60 Seconds To Earth’s Wrath
In Sixty Seconds to Earth’s Wrath, Joy B. Wren delivers a gripping, deeply emotional novel about survival, family, and the extraordinary courage of ordinary people when the ground beneath their lives gives way. Inspired by the devastating September 2025 earthquake in Northern Cebu and the catastrophic flooding brought by Typhoon Tino that November, the story unfolds in the fictional Philippine town of Tubod, where generations of families have built their lives around the mountains, rivers, and fertile land they call home. Wren introduces us to a close-knit rural community whose everyday struggles are already considerable, even before nature unleashes its fury. There are family disagreements, financial troubles, old wounds, dangerous secrets, and the constant pressure of trying to make ends meet. Through these interconnected lives, Wren creates a world that feels lived in, with all the affection, friction, humor, and uncertainty that come with belonging to a family and a community. When disaster strikes, the emotional stakes are immediate because we understand just how much these people stand to lose.
At the heart of the novel is Irene, an eighty-four-year-old matriarch whose fierce devotion to her family and neighbors provides much of the story’s emotional foundation. She’s stubborn, sharp-witted, compassionate, and wonderfully human, the kind of woman who can face danger with remarkable composure yet still ache over the smallest suffering of a grandchild. Around her, Wren assembles a memorable cast, including Danny, a resourceful older man whose courage and practical knowledge prove invaluable, and Alvin, whose warmth, humor, and instinct to care for others bring welcome moments of lightness. The younger characters are equally important, revealing how children experience fear, loss, and uncertainty while discovering surprising reserves of strength. Wren gives these relationships room to breathe through ordinary gestures: preparing a meal, comforting a frightened child, offering shelter, or simply refusing to abandon someone in need. These moments give the novel its heart and make the characters’ struggle feel intensely personal.
Wren’s storytelling is cinematic, moving between households, mountain paths, collapsing landscapes, and desperate rescue efforts with a sense of mounting urgency. Her descriptions of the natural world are particularly vivid. The earth seems almost alive, communicating through unusual silences, shifting soil, restless animals, and unsettling changes in familiar surroundings. The novel also explores the relationship between people and the land that sustains them, including the traditional knowledge passed down through generations. Just as compelling is its examination of community responsibility and political accountability. Wren shows how disaster exposes existing inequalities, especially for rural families who depend on limited resources and struggle to make their voices heard. Questions about leadership, corruption, environmental neglect, and the treatment of vulnerable communities run throughout the narrative. Yet even amid scenes of enormous destruction, there’s an unmistakable tenderness in the storytelling. Humor surfaces unexpectedly, friendships deepen, and generosity becomes a powerful expression of hope.
What makes Sixty Seconds to Earth’s Wrath especially compelling is its understanding that survival involves far more than escaping physical danger. It means finding the courage to face another morning, caring for people whose lives have been shattered, and discovering what remains possible when everything familiar has changed. Wren captures the exhausting uncertainty of disaster alongside the resilience of people who continue planting, cooking, searching, loving, and helping because life demands it. There’s an urgency to her writing that reflects both the unpredictability of nature and the fragile circumstances of those who live closest to it. Her affection for the Filipino people, their humor, resourcefulness, strong family bonds, and enduring generosity gives the novel a distinctive emotional identity. It’s a story filled with fear and grief, but also with the everyday acts of humanity that make perseverance possible. Long after its most harrowing scenes have passed, what stays with the reader is the determination of people who refuse to give up on one another.
Pages: 235
You Were Not Supposed to Wake Up
In You Were Not Supposed to Wake Up, Imtinan Ahmad delivers an ambitious work of investigative nonfiction that examines the forces shaping modern society, human behavior, and individual belief. Combining historical accounts, institutional research, psychological studies, and Islamic teachings, Ahmad presents a sweeping examination of how power operates through the systems people encounter every day. His central argument is that many aspects of contemporary life, from digital technology and entertainment to education and finance, have developed in ways that encourage dependence, distraction, and conformity. Drawing on his experiences as a Pakistani broadcaster and public commentator, Ahmad approaches these subjects with a personal sense of urgency. His transformation from someone who participated in modern media culture to someone determined to question its foundations gives the book an autobiographical dimension. Early in the introduction, he declares, “This book is the locked door.” The statement captures his approach to the reader: direct, challenging, and determined to provoke sustained examination of familiar institutions and assumptions.
Organized into seven parts and thirty chapters, the book covers an extraordinary range of interconnected subjects. Ahmad begins by exploring social media, the psychology of approval, influencer culture, and the entertainment industry’s influence on identity and behavior. He then examines historical developments in sexuality, family structures, education, and consumer culture, connecting these subjects to broader questions about social engineering and institutional authority. Subsequent chapters investigate pharmaceutical companies, food production, media ownership, central banking, debt, surveillance technologies, and political power. The discussion incorporates figures such as Edward Bernays, Alfred Kinsey, and influential business and political leaders, alongside documented controversies involving corporate misconduct and government programs. Ahmad’s recurring question, “Who benefits from this?”, provides a unifying thread across these diverse topics. By tracing financial incentives, institutional relationships, and historical decisions, he encourages readers to consider how systems influence personal choices and public understanding. The extensive range of material gives the book its distinctive character, presenting modern civilization as a network of relationships whose consequences deserve closer scrutiny.
Ahmad’s writing is forceful, accessible, and frequently confrontational. He uses short sentences, pointed questions, historical anecdotes, and direct appeals to the reader to maintain momentum through complicated subjects. His ability to connect everyday experiences, such as checking a smartphone or pursuing a university degree, with larger institutional questions makes the material engaging. The book also contains an extensive notes and sources section, demonstrating the author’s intention to anchor his arguments in identifiable records and published research. Its investigative method, however, requires careful consideration. Ahmad frequently moves from documented events to expansive interpretations of institutional motives, spiritual significance, and coordinated influence. These connections form an essential part of his thesis, although the strength of the evidence varies considerably across chapters. Some discussions examine well-established corporate abuses and historical practices, while others advance highly contested interpretations, particularly concerning climate science, public health, and political developments. His confident presentation can make these distinctions difficult to discern. Readers who approach the book with both intellectual openness and a willingness to examine its sources independently will be best positioned to evaluate the arguments on their individual merits.
What gives You Were Not Supposed to Wake Up its strongest identity is the Islamic worldview that informs its examination of contemporary life. Ahmad draws extensively on the Quran, prophetic traditions, and concepts including fitrah, the innate human disposition toward recognizing God, and ghaflah, the condition of spiritual heedlessness. Through this framework, he interprets modern problems of distraction, materialism, alienation, and dependence as questions concerning human purpose and moral responsibility. Although the book addresses readers across religious backgrounds, its spiritual perspective is integral to its reasoning and emotional force. Ahmad’s concern for younger generations, particularly his own children, lends sincerity to his exploration of the world they are inheriting. The result is a provocative and deeply conviction-driven book that combines cultural criticism, historical investigation, and religious reflection. Its breadth and passionate delivery invite engagement, while the complexity of its claims rewards thoughtful evaluation. You Were Not Supposed to Wake Up will appeal especially to readers interested in the intersection of faith, institutional power, media influence, and personal autonomy, offering a distinctive perspective on the relationship between the structures of modern life and the values by which people choose to live.
Pages: 313 | ISBN : 978-9699596735
The Most Meaningful Generosity
The Magical Beach Tree is a heartwarming Christmas story about a young girl named Hildi who, with her brother and dog, transforms a discarded evergreen tree into a symbol of kindness, creativity, and community spirit. What do you think makes Hildi’s decision to give the discarded tree a new purpose so meaningful?
Most people would have walked right past that tree. Someone had decided it wasn’t needed anymore. Hildi sees it differently. She looks at something forgotten and imagines what it could become. That’s what makes her choice meaningful: it’s a small act, but it comes from kindness and imagination, not from anything she was asked to do. And because she acts, others feel invited to join in. One child’s decision becomes something the whole community shares.
How does the story reflect your own beliefs about generosity and community?
I believe the most meaningful generosity is often the quietest. In the real story, no one organized anything. Neighbors simply added their own treasures from the beach, and painted-rock “presents” appeared beneath the branches. To this day, no one knows who left them. People just wanted to be part of something good. That’s the kind of community I love, and it’s what I hoped to capture in the book. You don’t need to buy something to make something magical. Sometimes the best gifts are what we find, make, and share together.
In a world that can sometimes feel divided, what do you hope The Magical Beach Tree inspires families and communities to do?
I hope it inspires people to notice what’s right in front of them, whether that’s a forgotten tree, a beautiful shoreline, or a neighbor they haven’t met yet, and to add something of their own. The beach tree brought together people who didn’t know each other at all: families, visitors, strangers with cameras, someone painting rocks in secret. No one had to agree on anything except that it was worth celebrating. If one small tree can do that, I hope families feel encouraged to start something small in their own communities and see who joins in.
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It is a beautiful story about people who were able to see magic in an ordinary event and turn it into joy for all their neighbourhood.
Inceptum Incubus
Xen Ovid-Sophron-Naso’s Inceptum Incubus is a wildly imaginative science fiction novella that takes readers thousands of years into the future, where political rivalries, intergalactic warfare, advanced technology, and courtroom drama collide. Set primarily in the year 30,050 AD, the story unfolds across the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies, with excursions into the Orion system and other distant corners of space. At the center of this sprawling universe is Margaretta Du Plessis, a fiercely outspoken prime minister whose political battles frequently become as entertaining as the cosmic conflicts surrounding her. The discovery of cryogenically preserved individuals, including a senator convicted of assassination centuries earlier, introduces questions about justice, punishment, and the passage of time. Meanwhile, tensions between planetary governments create opportunities for military confrontations, technological breakthroughs, and some wonderfully peculiar diplomatic exchanges. It’s an ambitious setup, and the author clearly enjoys exploring the possibilities of a future where humanity’s political institutions have expanded far beyond Earth.
One of the book’s most distinctive qualities is its combination of futuristic worldbuilding and recognizable political behavior. Even with advanced spacecraft, holographic parliamentary sessions, and sophisticated androids, politicians are still arguing over taxes, workers’ rights, government spending, and personal scandals. Du Plessis is particularly memorable because of her combative personality and her willingness to confront opponents with insults, sarcasm, and occasionally outrageous behavior. The recurring parliamentary debates give the story a theatrical quality, making some exchanges feel like political satire performed on an intergalactic stage. There’s also an impressive variety of imagined technology, from cryogenic medical treatments and artificial workers to intelligence operatives equipped with implanted communications systems. The author’s descriptions of distant planets, unusual celestial phenomena, and elaborate space installations reveal a genuine fascination with the cosmos. These details give the book its distinctive personality, even when the sheer number of characters, locations, and political disputes demands extra attention from the reader.
In some ways, Inceptum Incubus recalls Douglas Adams’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, particularly in its willingness to place familiar human absurdities within an enormous science fiction universe. Both authors recognize the comic possibilities of bureaucracy, political authority, and the peculiar behavior of supposedly intelligent beings. Ovid-Sophron-Naso, however, approaches these subjects with a more confrontational political voice. His characters frequently deliver lengthy arguments about government policies, and his portrayal of ideological conflict is direct and unapologetic. The resemblance to Adams is strongest in the juxtaposition of extraordinary technology with surprisingly ordinary institutional squabbles. At the same time, Inceptum Incubus has its own unusual rhythm. Its episodic structure moves between courtroom proceedings, military operations, political debates, and scientific projects, creating the impression of watching several interconnected galactic news stories unfold. The dialogue is often emphatic and repetitive, which reinforces the characters’ personalities but I do feel that it can occasionally slow the narrative’s momentum.
What makes Inceptum Incubus interesting is the enthusiasm behind its expansive vision of the future. Ovid-Sophron-Naso imagines a universe where intergalactic travel is commonplace, alien species participate in recognizable democratic institutions, and technological innovation continually reshapes employment, medicine, and international relations. Beneath the colorful confrontations are questions about political power, the treatment of workers, the administration of justice, and the consequences of technological progress. The book also has an unmistakably eccentric sense of humor, especially when parliamentary opponents exchange increasingly personal remarks while conducting supposedly serious government business. Readers who enjoy unconventional science fiction, politically charged satire, and imaginative settings filled with unusual personalities will find plenty to engage with here. Its unconventional storytelling style and abundance of competing storylines make it a particularly distinctive reading experience. Inceptum Incubus offers a curious, energetic journey through a future in which the universe has grown enormously, while the personalities and disputes that shape political life remain remarkably familiar.
Pages: 96 | ASIN : B0HHNQBQN8
A Cherished Gift
The Girl in the Purple Jacket follows a young East German woman whose quest for freedom amid the fall of the Berlin Wall becomes a personal journey of courage, love, self-discovery, and the determination to shape her future. What inspired you to write this book?
The people I met along the way.
I remember the woman I met on the plane to Australia in 1994. After listening to my story, she encouraged me to write a book. Many others followed, often fascinated by what everyday life had been like behind the Iron Curtain. So many people remember the fall of the Berlin Wall, yet few knew what it meant to grow up on the other side.
I’ve always loved stories. I read countless books and often came away inspired by something another person had experienced. Stories allow us to learn without being told what to think. Each reader takes away something different.
Growing up, I was often made to feel less capable than I believed myself to be. Whenever I complained about someone’s judgment, my mother would tell me, “Prove them wrong.”
And I took those words seriously.
Over the years, my interest in self-help, psychology and human behaviour led me to question many of the beliefs I’d grown up with.
I didn’t write this novel simply to tell people what happened to me. I wanted to explore what becomes possible when we stop allowing other people’s judgments to define us.
If my story encourages someone to question their own limitations, then writing it has been worthwhile.
How did you decide which aspects of Karlina’s journey would reflect historical realities and which would be fictionalized?
The historical setting and the central journey are grounded in my own experiences. I grew up in East Germany, escaped in October 1989, and experienced firsthand the challenges of building a new life in the West.
My memories, photographs, and the historical circumstances provided the foundation for the story.
Choosing to write a novel rather than a memoir was deliberate. Fiction gave me the freedom to shape those experiences into a story, develop characters and explore emotions without being confined to a purely factual account.
Where fact ends and fiction begins is something I’ll leave for the reader to discover. After all, isn’t that part of the pleasure of reading a novel?
What mattered most to me was preserving the historical and emotional truth of the journey.
During the years I spent learning the craft of writing, I came to understand the familiar advice, “Show, don’t tell,” in my own way.
Feel it first. Then show it. Let the reader decide what it means.
The purple jacket becomes a powerful symbol of confidence and possibility. What inspired this particular object, and how did its meaning evolve throughout the story?
The purple jacket is real. I still have it.
It was a gift from a relative at a time when I was searching for a way to change my life. I’d admired it long before it became mine, and I remember the excitement of finally receiving it.
It might seem strange that something as ordinary as a jacket could carry so much meaning. Yet wearing it gave me confidence when my future was uncertain. Somehow, I felt that anything was possible.
The jacket travelled with me from East Germany, through the years that followed, and eventually to Australia.
Its meaning evolved alongside my life. What began as a cherished gift became a reminder of courage, possibility, and the choices that shaped my future.
Even today, it reminds me how something small, given at the right moment, can make an extraordinary difference.
Although Karlina gains political freedom, she continues struggling with self-doubt and belonging. What did you hope readers would understand about the psychological aftermath of oppression?
Crossing a border doesn’t automatically make you free.
Growing up in East Germany meant learning what could be questioned, what was acceptable, and what was better left unsaid. Those lessons don’t simply disappear when your circumstances change.
Even after reaching the West, I discovered that freedom of movement and freedom of thought were two very different things.
Over time, I became increasingly interested in the beliefs we carry. Where do they come from? Are they really ours? And how often do we question them?
I’ve come to see being wrong not as a failure, but as an opportunity to learn something I didn’t understand before.
The invisible borders we create within ourselves aren’t confined to any country or political system. Fear, expectations, and the need for approval can restrict us wherever we live.
I wanted readers to recognise that freedom is also a personal journey. We don’t have to explain our discoveries to anyone else. Sometimes the most important conversation is the one we have with ourselves.
Perhaps the question isn’t simply where we are free to go. It’s what keeps us from moving forward.
What wall are you living behind?
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She would rather risk death than spend one more day under the former GDR communist regime.
The Girl in the Purple Jacket traces the true story of Katrin Costa through the character Karlina, born in East Germany in 1969 under the constraints of the Cold War. Growing up behind the Iron Curtain, she carried an early, instinctive knowing that life should be larger than the narrow future laid out for her. This inner knowing became the quiet compass she followed on faith, even when the world gave her nothing to believe in.
At twenty, she risked everything to escape through Prague into West Germany, carrying little more than determination, a purple jacket given in kindness, and an unshakable belief that a better life was possible.
For Karlina, the crossing became a silent test of instinct, fear and courage, marking the moment she began rebuilding herself from the ground up. She moved through refugee camps and unfamiliar systems, learning to survive in a society shaped by both opportunity and indifference, where freedom brought possibilities she had never known, but also loneliness, uncertainty and the challenge of starting over with nothing.
Her journey was marked by relationships that both scarred and uplifted, by heartbreak and resilience, and by moments of unexpected kindness that restored her faith in humanity. It would take her across borders, through danger and uncertainty, and towards a future, and a love, beyond anything she had dared imagine. Yet every step forward demanded another leap of faith, another decision to trust herself when the path ahead was anything but certain.
Beautifully capturing the courage required to leave behind everything familiar in pursuit of freedom, The Girl in the Purple Jacket is a powerful memoir-inspired novel about survival, hope and the extraordinary strength of the human spirit. It is a story of choosing possibility over fear, of discovering that home is not always a place, and of finding the courage to embrace a life, and a love, on your own terms.
Change Can Be Scary
Take My Patty follows a young girl as she adapts to the changes happening with her grandmother and learns about the early stages of Alzheimer’s and dementia. Was the story influenced by personal experiences with a loved one experiencing memory loss?
Yes, the story was inspired by my special bond with my grandmother, Marie Werner. My grandma was my special person, and she lived with Alzheimer’s for about ten years. Though the book is fictional, I pulled from real memories of the funny words and phrases she used, and our special routines together. The heart of the story comes from the way she always made me feel loved, even when her memory continued to fade.
What do Emma’s observations reveal about the ways children notice and respond to changes in someone they love?
Emma’s observations show that children are very perceptive. Children want to be involved and are caring with their loved ones. They can empathize and meet people where they are, on their level. That said, change can be scary. The story takes Emma and Grandma on a journey, both inward and outward, where Grandma ultimately needs more help and has to move. Emma doesn’t love that idea, which is relatable. In time, she learns that the move is okay. Her grandma is in a better place, and she’s still able to visit her and continue making memories.
What do you hope young readers recognize about the importance of maintaining loving connections with older family members?
I hope young readers will recognize that life is constantly changing and our relationships are precious. Older family members can give so much comfort, as can young people. As much as Grandma comforts Emma, Emma’s companionship is comforting to her as well. I also want young readers to embrace making new memories. Alzheimer’s is a diagnosis, and people can live a long time with it. New memories can be made, and loving relationships can remain, even if they look different.
How can parents and caregivers use Emma’s experiences to encourage children to express their own questions or concerns?
This book is a gentle way for parents and caregivers to open up the conversation around aging grandparents and memory loss. This topic shouldn’t be swept under the rug. I think it’s important to talk through questions and concerns kids have, I and hope this book can be used to bridge the subject. Some of the things Emma does, like keeping their routines when grandma moves, are really important for those with Dementia. Having a safe environment is important too. Even though moving Grandma is hard, this book shows that it’s a safe option. The book can be used as a way for kids to open up about their own observations with their loved ones and tackle some of the unknowns.
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But Grandma’s memory is starting to fade, and soon she needs more help than Emma can provide. As Grandma prepares to move somewhere new, Emma worries. Will Grandma remember all the special things she does with her granddaughter?
With a heartfelt message, this book offers comfort to those experiencing the early stages of Alzheimer’s and dementia, and reassurance to the loved ones who walk alongside them.
A Worm Worth Keeping Alive
The Hedgehog and the Worm follows a struggling hedgehog who befriends a wise old worm, who teaches him to break old patterns and choose who he wants to become. Why did you choose an animal fable to explore personal growth, self-mastery, and purposeful living?
I’d already written the nonfiction version of these ideas in The Alignment Quotient. But I think that book suffered from the same problem many self-help books suffer from: too much explanation and defense of the concepts. I spent a lot of time explaining the science and the philosophy, and then gave some exercises. People told me the book was brilliant and very interesting. But it didn’t help them see how it shows up inside a real life. I always wanted to write a book that could make a difference, and the nonfiction book was doing a poor job accomplishing that goal.
Then, one day, for the first time in my life, I saw a hedgehog. He was sleeping on my front lawn. I was worried a cat might get him, so I moved him into our backyard. Over the next few weeks, I noticed the slug problem in our garden had disappeared. I put out a night camera and caught that little hedgehog scouring my garden and gobbling them up. So, I started looking into hedgehogs and became fascinated.
At that time, my son was only five years old. I saw how much influence stories had on his ideas about morals, ethics, values, and how to live. It made me think about the book The Goal, which was a fictional story written to help adults understand certain concepts about processes, basically the theory of constraints. And I thought maybe the ideas from my nonfiction book would be easier to understand through a story.
That’s when the idea came together. Why not write a story about a hedgehog, borrowing the concept from 1001 Arabian Nights, where the young woman who marries the king tells him a new story every night so he won’t kill her? But in my story, the food (a worm) would stay alive by coaching the hedgehog through his rough summer. This would allow me to present deep neuroscience, social psychology, ancient and modern philosophy, and even modern coaching concepts, all through a simple fable.
I’m not a fiction writer. I’m more a nonfiction science and philosophy writer. So this project took me four years from concept to final version. Over that 4 years, it took about 29 rewrites for me to make it accurate to the science and philosophies while also making it a story that’s hard to set down once you start reading. But it was a fun learning process, and I hope this work can bring these ideas to the world and make a positive difference in people’s lives.
There’s one more thing. The worm’s name is revealed at some point in the book. He’s named after my very good friend, who died just before I started writing this book. The conversations with my friend that spanned 20 years are some of the same conversations that are in this story. I was very fortunate that his widow was able to read the draft before she died. She said he would have gotten a kick out of being this worm. So the book also became a way to honor my friend that I couldn’t have found any other way.
How does the SPICY philosophy build on the lessons Herb learns throughout the story?
SPICY is the sexy part that people want to work on. It’s a structure that helps you answer the question “Why do I get out of bed in the morning?” It’s the thing you are going to be building in the world with, and for, others. I think this is the question people who are lost want to know first. And so I struggled about whether or not to make the story begin here rather than end with it, because it tends to be the thing that motivates people: meaning and purpose.
The problem is that it’s the “you” that makes that meaning. Two people can do the exact same job, and one finds it deeply meaningful while the other is just collecting a paycheck. And it’s also the “you” that you bring to the work you do when you get out of bed, whatever it is. If you are peace, you bring peace to it. Without answering the question “Who am I?” the “Why am I here” question can be chosen from the wrong place, like fear, guilt, or what other people expect of you. And then you can end up building someone else’s life instead of your own.
So, I decided to start with the question “Who am I?” first. Like, let’s decide who you are before we decide what you are going to be doing. I worried that if we put SPICY first, then it would be like doing Ready-Shoot-Aim. But I could be wrong, and readers may find that there would be a more interesting story to be written by introducing SPICY first, and then working on the “who am I” question.
So, SPICY answers the questions “Why am I on this planet? Why do I get out of bed every morning?” And that builds on the question “Who am I?” The whole journey through the story shows Herb, with the worm’s help, creating and living into his answers to those two questions. By the end of the story, Herb has a way to live his life where he is no longer being provoked, manipulated, or controlled by others or by his circumstances. He has the ability and courage to be who he is, and he has his purpose clear in his mind. Not some highbrow concept, just his own reason that works for him.
Can you explain the difference between the Have-Do-Be and Be-Do-Have approaches to life and why that distinction is important?
Have-Do-Be is a paradigm that we, in the modern world, have been raised to believe is the way life and the world work. It says: once I have the right job, money, relationship, or body, I can do the things that will make me be who I want to be. It sounds reasonable, but when you look around at the serious regrets that are caused by it in people’s lives, it makes you wonder if there is another way.
I watched a friend lose his career as a mechanic because he injured his back. He didn’t only lose his work. He lost who he was: his ability to be a loving father who provides. From my friend’s Have-Do-Be perspective, he felt very justified in his depression. But from the outside, we can see that he can still be a good dad; he can still be a loving partner; he can still be a hard worker taking care of his family. It’s not a mechanic’s job that gives or takes that away.
And that is why, in the story, the worm asks Herb to test out flipping the paradigm to Be-Do-Have. Choose who you’ll be first, act from that, and the having follows, or it doesn’t. Either way, you’re still you. The distinction matters because you’re always being someone to yourself and others. Either you choose it, or your habits, circumstances, or even other people will choose it for you. It matters even more today, when skills and careers can disappear overnight, and people are letting AI do more and more of their thinking and decision-making.
What advice would you offer readers who understand the importance of personal growth but struggle to put that understanding into consistent practice?
Knowing usually isn’t the problem. Doing is. In the book, the worm’s one condition for teaching Herb was that he had to test the ideas and practice them. The problem with most self-help books is they give grandiose ideas that are really hard to practice. And the science on change is clear: that’s not likely to work. You have to start small, very small.
That’s why the worm has Herb starting in the moment, focusing on his actions in the next 5 seconds. Nothing big, nothing fancy, just: are you being kind, or generous, or whatever you chose, right now? And if not, the change is to start aligning your behavior right now, in the next 5 seconds, nothing more. It’s not about tomorrow, or next week, or some distant future goal. It’s tiny decisions in the moment.
The same goes for the SPICY ways forward. We start with very small actions, like picking up a piece of trash instead of walking by. Or even just being kind to yourself when you make a mistake. Change is rarely revolutionary. It starts with things you may think are insignificant and mundane. They are very doable and cost almost nothing, and over time, they add up. Eventually, it will become easier and easier to do bigger things, or not, but either way you are making progress. And that is the goal: to become a more perfect version of who you choose to be.
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Winter is coming, and Herb the hedgehog can’t seem to get ahead — no matter how hard he works.
While ruthless, selfish Frank thrives without even trying, Herb digs up something unexpected in his search for food: a wise, unbothered old earthworm who isn’t afraid of being eaten. The worm makes Herb an offer — teach him a secret that changes everything, if Herb is willing to test it. Skeptical but desperate, Herb agrees, and their unlikely friendship sends him on a search for the answer to a question he’s never let himself ask: Who am I, and how should I live?
As Herb wrestles with loss, love, and the hidden triggers driving his own worst moments, he keeps wondering if he should be more like Frank — but it never quite feels right, and he’s about to find out why.
The Hedgehog and the Worm is a modern fable about self-mastery and purpose, built around the worm’s secret: living a SPICY life. Through Herb’s journey, you’ll discover:
- Why your search for who you are has probably been backwards from the start
- Why life’s “emptiness” is actually your greatest freedom
- How the hidden triggers in your brain keep you stuck — and how to take back control
For readers of The Alchemist and The Tao of Pooh, this is a story about trading the exhausting chase for a life you actually love.
From the author of The Alignment Quotient and Psychological SAFETY, Christopher Ancona brings decades of research on human potential into this unlikely fable.
A Sharp, Suspicious Mind
A Black Magic follows two women as they unravel a centuries-old legacy of violence, witchcraft, and supernatural forces rooted in one woman’s family bloodline. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
The whole trilogy began over cocktails, when my friend Fran told me she believed her dead mother’s spirit was still with her. A year later, she said she still felt the spirit but was no longer sure it was her mother. I had the entire series in my head about ten minutes after that.
The setup for this last book came from a problem I’d created for myself. By the end of A Blood Witch, Fran and Mary Jane have inherited three centuries of letters and diaries from the women who came before them, and not a single page explains how to be rid of Daedrian. The writers are long dead. The ghost hears every word spoken near him and cannot read, so two eighteen-year- olds sit in a Barnard library study room, passing a spiral notebook back and forth as they try to solve a murder in which every witness has been gone for two hundred years. I wanted to know what it would take for the last generation to finally read the whole archive, and what it would cost her. That question is the book.
Fran and Mary Jane have very different personalities and approaches to the supernatural. What inspired their dynamic?
Fran is the instrument, and Mary Jane is the scientist. Fran inherited the sight; Mary Jane inherited nothing but a sharp, suspicious mind and a cousin she refuses to lose. She can’t see the ghost. She has never seen anything. Everything she knows comes secondhand, through Fran, and her job is to decide what to believe.
I love that about her. In this book, she develops a filing system in the notebook’s margin: a dot for confirmed, a circle for probable, and a question mark for interesting-if-true, which she reserves for the seventeenth century and for most men. It starts as a joke against her own terror, and five months later it’s the closest thing the two of them have to a weapon.
They are, in a way, the two halves of how I write. One half wants to disappear into the story and live in it; the other half sits at the table with a pen, asking whether any of it holds up. Neither cousin could do this alone. Fran without Mary Jane would drown in what she sees, like the women before her. Mary Jane without Fran would have a very good hypothesis and nothing to test it.
How important was humor to you when writing their relationship and confronting such dark subject matter?
Essential. Horror only works if the reader is uncomfortable enough to keep turning pages, but not so uncomfortable that they put the book down. Humor is how I manage that dial. You read a novel alone. There’s no friend on the couch to laugh with, so the characters have to do it for you.
With the cousins, it’s never jokes for the sake of jokes. It’s how two people who have known each other since childhood talk when they’re frightened. Fran will pour her heart onto a page of the notebook, and Mary Jane will hand back three words and a row of exclamation points, then giggle because they’ve got one minute to get to the dinner table. That’s not a comedy beat. That’s what love looks like when you can’t say anything out loud.
I also come from a family where the women were funny, so that’s the register I hear. Aurora talks like Bette Davis; Liz talks like Blanche Devereaux. People who have survived something tend to be funny about it, and I wanted the girls to have inherited that, too.
If readers could take away one idea about inherited trauma, personal agency, or the ethics of power, what would you want it to be?
That any power you aren’t allowed to question isn’t protection, no matter how it feels from the inside. Daedrian hears everything. For three hundred years, the women in this family couldn’t speak about him, couldn’t ask what he was, couldn’t compare notes. He told each of them he loved her, and he meant it. The silence was the trap, and each generation passed it down along with the gift.
What finally breaks it isn’t a spell. It’s a girl who can’t see the ghost and refuses to stop asking questions, and another girl brave enough to go looking for answers in her own blood. Fran and Mary Jane don’t inherit a choice. They inherit an archive, and what they do with it is the only thing in the trilogy that’s truly theirs.
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New York, 1974. Fran Tarantino and her cousin Mary Jane are freshmen at Barnard College, trying to build ordinary lives around classes, notebooks, and the bright promise of independence. But one day, Fran touches a drop of her blood to an ancestral heirloom and falls into the memories it holds, living another woman’s life in the space of a heartbeat.
She is searching for the one truth no living person can give her: how to break free of Daedrian, the self-proclaimed angel who has ruled the women of her bloodline for centuries and calls his dominion love.
Daedrian is always near, whether she can see him or not, listening at every door. To survive him, the cousins wage their rebellion in silence: passing notebooks across their study-room table by day, while Fran plays the role he expects at night to keep his impatience from turning violent. Each vision costs her more than the last, and the blood remembers truths he would kill to keep buried: what he truly is, and what it will take to end him.
In the chilling finale of The Haunted Women trilogy, A Black Magic braids three centuries of one family’s darkness into a single winter: a story of ancestral memory, patient courage, and the women who refuse to leave their dead unanswered.
This is Book 3 of a trilogy. For the full descent, begin with A Perfect Night (Book 1) and A Blood Witch (Book 2).
Content Warning: contains scenes of sexual violence and abuse.
