Who The Heck Is Alexandra Stacey?

As I have not yet mastered the video process – it’s really very new to me – I am struggling a bit when it comes to the regularity of my posts here. So, in an effort to keep up, while I continue to learn, I’ll do what I do best.

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks.

On top of the usual demands of daily life, and the work of editing an 80,000 word manuscript, and the planning of an impromptu trip to the Yukon – that’ll make perfect sense once you read the book… – I’m rebranding everything. I’ve decided to write the book under a pen name. Moving forward, the website, the social media, and anything I want to do post launch meshes better if I can keep it all under one umbrella, making a pen name the way to go.

This means that the last two weeks have been filled with changes to blogs and freelance accounts, new domains, new websites, and new social media profiles – because in some cases, changing one’s name is deemed too confusing for the four people who already somehow found and follow the original. Add to that all the pictures and passwords that have to be changed, and taxing my poor artist’s patience to once again change the book cover, and frazzled becomes the norm.

But, because it’s still early in the process, it’s certainly easier to do now than later. Yet,

Profile Picture Alexandra Stacey

Playing around with my new video backdrop. Fancy!

it’s still a big decision, and it’s going to take me some time to adapt and feel normal about it.

So, without further ado, and with very little fanfare, please allow me to introduce


Hi, I’m Alexandra Stacey. A pleasure to meet you and welcome! Thank you for joining me on this journey of Overwhelming Gratitude!

Beta copies are out and reviews are starting to come in. From the looks of things, my part in editing the first draft should go fairly smoothly. Until I hit the mysterious world of the professional editor. Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it…

To Edit Or Not To Edit

I can’t be the only one awakened regularly in the middle of the night with ideas and thoughts that come from a mind far more advanced and capable than my own. Here’s what I do with them…

Writing In My Sleep

A typical conversation in our house:

Kid: “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom!”
Mom: staring blankly into space, out a window, at the floor, for minutes, hours….
Kid: “Moooommmm!”
Mom: “Shhhh. Mommy’s busy.”
Kid: “Oh! Sorry! I didn’t realize you were writing again..”

Writing vs. Typing

Not The Ending I’d Planned

I had a video post all ready to go for yesterday morning, but I changed my mind and cancelled it.

After missing my January 31st deadline to finish the draft, I’ve been going full speed trying to catch up. There comes a point for me in the writing of a novel where the story takes on a life of its own; and that’s pretty exciting. But then there’s the point where it snowballs into something huge bearing down on me, and no matter how much time I devote to it, I simply cannot type fast enough.

I hit that point two Fridays ago.

The only response to this full on creative assault is to put life – and I mean everything in my life – on stand-by and let the book come to its finish. In the ten days before yesterday’s video release, I put down more than 37,000 words. In writing terms, a good day is somewhere in the realm of 2,000 words per day, and holding that rate for ten days straight is outrageous.

But the story was telling itself and I did my best to keep up. To heck with the laundry and the banking and the cooking and cleaning and, though not all, I’ll admit to most of, the showering….

Sunday was the day. It was a spectacular 5,000 word sprint to the finish. I hit save, sent the file to printer, tortured to have missed the deadline for same-day printing by an hour. I’d have to wait til the next day to hold the first copy of my manuscript in my hands. I decided to go celebrate with the family with the intention of coming back to shoot a new, and very exciting video to post for the next day.

Portrait of My Dog Henry

Henry Brown, 2010-2019

That’s when I found Henry.

He was lying on the floor right outside my office door where he always does when I won’t let him in. Excited to see me, wiggling all happy. And completely and totally unable to get up.

Two hours later, I was sitting on the floor with him in the emergency vet clinic hearing the words no dog lover wants to hear. And an hour after that, I said my last goodbye.

Henry had been mine since he was ten weeks old. He just turned 9. But over the last six years since my husband’s passing, he has been on guard for me so that I can sleep, so that I can feel safe, so that I can come home and know that everything’s alright. He has been my shoulder to cry on, the ear to bend, and my greatest cheerleader since I was left alone. And without him, I know I would never have made it to now with my sanity intact.

There is a huge part of me that wants to throw the book in the trash and walk away. Was I so focussed on it that I missed all the signs? Were there signs?

But the more rational side of me is itching to get into my first real read-through of the entire story.

I wrote this book as an exploration of the processing of grief. It’s the story of one woman’s journey from absolute despair to pure joy. And I wrote it to help people who, like me, were struggling with the healing, the guilt, the regrets, and the pain of loss.

The fact that I will actually be my own first test subject is an irony that is beyond my current ability to understand, let alone describe. Suffice it to say that, right in the middle of one of my greatest tragedies – and if you’re not a dog person, I’ll just ask for your indulgence here – has come one of my greatest achievements. And I can’t put that all together just yet.