Donna Hechler Porter

In my upcoming release, The Brooch, my hero comes home from the war with a severely damaged and infected arm. Prior medical help, for army surgeons were not known for the skill, has not only offered no help, but it has actually worsened his condition. His return home brings him to Elizabeth Johns McQueen and her healing hands. She trained under her father, a physician in the British army, who was better than the average army surgeon/barber.

I am glad I am not a monarch. But more on that in a minute. I have been watching CW’s Reign the past few months on Netflix. Now let me be clear – this show is NOT for the faint of heart. Thus, the “fast forward” button (thank you Netflix and whoever invented the remote) gets a lot of use. The show has blood, murder, and sex. I just pressed the fast-forward button past those parts and watched the tale. Even then, there were at least two times I turned it off and vowed not to

I was introduced to Belle Grove Plantation through Clarence John Laughlin’s book Ghosts Along the Mississippi. I was hooked from the first picture. Many times I would study the pictures in Laughlin’s book. I would try to imagine what the house looked like while it thrived and people loved it. I would try to imagine what the view from the front porch was like for the people who lived there.

I have always wanted to live in an old house with history (although I draw the line at ghosts.) I also wanted said house to have lots of “junk” in the attic, the closets, the garden sheds. I picture myself going through all the “junk,” which would really be little treasures along the way. All with a history. All now . . . mine . . .

I read recently that Mary Higgins Clark works several books at one time. Never thought I could do that, but apparently I can as I not only wrote/edited nearly 10,000 words on Breaking Promises the past two days, but started another story at the same time. I started a beginning scene with a shy young man, an outspoken young slip of a girl, and a Ossabaw Island Pig bent on destruction. Ossabaw Island Pigs, of course, are rare breeds that are no longer used but can be found at

When I was a kid, Columbus Day was the next holiday after Labor Day. It meant another vacation day. The last before the Thanksgiving break almost six weeks away. That’s a long time for a kid. We were taught in school that Columbus did a remarkable feat. These days, not only is . . .

When, in the course of human events, did one nation infiltrate another and then seek to subvert the very culture of that country they were desperate to be a part of? The answer? Never, at least that I know of, until now. America has long been called (unless it is no longer politically correct to do so) as the “great American melting pot.” Anyone else remember the History Rock video of the same name (before videos were cool). A melting pot, of course, is a . . .

It’s really hard being a historical writer. We work for hours, sometimes years, learning as much as we can about the period we are writing in – from speech, to food, to dress, to religion, and on and on. Even then, there is always someone who knows more than you and things trip you up. When they are pointed out you cringe and make a vow to not do THAT again. One of the easier things to get, however, are the social mores and constraints. These, in my opinion, are biggies . .

I am waiting for the day I get a review that disputes the education level of both David and Annie in my book Keeping Secrets, as well as the historical context of the school they attend. The fact of the matter is, members of the Society of Friends (Quakers) placed a higher value on education in the 18th century than the average colonial citizen. They had more schools, with more teachers, than the average colonial community. What is even more remarkable is that they educated t

Everybody knows my head turns when I see a man in a tricorn, which only happens on a book cover or on television. Ben Barnes in a tricorn is even better. (I have no idea why I have this affinity for dark and handsome, but that’s a subject for another blog.) When the advertisement for Sons of Liberty flashed across the screen, the nerd in me very near had heart palpitations. Anyone old enough to remember the 70s and the plethora of Revolutionary stories? I miss those days.

Now that my cover for Keeping Secrets is posted and out there, the question is bound to come up in the minds of my future readers. They might retain the thought in their head. They might whisper it behind my back. Or, heaven forbid, they might even access social media behind my back. Gasp!