Number-one bestselling author
When my life was
at its lowest point,
I found you.
You came to me
and gave me so much love
when I had none
at least not for myself.
My life was darkness
when I met you,
and though you were black as night,
you filled my life
with a light brighter
than the sun.
I named you Tula.
The name meant
The Fearless One.
It described you perfectly
as your spirit
lived beyond your body.
You brought so much light
and so much love
to my life.
You taught me to be fearless
as I worked
to put my body back together.
You taught me to defend myself
against those that
would hold me back.
Just as I needed you,
you also had need of me.
Tula, you were so small,
but you were never vulnerable.
Just as I saved you,
you saved me.
You gave me back the light
that had been missing
and my spirit connected
with yours.
During that dark time,
you gave me something
to live for,
something to care for
and something
to love.
Thank you for what
you gave me.
Though you are
now far from me,
I carry you in my spirit
where a piece of you
remains.
Grace Quinn has lost herself.
After she finds her fiancée sleeping with another woman in their bed two, her world comes apart. She has become the caregiver for her controlling and demanding mother, Cora. Bedridden, Cora rules the house with an iron fist. Lost within herself, Grace has also become a shut in and is pretty much agoraphobic, afraid to face the world.
Thankfully, the one place she can go, when she is able to escape is her job at Cohen’s Convenient Storage Company. There, she works for Betty and Larry helping them with the business and going through storage lockers that were late on payments. Nice and simple; safe. Betty always had tea and a big piece of babka cake waiting for Grace when she showed up to work.
Grace’s life changes when Larry has her begin to go through Unit 28. It’s one of the things that Grace most loves to do, digging into the past and cataloguing for sale or disposal. Grace loves discovering the items that people left in storage. Grace loves to see what she will discover. She thinks nothing of it until she opens Unit 28; it’s like she’s stepped into a dream.
Inside Unit 28 was an Aladdin’s cave full of ornate and vintage items: jewelry, paintings, clothing, all of it pristine and well kept. In fact, the unit looks as if she has stepped into a bedroom from the 1950’s. Taking a look at the paper on her clipboard, she learns that the unit used to belong to Constance de Donato.
Within Unite 28, Grace finds Constance’s old diaries and starts to read about her. She asks Larry if she can take photos of the diaries so that she can read them at home. Constance is a kindred spirit to Grace. They both have controlling mothers; they have both lost their loves and lost themselves.
However, what Grace doesn’t know is that all stories have an ending and hers is just beginning and that sometimes when we are most lost, we find exactly what we are looking for…
I loved absolutely everything about this novel. Alex Brown never fails to deliver books that not only evoke emotion. Grace and the people that fill the pages of A Postcard from Italy feel like real people by the end of the novel. During most of it, I wanted to reach into the pages and give Grace a big hug.
I also love how Alex Brown continues to go places that others don’t in women’s fiction. She pushes the envelope and always leaves me spellbound by the emotions and subjects that she puts into her novels. A Postcard from Italy deals with agoraphobia and taking care of an elderly parent, two subjects that I’ve never come across in women’s literature. She always manages to write stories with subjects that go beyond the genre and the books become a genre all of her own.
Brown’s writing is always superb, but in A Postcard from Italy, she has gone above and beyond. When the book switches from the small and lovely town of Tindledale to Italy and the sights that it holds, it was like I was there. She describes the sights and sounds, smells and tastes of Italy so well that I feel like I’ve been on holiday, the book is just that good.
A Postcard from Italy had me all wrapped up in a mystery, in human drama and in the truths of the heart with enough babka cake to keep anyone happy. Wonderful and captivating, this is her best novel yet. I can’t wait to see where Alex Brown takes us next!
I’m firmly convinced that Alex Brown doesn’t merely write; she creates magic.
I’m thrilled to announce that my memoir, Little Yellow Magnet, is now available as an audiobook! It’s read by the incredible Tony Armistead and I’m so thrilled with how it all sounds.
You can get your copy from Audible by going here:
Or you can download it right to your mobile device through Audible!
I am so excited about this. It’s the first time one of my books has been released in Audio!
Happy Listening!

Feast your eyes on this!
It’s the cover for my soon to be released novel from Cobblestone Press! Isn’t it gorgeous?! I’m in love with it!
Here’s the book synopsis:
Jackson is a writer. He is used to living out his fantasies of true love and magic in the worlds that he creates; everyone knows that magic doesn’t happen in real life. His roommate Clarke tells Jackson that she’s worried about him and he should live more.
Before going to bed, he wishes on a star for love, true love. The next morning, a man appears at his door, bringing with him a particular kind of magic. Will this fallen star be able to show Jackson love? Or will his idea of what love can be remain on the printed page?
I’m so excited for this book and I hope you love Jackson as much as I do. Stay tuned for more news!
I look at myself in the picture and,
though I’m smiling,
I don’t look happy.
In the background,
just to the side of me,
is my cane.
It used to be my constant companion,
my third leg.
I used the cane to walk,
to move,
albeit very slowly.
There is a beer in my hand.
The photo can’t convey how cold it was,
or how refreshing it was on such a hot day.
This photo was taken a few hours before one of my dreams came true,
I would see one of my favourite artists,
and attend my very first concert.
What the photo doesn’t tell you is the struggle,
the constant arguing,
words that were lobbied like bullets over an expanse of grass.
The photo doesn’t tell you the shame I felt,
or the anger I held in check all day.
This photo can’t relay how I was feeling,
even though some of it is visible in my face.
It can’t tell you that,
shortly after this photo was taken,
I would begin a new chapter in my life,
one where I valued myself enough to cast aside those who didn’t.
It can’t tell you about the internal war that was going on within me,
or the fight that my body was having with itself.
The photo can’t tell you my feelings towards myself,
and the fact that they were beginning to change.
The photo doesn’t let you know that,
shortly after this picture was taken,
I would begin my metamorphosis.
For it is only a picture,
a single moment,
one second,
caught in time.