snow at the end of March than we did in the beginning — but the everyday experience is even stranger now. The month feels less like two different animals and more like a single chimeric beast, razor teeth hiding behind grazing lips, claws where there should be cloven hooves.

For me, March is a test of patience. Publishing, it turns out, is mostly waiting, and I long to distract myself with other things. After three beautiful days in a row, I want to clear away last year’s debris from the garden, prune the roses, plan a week’s worth of dinners on the grill, get serious about my running routine, but no, no. It’s too early yet. The small things are still sleeping in last year’s leaves. The frost will come again. My dinner plans will be thwarted by rain. Nature will laugh at my inflexible running schedule.

And so I have to wait a little longer. I snatch running days here and there. I stare at my egg cartons full of soil and seeds beneath their grow lights. I make dinner in the slow-cooker. I try to embrace the capricious nature of the month, because I, too, feel like something of a chimera these days. I used to thrive on routine, following a color-coded hourly system in my calendar to make sure I spent time on everything that mattered to me. I was one of those insufferable morning people, springing out of bed at 5:45 every day to work out, time changes be damned. Discipline was the path to everything I wanted, but now I wonder if I need to find a new path.

I got up at nine yesterday morning. I worked out twice this week. I washed out the big flower pots instead of cleaning the kitchen. One day I am possessed by the ghost of discipline and the next it abandons me to whimsy. The me who created that color-coded hourly schedule follows in my shadow as I flit from project to project, gritting her teeth at all the things I’m not accomplishing.

And there is much left to accomplish. There is the next book, a better book, a high-concept, easy-to-pitch book. The next contract. A bigger contract. Film options. Awards. The things I want are limitless. My discipline is — (was?) — finite. And I’m a little scared, because I don’t know if I’m simply falling into a bad habit that needs breaking, or if this is a temporary state, some signal from the universe or my subconscious or elsewhere to take a minute and enjoy the view from here even if there are peaks left to climb.

Maybe the answer will be in the April showers, or the May flowers. In the meantime, I’d love to know: What are you waiting for? Gardening season? Running weather? Discipline? Inspiration? The dramatic murder of a tyrant? Let’s hear it!

News and Events

This month, you can win a free print copy of The Devil Knows Her Name. My publisher is giving away 20 physical ARCs on Goodreads, so if you’d like a way to support the book without spending any money, this is one way!

Other free ways to support The Devil Knows Her Name:

• Request it from your local library

• If you use the Libby app, find TDKHN there and click “notify me”

• If you’re a Spotify subscriber, you can pre-save the audiobook

• Request it on NetGalley and leave a review

Your March Story: Bucket Head

A dangerous wildlife encounter brings three unlikely people together — and reveals the rot spoiling a small town from within.

Until next time,

-C