Over the past seven years, I have written more than 1,200 pages of my Tracks of Our Tears trilogy. In that time, I have breathed life into a cast of unforgettable characters—each one born from imagination, nurtured into existence, and made real through story. They have become like my children. In some ways, I know them more intimately than many members of my own family.

They are always on my mind. Their journeys—though fictional—are filled with struggles I have never personally endured, yet I carry their burdens. I fall asleep thinking about them, worrying for their safety, praying for their well-being, even though we’ll never meet.
These are multi-generational sagas, stretching across 135 years of history. In telling their stories, I have lived and died with them. I have felt their joy and despair. I have heard their laughter—and their final breaths. Some must let go of loved ones, dreams, or even their sense of identity just to survive. And with each of them, a part of me is born, and a part of me fades. Like family, I am grateful to have known them, to have loved them, and to mourn their losses.

Life, like fiction, moves forward—relentlessly and without pause.

Through these private reflections, my characters have given me something profound: a deeper understanding of my own life. Their experiences illuminate my own joys and sorrows. The lens through which I see the world has been reshaped, offering richer insight into love, loss, and the strength it takes to let go.

I’ve been fortunate to love—and be loved by—a few truly remarkable women. Each stood by me with grace and loyalty. My wife, Regina, devoted her life to my happiness and to raising our three loving children. Her legacy lives on through them and their children.

Two of these women endured unthinkable losses, becoming widows far too soon. Each raised children while carrying the weight of unimaginable grief. All three are shining examples of strength and resolve—women who refused to bow to failure or defeat. Their courage and determination inspired the strong female characters in my novels—characters who now serve as role models for thousands of readers facing their own everyday challenges.
These women—and the characters they inspired—remind me that letting go is not a weakness. It is an act of courage. Whether we are releasing a person, a dream, or a version of ourselves, the art of letting go is what allows us to grow, to endure, and to continue writing the next chapter of our lives.

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 Over the last seven years, life has brought its fair share of ups and downs—something we all learn to accept and navigate in our own way. This has also been true of my journey as a writer, particularly with my Tracks Of Our Tears trilogy.

I’ve never struggled with the writing itself; in that regard, I consider myself one of the fortunate few. But recently, I’ve come to realize the toll that hundreds of book signings and promotional events can take. These commitments often demand so much of my time and energy that they occasionally dull the joy I once felt so freely.

Don’t get me wrong—I cherish meeting readers. It’s in those moments of conversation, laughter, and sometimes even tears that my passion is reignited. It’s the connection, the storytelling, the shared humanity that fuels me. Still, some days, that spark is harder to find.

This past weekend at Indigo Burlington was one of those days. Sales were slow. The weather was unsettled. My optimism was fading. I even considered packing up early.

And then, Mahalia appeared.

A lovely sixteen-year-old young woman, she approached my table with quiet confidence and a warm smile. “Do you remember me?” she asked. I did—though I couldn’t recall her name right away. She had visited me months earlier and bought From Promise to Peril, the first book in the series.

What followed was a conversation I will never forget - touching and memorable from a
young lady I barely knew.

Mahalia was effusive with praise. She told me how deeply she’d connected with the characters, how moved she was by the story—and then, with tears in her eyes, she spoke about a quote in the dedication that had touched her heart. It was something my dear wife Regina had written to me when we were just seventeen—words I had quietly cherished for decades. Somehow, Mahalia had seen their beauty too.

Her sincerity lifted me in a way she couldn’t possibly have known. In that moment, her kind words nourished my spirit.

I vividly remembered her dear grandfather who had purchased my first book for her months ago. Sure enough, he gladly stepped up again to pay for her new copy of the sequel, Tracks Of Our Tears. Mahalia was delighted.

Unknowingly, Mahalia pulled me up by my bootstraps. Her kind compliments validated me as an author—the power of the written word that every successful author silently strives to achieve.

I write today’s blog to graciously acknowledge to Mahalia, the joy and reassurance I needed at that particular time. Had I succumbed to my fatigue and the subtle shade of despondency that had begun to overtake me, the glorious opportunity to meet her again would not have happened. I will always remember how you brightened my day, Mahalia, in a way only you could have accomplished.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I look forward to hearing your impressions of
Tracks Of Our Tears!

Best regards to your grandfather too!
James