I step back from my writing desk and make a list of everything I’ve neglected or put on the long finger. Then I break it into small jobs I can do in a day, because the big ‘must-do-should-do’ someday overhaul never happens, but the small jobs do get done.

After 40 we enter a second stage of life that used to be seen as decline. I think we Gen Xers, and the generation just before us, have found out it can be the best season of our lives. I have more wisdom and more knowledge, I feel 100% me, and my life is no longer a performance.

But the admin of a full life and living your passion still piles up, and I’d rather clear it than carry it into another year. I wrote How to Have a Fabulous Midlife Crisis because I believe midlife is a good thing, a new beginning, and tidying up the stray edges is where it starts.

Every day this month I’ll post that day’s task in my Substack Notes. Some are practical:

• Going through bank accounts and finding the leaks

• Going through the screenshots saved on my phone

• Tidying my laptop screen

Some are bigger:

• Swedish death cleaning, which is less morbid than it sounds and more freeing than you’d expect

• Building a plan for 2027

• Working towards fitness now instead of waiting for the January resolution

I’m also taking a hard look at my career as an indie author this month. A couple of years ago I had three books out and some months made six times what I make now with sixteen books published! I am not the only Indie author experiencing this. Algorithms have changed, AI has changed things, ways of finding new readers have become diluted.

There is no way I’m not giving up writing and living my passion, so part of my November is working out how to keep doing what I love and still earn enough to live well. If you have ever wanted to be a full-time indie author you might pick up some insights during November too!

I think we all hunger for community, and doing a get-shit-done-month alongside other people is far easier than doing it alone. Follow my Notes on Substack, do the same task as me that day or do your own task that needs doing, and tell me how it went. By December we’ll have cleared the decks, and I’ll be planning my 2027 retreats with the same clean slate. If you’ve ever wondered about coming along, I’ll share details as they firm up.

Tell me in the comments what you’ve been putting on the long finger. And where you are going to start.

Today I am starting with my laptop screen.

Tricia and Jenny Campbell from The Castle Witches were real. They visited my granny at my childhood home, and they worked their whole lives on the assembly line at the local chocolate factory. My favourite film was Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, so to me these two were as close to Oompa Loompas as I was ever going to get. They always arrived at our house with brown paper bags of chocolate off-cuts they were allowed to take for free, which proved to me it was the best job in the world. They also loved a jumble sale, and bought me second-hand annuals: hardback collections of Twinkle, Bunty and Girl with the puzzles still undone.

Chocolate and a pile of good reads. Of course they were magical.

Tricia had trouble with her ears from childhood and wore two wool hats pulled down over her perm, indoors and out. She layered cardigans buttoned together at random, had smiling eyes and a raucous laugh, and never let a conversation pass without cutting in with a quick line. She needs to be remembered.

Jenny died first, when I was 11. She was the quieter one, the supplier of the annuals, and she always had a wise word. Her white perm had a pink rinse, and her eyes sparkled so much that my young mind saw actual stars coming out of them.

They’re buried together in a graveyard on Dublin northside, facing the sea, next to my sister and granny and just up the hill from my grandfather and numerous relatives. I did a lot of visits to that graveyard from childhood with my mam and gran, and know the stories by heart of everyone I am connected to there.

When I started writing The Castle Witches, Tricia crept in and brought Jenny along, as always. I had nearly forgotten them; and there’s no one else left to remember them. Now they’re alive again as the humorous witch sisters in the series, having adventures and fighting the patriarchy with the other castle witches of Ireland.

I visited their grave the last time I was in Ireland after I had started writing them into this series. It had been many years since I had been and it is in a sad state.

I’m thinking if The Castle Witches series takes off and the Campbell sisters develop a fanbase, I could start a Kickstarter to restore their final resting place and remember the beautiful wise women they were – the real magical witches of my childhood. One of my many plans for 2027!

Who is someone from your own life who deserves to be remembered in a magical way? Tell me in the comments.

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All was going well until day three, when she suddenly started to overheat in the middle of nowhere France. Ronan lifted the bonnet. Cartoon-style smoke and steam bellowed from under it.

“Get the fire extinguisher!”

“Do we have a fire extinguisher?” I said as I catch sight of flames doing Riverdance on the engine and immediately started grabbing the bags with the passports, laptop and my new coat out of the side door and running past the back of the van to pile them at a safe distance before going back for more.

Ronan in the meantime had found the fire extinguisher but the pin, like that of a grenade, has rusted in place. So he used a pair of pliers to pull it, cocked the handle and a substance that was best before 1989 dribbles out. I grabbed a bottle of water from the front seat.

We both knew that you don’t throw water on oil. We saw the TV ads growing up, where you were meant to throw a wet tea towel onto a chip pan full of oil. If you throw water onto the said chip pan of oil it will flare up, we knew this, but we didn’t have a damp tea towel to throw on the overheating engine where the flames are jumping.

I threw the bottle of water to Ronan.

“It’s fizzy?” he said glancing at it before pulling off the lid.

And we do what we’re not meant to do: we throw the fizzy water onto the flames, and like the ad promised, the flames flare up, just like the chip pan.

Anyway, to cut a long story short (the full version will be in A Rosie Life In Italy 8 which you can pre-order here: UK, USA, Australia, Europe, Canada) we got back to Ireland eventually, without Betsy, sadly. Lots to do in Ireland – a very full three days – before going to visit our kids in London. Another full two days before Ronan headed back to Italy and I came to Edinburgh for a reunion of some Retreat pals I met two years ago.

How I’m Celebrating The Castle Witches Launch

We’ve rented a house and booked a food tour so it’s a perfect weekend ahead with lots of food, chat and cosiness from Storm Austen brewing outside! It’s the perfect way to celebrate the launch of the first book in my new paranormal fiction series: The Castle Witches: Kissing the Blarney Stone, which is out tomorrow on Amazon in paperback and ebook, and free on Kindle Unlimited.

If you’re one of my subscribers who received a free copy of The Castle Witches two weeks ago and enjoyed the book, PLEASE do write a review on Amazon tomorrow or in the coming week, as it’s the only thing that stops my books being lost under the virtual pile of 12 million other books on Amazon! Just a few words and a nice star rating will do it!

xx

Rosie

Soon I’ll be starting house hunting in Italy and elsewhere. I have a feeling this is going to be… interesting.
I have a few ideas about what I might do next, ranging from the sensible to the wtf-am-I-thinking? variety. I’ll be sharing the houses, the alternatives, the numbers, the potential disasters and, hopefully, the occasional dream property along the way.

I’ll be taking you along for the journey here and on Instagram, so stick around!
IG: @arosielifeinitaly

Books & FREE Giveaways

It’s the season of the witch, and I am having so much fun writing my new series, The Castle Witches.

The Castle Witches: Kissing the Blarney Stone is the first book in this new funny, magical Paranormal Women’s Fiction series about witches, found family, ancient Irish goddess magic, women’s empowerment, second chances, slow-burn romance, flipping the patriarchy, building a matriarchy, and midlife women taking back their power, their land and their lives.

This is your chance to read it before everyone else.
FMC Club members will get their VIP copy this weekend, ahead of the official release on 24 October. So if you want to be one of the first people to enter the world of The Castle Witches, now is the time to join my FMC Club today by becoming a paid subscriber! It’s cheaper than buying me a glass of wine once a month ;)

Subscribe now

You can unsubscribe after you’ve received the book—that’s absolutely okay! However, if you remain a paid subscriber, you’ll receive all my future new releases before anyone else.

And by the way, I sent out The Cloister Witch of Carpi about two weeks ago, so if you’re a member of the FMC Club, check your inbox!

And now I want to know… if you could start your next chapter somewhere completely different, where would you go?
Italy? Ireland? Scotland? A castle? A boat? A tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere? Somewhere with excellent wine and absolutely no neighbours? Somewhere with lots of neighbours and absolutely no wine?

Tell me in the comments, I may need some inspiration for the house hunt. I’m open to all ideas!

xx

Rosie

This is where we meet the witches, Tricia and Jenny Campbell, for the first time. These characters are based on two wonderful sisters who used to visit my grandmother when I was little and I can’t wait for you to get to know them!

I will be sending the full book FREE to my paid subscribers in three weeks. I will also be sending The Cloister Witch of Carpi to my paid subscribers this Friday!

So if you haven’t already, do subscribe today if you want my two new books before anyone else!

Subscribe now

Extract from The Castle Witches: Kissing The Blarney Stone

My eyes blink open to the sounds of beeping machines. The clatter of metal against trays somewhere down a corridor. The soft persistent shuffle of feet. The smell of disinfectant, overcooked food, latex gloves, starched linen.

I lie still for a moment and take stock. Head: aching. Neck: stiff. Memory: present. I remember the stone. The whack. A cackling laugh.

There are two women sitting on the chairs beside my bed, and they are looking at me with the bright, expectant attention of people who have been waiting for a delivery of a new sofa and are very pleased it has arrived. A large cream cake, as big as one of their heads, is perched on the bed table blocking my view of nearly their entire faces.

One had an over-sized beanie pulled down over her ears with her hair tucked into it, and large round spectacles that magnify her eyes to an almost cartoonish degree. She was wearing what appears to be about fourteen cardigans, one on top of another.

The other woman is smaller, rounder, with skin like a plump apricot, Her grey hair with a pink tint, caught up in a messy beehive has a gemmed brooch pinned onto it. She’s wearing a long kaftan style dress the colour of brass decorated with embroidered swirls and patterns.

Both of them are grinning.

Grinning is the wrong word for it. They look the way a mother looks at her first born playing the innkeeper in the nativity play. Willing the well-rehearsed line they have to say from a distance. Their eyes full of pride and expectation.

The one with the spectacles elbows the other.

“She’s awake. She’s awake.” She sounds excited.

The other one leans forward, tilting her head, studying my face with an intensity that would be alarming if her expression was not so profoundly delighted.

“We brought you a cake,” she announces. “We thought it would be rude to start eating it before you woke up. So it’s about time. I’ve just made a fresh pot of tea. Would you like some?”

From beneath the hospital bed she pulls a steaming teapot covered by a stripy, hand-knitted tea cosy.

“I’m sorry — who are you?”

The one with the spectacles straightens up with great dignity.

“I’m Tricia,” she says. “And this,” she gestures at the woman with the teapot — “is my sister Jenny. Both from the Campbell lineage.”

Jenny beams at me and holds up a slice of cake. The cake is a Victoria sponge the size of a small country, oozing cream and crushed strawberries. “Cake?”

“I’m lactose intolerant.” I can’t help but smile at the old dears.

They look at each other. A long, meaningful look.

“Jazuz,” says Tricia. “That’s awful. Were you labelled that since birth?”

“I suppose I was.”

“Do you want us to have a look at your feet?”

“No.” I’m thinking this is a strange thing for a hospital volunteer to ask.

“Does it affect your balance?”

“No, my feet are perfectly fine.”

Tricia’s face remains perfectly serious. “Then why did your poor mother call you Lack Toes? Was she deranged?”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

I look toward the door, hoping for a nurse or someone in authority passing my ward who might be looking for two wanderers from the dementia ward.

Jenny holds up the cake slice again, encouragingly. “Do you want a bigger slice than this? Seconds are always an option of course.”

I don’t respond so she continues. “Of course you can have it all because it was a gift, it is your cake, but I am sure you wouldn’t be that selfish?” She blinks several times, her face suddenly void of joy at the very thought of me choosing that option.

“I don’t eat cream.”

“More for us then. You won’t mind if we start?” Tricia says, without apology. She fills her cup from the now naked spotty red teapot. “You’ll have tea at least, won’t you?”

“I’m more of a coffee person, actually.”

Another look. This one is like they are about to give a severe weather warning before a boat trip.

“Oh,” says Jenny softly, “you’ll need to change that now that you’re here.”

“Well I’m going home in a couple of days. Is there a doctor around?”

“Right. Yes. About that. Going home.”

Tricia puts down her teacup. Folds her hands. Looks at me with an expression that has gone from delighted to something more serious.

“You’ve got work to do… here,” she says. “We’ve been looking for you. All year, we’ve been looking. And there you were — right in front of me eyes at Blarney Castle.”

A pause.

“That was you,” I say slowly, getting flashbacks of a naked, insulting woman. “The naked—”

“Topless.”

“— topless old hag under the tree?”

“Old hag yourself,” Tricia says with great dignity. “Have some respect for your aunt.”

“My— I’m sorry. My aunt?”

Well what do you think??! Tell me in the comments below!

If you would like The Castle Witches before anyone else, PLUS my new historical fiction then become a paid subscriber to my Substack today! (cheaper than buying me a glass of wine!)

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For quite a while, I had a dilemma.

Should I write the serious stuff?

About real women of the past. The women whose voices have been buried in archives for hundreds of years.

Or should I write the fun stuff?

Witches. Magic. Castles. Ridiculous friendships. Women in their middle years discovering they have powers they really weren’t expecting.

So I found a solution, I did what any non-sensible writer would do.

I wrote both.

I also couldn’t decide between my two favourite countries to write about – Ireland or Italy.

So naturally...

I did both of those too.

The historical fiction one: The Cloister Witch of Carpi

This is the book I’ve been obsessed with writing for the past three years.

It’s a historical novel set in 17th-century Italy, inspired by a truly extraordinary series of events recorded by the Inquisition.

When I discovered the testimonies of fifty-five nuns and several exorcists, describing demonic possession, forbidden relationships, a princess-abbess and a witch hunt inside a Poor Clares convent, I knew I had to write it. How could I not?

The result is The Cloister Witch of Carpi.

It’s dark. It’s atmospheric. It’s about women of wisdom, power, love, obsession, possession and what happens when women’s voices and creativity have no outlet. It was an unsolved mystery I had to solve.

And yes, many of the events behind the story really happened. All the characters are based on real people.

I’ve spent three years researching, writing, rewriting and often wondering why on earth I’d decided to take on something quite so enormous.

Now it’s finished.

And I am nearly sick with excitement and nerves about finally letting it out into the world.

The Cloister Witch of Carpi will be out on 4th December in ebook, paperback, KU and Audible! Pre-order the ebook here or on your Amazon store.

And then there’s the bonkers book: The Castle Witches: Kissing the Blarney Stone

This book is the complete opposite.

It has been bubbling away in the cauldron of my mind for quite a while, and while I was in the final, exhausting stages of writing The Cloister Witch of Carpi, I desperately needed some light relief.

So I pulled out my notes about my Irish castle witches I’d made years ago and promptly fell in love with them all over again.

There are witches, Irish castles, ancient magic, ridiculous friends, a midlife divorce... And there is a billionaire golf resort owner destroying land, dark forces and a lot of tea.

It’s the first book in a new Paranormal Women’s Fiction series. I’m already halfway through drafting book two, because there are multiple fictional castle witches in my head demanding books to be written about them.

The Castle Witches – Kissing the Blarney Stone will be out on 24th October in ebook and KU. Pre-order it here or on your Amazon store.

So... which witch are you?

Both books are now available for preorder, and I’m genuinely fascinated to see which one grabs you.

The witchy contemporary one?

Witches. Chaos. Fantasy. Ireland.

Funny, magical Paranormal Women’s Fiction with a serious message or two.

OR

The dark historical one?

Witches. Nuns. The Inquisition. Secrets. Italy

Epic historical fiction inspired by a true story from 17th-century Italy.

Which one would you pick?

Hit reply and tell me. I genuinely want to know.

Over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing lots more about both books here and on social media—the real stories behind them, the women who inspired them, the research rabbit holes I’ve fallen down, and bizarre coincidences that have happened while writing them!

The good news is, if you are a paid subscriber of mine here on Substack you will get both books before anyone else for free! I will be sending out The Cloister Witch next week and The Celtic Witches in October. :) So subscribe now if you want to get them before anyone else!

Subscribe now

xxx

Rosie

The house kept on giving. It gave more stories and more laughs about renovating and living in Italy that I just had to keep on s…

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Five years ago we bought this villa that was ten years derelict. If you have read my books you will know how much I love this house. How it called to us and we responded. You’ll know all the renovation work we have done and all we have …

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Before I share the news, a quick catch-up on what has been happening:

The second Fabulous Midlife Crisis Retreat in Tuscany happened in May, and wow, what a great week we had. It was life-changing for everyone involved, including me! We explored, danced, shared, yogi-ed, wrote, read, sang, created, ate and laugh…

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I have to admit recently I have gone down some dark rabbit holes about what is happening in the world right now and I was feeling very ‘we are all doomed’. HOWEVER today is the first full day of me being 54 and with it has come great wisdom which I have decided to share with you!

For most of my Gen X adult life, I have been trying to figure out a …

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If you didn’t make it to my FMC Club night (every first Sunday live on Zoom) here’s the playback to last weekends get-together.

We usually chat for an hour but I have edited this down to 30 minutes and focused on the two retreats I’m hosting in Italy this year. I have ONE space left on the Fabulous Midlife Crisis retreat in May and a couple of places…

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I nearly didn’t publish this one, not because it wasn’t finished or I didn’t love parts of it, it just felt… too close.

I’m not talking about the chapters where Italian bureaucracy made me bang my head off a desk, and laugh hysterically (separate incidents), so much so that Ronan questioned my sanity.

Or my attem…

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And they will leave lighter, clearer, and reconnected to themselves.

The farmhouse is booked exclusively for us.
The chef is c…

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Living in Italy sounds glamorous until you realise it mos…

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I’m having the Fabulous Midlife Crisis Club February meet up today (31 January) at 5pm CET (Italy).

For you my VIP subscribers only! Bring tea, coffee, wine.

Come join me! I will be talking about online scams I have encountered lately which are targeted at writers and ‘ex-pats’. We’ll also have time for chat about my retreats. So feel free to come with questions!

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• 10 books of over 80,000 words

• 4 books of over 55,000 words

• Plus a few shorter ones for good measure

That’s well over one million words of mine out in the world.

I know. I impressed myself too!

Every one of those words was written, rewritten, consi…

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If you missed it, don’t worry here’s what …

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Just popping on to wish you all a very happy new year and to thank you for all your support in 2025.

The major highlight of 2025 for me were my three retreats in Tuscany and all the great women I met through them. They inspired me to push on and do two more retreats in 2026. One …

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During my research of life in the early 1600s for my current historical fiction novel, I fell down so many interesting rabbit holes of historical events and info from the time. Such as the Plum Pudding Riots in England.

While it sounds like a Great British Bake Off Christmas Special gone wrong, it was an actual event in 1647, when the English Parliament …

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