But since there doesn’t appear to be much of that these days, I’ve begun keeping my own list. Here it is (with Bad and To Be Determined news also included for balance). All opinions are my own:

Good: Michael B Jordan won a well-deserved Oscar for his excellent dual performance in Sinners (then went to In-n-Out burger for a well-deserved snack).

Bad: As of this writing, there is still no word on when filming will begin for Princess Diaries 3.

Good: The Genovian paper shortage has been resolved, meaning that The Princess Diaries graphic novel will be published as scheduled on 6/30/26 (click here if you would like to submit the receipt for your pre-order to the publisher and be gifted an official Genovian passport holder).

Good: I will be doing events in July to celebrate the publication of the above book. Exact dates and locations to be announced!

Good: A New Yorker saved a dog from hypothermia in Central Park.

Good: I will be a special guest speaker at Northwest Florida State College’s 2026 READS event on April 9, in Niceville, FL.  Attendance is free – all are welcome! I will have special Genovia stickers and postcards for whoever wants them (while they last).

Good: The Education of Kia Greer by Alanna Bennett is being adapted for TV by Gabrielle Union and Dwayne Wade.

Undetermined: The cat distribution system sent us another cat, but since this one simply shows up when he’s hungry and runs if anyone attempts to touch him, I think it’s most likely a Six Dinner Sid situation (he even looks like Sid). But I don’t mind feeding him, even if he is most likely someone else’s pet.

Undetermined: Euphoria is coming back.

Good: So is Gossip Girl.

Good: I will be in New York City at Book Con 2026 on Saturday, April 18. If you are attending Book Con, please come see me, Melissa de la Cruz, Kami Garcia, and Ann M. Martin discuss the evolution of our careers since our first books (moderated by Libba Bray)! Signing to follow. This is a powerhouse panel that I would not want to miss (if I weren’t already in it)!

Bad: Book Con appears to be having some trouble with their website, so if you’ve tried to make a reservation for this panel and failed, try again!

Good: Susan Lucci finally won an Emmy after 18 nominations.

Good: The Man in the High Castle is now streaming on Netflix, and has some interesting ideas about art vs. fascism. Did you know that many of our most beloved works of fiction were written during times of war? Some authors process trauma by creating art.

Good: The 1-800-Where-R-U series is being re-released this fall by Simon and Schuster as part of the relaunch of their Simon Pulse YA line. I originally published these books under the pen name Jenny Carroll, but now they will come out under my real name with the revised series title of Vanished. I have already updated When Lightning Strikes, the first book in the series, but only to tweak outdated language. The setting, cell phone situation, and vibes remain solidly Year 2000.

To Be Determined: The Dune 3 trailer dropped, and I can already tell by the comments that numerous people have never read the books. I feel this may lead to disappointment later.

Good: The Magic We Made (adult paranormal romance. Release date: August 2026) received a rave review from Library Journal calling it (in part) “another magical love story. Readers will be drawn into the mystery while being charmed by the banter and slow burn.”

Good: The Diplomat will be back in late 2026 

Good: There will be at least two more graphic novels featuring The Detective Baby (and illustrated by the amazing Amelia Allore), bringing a total of FOUR books (so far) to this new series about a teenage babysitter who regrets ever taking the job. Debuts 9/1/26.

Good: I have written my first YA novel since 2013. The title, cover, and genre will be revealed soon by my old friends at Harper Children’s Books. Publication is set for early 2027.

Thank you for your time. Be safe. Make art. Fight fascism. Carry on.

More later.

Much love,

Meg

The post The Good, The Bad, and the To Be Determined appeared first on Meg Cabot.

For Immediate Release:

Following the stunning (if non-medal winning) performance of Genovia’s finest athletes in the 2026 Olympics, the Royal Genovian Immigration Offices received a record-breaking number of requests for citizenship.

Genovian Citizenship can be a reality, but only for those who qualify.  Do you feel you have what it takes to be a Genovian?

If the answer to that question is yes, then take the first step in the process by filling out (and successfully passing) the Genovian Citizenship Quiz below:

If you qualify, you will be kept informed of your progress through the Genovian Citizenship Journey. Please keep in mind, however, that due to unprecedented demand and the unfortunate if temporary closing of the Genovian Consulate in New York City due to a burst pipe, approval for Genovian Visas/citizenship may take longer than usual.

Thank you for your interest in moving to Genovia.

Long Live Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo of Genovia!

The post Everything You Need to Move to Genovia appeared first on Meg Cabot.

Valentine’s Day was always a big deal in my house growing up because my mom loved hearts. A crafter, she loved drawing hearts, painting hearts, cutting things into heart shapes, and then giving/selling her hearts to other people.

Flowering Heart by Barb Cabot

So of course as a teenager I grew to hate hearts, simply because there were way too many in my house/life, and flowery hearts didn’t vibe with my dark adolescent angst and nihilistic world view. I extended that hatred to Valentine’s Day, and then social media, since what are you supposed to do if you like something? Heart it.

Don’t even get me started on what it was like to get heart valve surgery and have to spend an extended period of time in a cardiac ICU/rehab in New York City, the city with a heart as its logo. The first thing they did when I came out of the anesthesia was give me a pillow to hug. A giant heart-shaped pillow.

Heart on a Spring by Barb Cabot

But ever since my mom got diagnosed with Alzheimers, I began to find that hearts–especially hers–didn’t bother me as much. And now, on the first Valentine’s Day without my mother–she passed away on Thanksgiving Day, 2025–I’ve realized: Hearts aren’t that bad.

Angel Christmas Ornament Singing from Heart Song Book by Barb Cabot

In fact, I actually understand now why my mom–who was nicknamed Jinx by her family, because she was born on Friday the 13th–loved making hearts so much, and why she made so many of them:

Barb Cabot as a young woman

Because when everything else in your life feels completely out of control, one of the best things you can do for your mental health is escape into a fantasy land–especially one of your own making.

Barb Cabot, Queen of Hearts

According to therapists, this isn’t a bad coping strategy (so long as you still allow yourself to feel things, and don’t get so lost in your fantasy land that you forget to do your laundry, clean your room, maintain your relationships, and pay your bills).

It’s unfortunate that it took losing my mom (and my cat and my faith in the government, all in a single year) for me to get that her obsessive heart-making was no different than my obsessive writing of stories where girls find out they’re  princesses, babies can solve crimes, and magic is real. Just like my mom would escape into her flowery hearts when times got tough, I like to escape into stories of female empowerment.

So get ready. Here’s a look at just a few of the worlds I’ve been escaping into lately…and into which I’d like to welcome you:

The Princess Diaries Graphic Novel

The hilarious classic The Princess Diaries is back and better than ever in an all-new, full-color graphic novel adaptation, illustrated by Bethany Crandall! Pre-order now from any retailer and submit your receipt to HarperCollins to receive an exclusive gift –  a Genovian passport holder! June 30, 2026

The Magic We Made

She doesn’t believe in magic. He is magic. But when they meet, a spark is lit, and neither will ever be the same in this charming new standalone from #1 New York Times bestselling author Meg Cabot! Pre-order now! August 11, 2026

Detective Baby: Dance Team Drama

Boss Baby meets The Baby-Sitters Club with a touch of Ocean’s Eleven in Detective Baby—a laugh-out-loud, hijinks-heavy graphic novel series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Meg Cabot. Illustrated by Amelia Allore. Pre-order now! September 1, 2026

You can purchase these or any of my other books at Judy Blume’s non-profit, indie bookstore Books and Books Key West.  Just click here, fill your cart online, jot down how you’d like the books signed/personalized in the Comment section, and they’ll make sure your books get signed, then delivered to you!

If you want to escape even harder into the land of fantasy, visit the Meg Cabot Official Merch Store, where 100% of the proceeds of sales goes to charity (charity of the month: Vow for Girls) . There, you can stock up on all of your Genovian and Mediator needs (if you have suggestions for other merch you’d like to see, be sure to email me to tell me, and we’ll see what we can do).

I know it’s only February, but the last few months have seemed like years to me. I think it’s hard for all of us who, like St. Valentine, care more for humans than we do about the stock exchange.

Books (and hearts) can’t save the world, but they can definitely help keep our spirits up as we fight to take care of our neighbors.

And that’s something I know St. Valentine (and Barb Cabot) would love.

More later.

Much love,
Meg

The post Happy Galentine/Valentine’s Day 2026 appeared first on Meg Cabot.

But for the rest of us (especially here in the US)? Not so much.  At least not for me personally.

Why not for me personally? Well, besides losing my beloved cat Pearl to a broken spine after a bizarre feline parkour accident, my mom’s mild cognitive impairment turned to advanced dementia. Then my husband (He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog) got sick with a mystery illness that caused him to lose 60 pounds that he did NOT need to lose.

I’m not even going to mention what is happening with our so-called government. But I will say it’s why so many of us wake up every morning at 3AM in a blind panic and reach for our phones for comfort, only to find that AI has taken everything that used to be nice and completely enshitified it.

And, last but not least, a bird pooped on my head in the middle of downtown Manhattan (thank you to the guys at the Carnegie Deli for all the napkins).

And I KNOW from Judy Blume’s Starring Sally J Jane Friedman As Herself that getting pooped on by a bird is supposed to be bring good luck. But the only good luck I’ve experienced in 2025 is that I myself have not yet been diagnosed with any sort of chronic illness (besides the ones I already have). 2025 is so bad, I DID NOT EVEN HAVE A NEW BOOK COME OUT (for the first time since 1998).

But hold on. Because recently, I’ve begun to notice a few glimmers of hope:

• My mom may have an incurable fatal disease, but she also has the best caretakers in the world.
• And doctors did eventually figure out what was wrong with HWSNBNIB (all he has to do to treat it is never again eat anything with fat, sugar, or spices in it).
• And I quite enjoyed the results of the recent election in Manhattan, where I happened to spend the summer (and where I also discovered that New Yorkers do NOT play when it comes to Halloween. So don’t believe anything you might have heard about how “dangerous” it is in New York City –  unless you consider neighbors, who are probably Broadway set designers, competing for the scariest front stoop as “dangerous”).

But  the most hopeful thing I encountered in 2025 is . . . you readers. None of you gave up on me, despite that fact that I haven’t had a book out in well over a year (thanks to a combination of recovery from heart valve surgery, a mom with dementia, a dying cat, and a sick husband). Your encouraging and supportive emails and comments are really what’s kept me going a LOT of the time. If I haven’t written back, it’s ONLY because I’ve been so overwhelmed lately. You WILL be getting a reply (and possibly a Genovian visa).

Especially since, because of all of you, I managed to write something. I have no idea if it’s any good, but it FELT good to tell a story that’s full of hope and magic during a time when I’d become convinced hope and magic don’t exist (coincidentally, the heroine of this book feels the same way). That’s why I’m so proud to introduce you to my new adult paranormal romance:

THE MAGIC WE MADE – a Witches of West Harbor novel featuring neighbors who are menaced by magic in their small Connecticut town – will be available in August 2026. Check out the dedication page:

Do you need to have read the first book in the WOWH series to understand this one? Nope. It’s a stand alone featuring new characters (with special appearances from some characters/themes from the first book, ENCHANTED TO MEET YOU).

Would it help to read the first book? Nope – oops, I mean, yes, absolutely! Look how cute the two of them look together!

You can read more about THE MAGIC WE MADE here, and even pre-order copies here (that I’d be happy to personalize and sign for you)!

In fact, now that we’ve entered the holiday season (which, in keeping with the Enshitification, actually begins before Halloween), you should probably consider ordering all of your holiday gifts today, since it’s going to take them forever to get to you (given our luck in 2025).

And as always, I will be happy to personalize and sign any of my books that you want! To order signed copies, please visit:

 Books and Books Key West (which also happens to be an indie non-profit bookstore and qualified [501(c)(3)] charity set up and co-operated by none other than famous author JUDY BLUME, as well as other community-minded Key West citizens).

Just go to the online Meg Cabot page at Books and Books KW, select the book(s) you’d like, and let the store know how you’d like them personalized (or if you’d only like them signed). You don’t even have to speak to anyone if you don’t want to, you can write the instructions on the comment section when you order.

Then leave the rest to Books and Books! (The store is happy to ship internationally, so no worries about that, either. If you’re ordering signed books for holiday gifts, you might want to do so by Saturday, 12/13 in order to get free shipping (within the continental US. This applies only to books the site lists as “on shelves now”). For expedited shipping, you should order by 12/16 if you want the books to get there on time (for shipping outside of the continental US, consult the store). And for in-store pick up, order by 12/22.

If a book is out of your price range right now, don’t worry! You can still get that special someone the gift of reading. Send a self-addressed stamped envelope (SASE) to my PO Box (address below), and I’ll return it to you filled with the autographed bookplates (indicate how many you’d like, and if you’d like them personalized), and NEW bookmarks (including special Genovian ones that I just received) while they last!

Send the SASE to:
Meg Cabot
P.O. Box 4904
Key West, FL 33041-4904

Send your SASE now (RIGHT NOW) so it can be sent back to you in time for the holidays, and so that you can then give the enclosed items to your friends/loved ones! If you sent me a SASE before and haven’t received a reply, don’t worry, it’s coming soon.

The Magic We Made isn’t the only book I have coming out in 2026, though. There’s also the new graphic novel of The Princess Diaries:

AS WELL AS a new graphic novel about a girl named Jenny who has a super power she never wanted: the ability to understand baby talk. That’s how Jenny encounters the most devious (and hilarious) baby of all time: THE DETECTIVE BABY

In stores September 2026

I hope you’ll find something this holiday season that makes YOU feel hopeful, as well. The only way we’re going to make it through 2026 is if we all work together, do our best to stay hopeful, and above all: Avoid birds, especially in Manhattan.

More later.

Much love,

Meg

The post Hope for the Holidays appeared first on Meg Cabot.

I know you don’t feel like leaving your nice comfy couch, especially in the evening on a weeknight, but I guarantee this event will be worth it. I’m going to be giving attendees an exclusive sneak peek at many of the books I have coming out in the next few years, AS WELL AS  spilling a little tea about Princess Diaries 3, AND answering all of your questions about previous books.

But mainly I’m going to be enjoying being amongst so many readers while happily signing your old worn out Meg Cabot books from home (and of course you’re welcome to buy new ones at the event as well). There is nothing I love more than being with a bunch of readers like myself – except when one of those readers brings me a much loved paperback to sign, one that has been ravaged by time and many many readings and now smells like a vanilla wafer.

That being said, crisp new books purchased at the event are also nice, and signed copies make EXCELLENT gifts.

Get your tickets for the event here!

Can’t make it to Ohio? No worries! You can bid on signed books by me (and many other authors!) AND help stop violence against women at the same time by donating to the 11th Annual Read for Pixels campaign! Not to tell you things you already know, but the below would make a nice birthday or even holiday gift for a reader! Click here to find out more.

Which leads me to: AI.

Readers, I am old. I am so old that my first published book came out in 1998. I am so old that I have written and published over 100 books in my lifetime. I am so old that EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE BOOKS HAS BEEN USED TO TRAIN AI. (And no, I have not yet received compensation for this.)

I am so old, I had a perm in 1985 – while watching Live Aid.

So when I overhear someone saying, “She’s written so many books, she must use AI,” it makes me kind of sad – mainly for that person, for being dumb enough to think such a thing. How did I use AI to write a book published in 1998, or 2001, 0r even 2023 when AI WAS NOT YET INVENTED/AVAILABLE?

And I’m aware that some of these people think that “proof” of a book having been written by AI is that the author uses a lot of em dashes. And weirdly, it just so happens that I use a lot of em dashes – BECAUSE I AM A NERD WHO LOVES EM DASHES.

Reader, AI learned em dashes FROM MY BOOKS (and the books of many others).

I am such a nerd, I have an R2D2 cookie jar.

So please note: I DO NOT USE AI. I do not even know HOW to use AI, nor would I ever want to because I AM A NERD WHO LOVES TO WRITE. There is literally nothing I enjoy more than writing. When someone asks me what fun thing I have planned for the weekend, the fun thing that I have planned is that I’m going to write something, because I AM A NERD WHO LOVES WRITING.

I am such a nerd that my autographed photo of Princess Leia is one of my most cherished possessions.

I hope I’m making it clear that I have always written my own books, do not use AI, and have never used a ghost writer. I don’t understand why anyone would pay someone or something else to write anything for them when writing is literally the most fun thing to do in the world.

But then, I am a nerd.

Finally, so many of you reported the fake Meg Cabot account on X that it got taken down! Thank you so much! You guys are really the best. Apparently this account was part of some fake marketing scam. Please note that though I had a Twitter account for more than a decade, I left X over a year ago, and I would NEVER offer literary advice for money!  Please contact me if you ever see anything else suspicious under my name!

In the meantime – I hope I see you in Ohio! And stay strong, fellow nerds!

More later.

Much love,

Meg

The post Book Event/Read for Pixels/Thank You/AI/Nerds appeared first on Meg Cabot.

My husband and his colleagues worked in the building across the street from the World Trade Center, and were forced to dodge burning debris (and falling human bodies) as they fled the area. Fortunately all of them returned home safely.

But many others, including friends, were not so lucky. This is their story as well as mine. I post it every year because I so often hear questions from people who were either not alive or not aware of what that day was like for people who lived and worked in the New York area. Questions like:

Did someone really “surf” to survival from the 80th floor of the building as it collapsed? Did everyone just go to work the next day like nothing happened? What if your company was based in a building that got destroyed? What did the National Guard do when they showed up? If you lived in the area, do you have cancer now from breathing in all those chemicals? 

The answers to these questions, as well as many others, are below. Now more than ever, people need to know the difference between what really happened that day, and what is only rumor, wishful thinking, and conspiracy theories. Because–just like your mom always told you–If this nonsense keeps up, someone else is going to get hurt.

Meg Cabot’s 9/11 Diary

9/11/01 started out as one of those super nice fall days where the sky was cloudlessly blue and it was just warm enough, but not hot. My LA friends call that “earthquake weather.”

So we probably should have known something awful was going to happen, but most of us didn’t.

My husband woke up early to leave for work at his job as a financial writer at a securities company in One Liberty Plaza, a building located across the street from the World Trade Center.

Not being a morning person, I was still asleep in my apartment on 12th Street and 4th Avenue, a few dozen blocks from the Trade Center, when the first plane hit. Our windows were closed and the air conditioning was on. I didn’t hear a thing until my friend Jen called.

Jen: “Look out your window.”

That is when I saw the smoke for the first time.

Me: “What’s happening?”

Jen: “They’re saying a plane hit the Trade Center.”

Me: “But how could the pilot not see it?”

Jen: “I don’t know. Isn’t that near where your husband works?”

It was. I couldn’t see his building from our apartment, but I could see the World Trade Center. The black smoke billowing from it had to be going right into my husband’s busy investment office where he worked as a financial writer on the 60th or so floor.

“I better call him to see if he’s okay,” I said, and hung up.

There was no answer at my husband’s office, however, which was crazy, because there were multiple receptionists. Over a hundred people worked there.

Were they all right? I didn’t know. I couldn’t get through to anyone anywhere. I couldn’t make any outgoing calls from either my landline or my cell phone. For some reason, people could call me, but I couldn’t call anyone else.

It turned out this was due to the massive volume of calls going on in my part of the city that day, both on cell and landlines.

But I didn’t know that then.

Sirens blared. It was the engine from the firehouse directly across the street from my apartment building. It was a very small firehouse, but it was always bustling with activity. All the young, handsome guys used to sit outside it on folding chairs on nice days like the one on 9/11, joking with the neighbors who were walking their dogs, with my doormen, with the neighborhood kids. The old ladies on my street always brought them cookies.The firemen, in turn, always had treats for the old ladies’ dogs.

Now all the firemen from the station across from my apartment building were hurrying to the fire downtown, throwing on their gear and urgently blaring the horn on their truck.

Every last one of those young, brave men would be dead in exactly one hour. Their truck would be crushed beyond recognition. That firehouse would sit empty and draped in black bunting for months. No one would be able to look at it without crying.

Of course none of us knew that then.

I turned on New York 1, the local news channel for New York City. Pat Kiernan, my favorite newscaster back then, was saying that a plane had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center.

Weird, I thought. Was the pilot drunk? How could someone not see a building that big, and run into it with a plane?

It was right then that Luz, my housekeeper, showed up. I’d forgotten it was Tuesday, the day she came to clean. When she saw what I was watching, she looked worried.

“I just dropped my son off at his college,” she said. “It’s right next to the World Trade Center.”

“My husband works across the street from the World Trade Center,” I said.

“Is he all right?” Luz wanted to know. “What’s happening down there?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t reach him.”

Luz tried to call her son on his cell phone. She, too, couldn’t get through.

We didn’t know then that our cell servers used towers that were located on top of the World Trade Center, and they all had stopped working due to the intensity of the flames shooting up the building.

We both stood there staring at the TV, not really knowing what to do. It was as we were watching that something weird happened on the TV, right before our eyes:

The OTHER tower at the World Trade Center — the one that hadn’t been hit — suddenly exploded.

I thought maybe one of the helicopters that was filming the disaster had gotten too close.

But Luz said, “No. A plane hit it. I saw it. That was a plane.”

I hadn’t seen a plane. I said, “No. How could that be?” This is how your brain works when something so terrible is happening right before your eyes, you can’t even process the information: “There can’t be TWO drunk pilots.”

“You don’t understand,” Luz said. “Someone is doing this on purpose.”

“No,” I said. “Of course they aren’t. Who would do that?”

That’s when Pat Kiernan, on the TV, said, “Oh, my God.”

It’s weird to hear a newscaster say, “Oh, my God.” Especially Pat. He was always very professional.

Also, Pat’s voice cracked when he said it, like he was about to cry. But newscasters don’t cry.

“Another plane has hit the World Trade Center,” Pat said. “It looks as if another plane — a commercial jet — has hit the World Trade Center. And we are getting reports that a plane has just hit the Pentagon.”

That’s when my brain finally processed what it was seeing. I grabbed Luz, and Luz grabbed me. We both started to cry. We sat on the couch in my living room, hugging each other, and crying as we watched what was happening on TV, which was what was happening a dozen blocks from where we sat, where the people we loved were.

We could see things flying out of the burning buildings. Pat said that those things were people. People were choosing to jump from their offices in the World Trade Center rather than burn to death. They couldn’t escape the flames, and rescuers couldn’t reach them.

But their offices were sixty to ninety floors from the ground. Some of them were holding hands with their colleagues as they jumped. Many of them were women. You could tell by the way their skirts ballooned out around them as they flew towards the pavement below.

Luz and I sobbed. We didn’t want to watch, but we couldn’t stop. This was happening in our city, just down the street, to people we saw every day. Who would do this? Who would do something like this, and why?

That’s when my phone rang. I grabbed it, but it wasn’t my husband. It was his mother. “Where is he?” she wanted to know. “Is he all right?”

I said I didn’t know. I said I was trying to keep the line clear, in case he called. She said she understood but to call her as soon as I heard anything, and hung up.

Then the phone rang again. It was my husband’s sister-in-law. Then it rang again. It was MY mother.

The phone rang all morning. It was never my husband. It was always family or friends, wondering if he was all right.

“I don’t know,” I kept telling them. “I don’t know.”

Luz went up to the roof of my building to see if she could see anything more from there than what they were showing on New York 1. While she was gone, I went into my bedroom to get dressed (I was still wearing my pajamas).

All I could think, as I looked into my closet, trying to figure out what to wear, was that my husband was probably dead. I didn’t see how anybody could be down in that part of Manhattan and still be alive. All I could see were things falling —and people jumping — out of those buildings. Anyone on the streets down below would have to be killed by all of that. The jumping people can’t choose where they landed.

I remember exactly what I put on that day: olive green capris and a black T-shirt, with my black Steve Madden slides. I remember thinking, “This will be my Identifying My Dead Husband’s Body outfit. I will never, ever wear it again after this day.”

I knew this because when I worked at a dorm at NYU, a few students had killed themselves. Every time a body was discovered, it was so horrible. Any of us involved in the discovery could never wear the same clothes we wore that day again, because of the memory.

Luz came back down from the roof, very excited. No, she hadn’t seen if the buildings in which my husband and her son were in were all right. But she’d seen thousands — THOUSANDS — of people coming down 4th Avenue, the busy street I lived near at the time. 4th Avenue is always heavily trafficked with honking cars, buses, taxis, bike messengers, and scooters.

Not today. Today all the cars and buses were gone, and the entire avenue was crowded with people.

“Walking,” Luz said. “They’re WALKING DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET.”

I ran to look out the window. Luz was right. Instead of the constant stream of cars I’d gotten used to seeing outside our living room window, I saw wall to wall people. They had taken over the street. They were coming from the Battery, where the Trade Center is located, shoulder to shoulder, ten deep in the middle of the road, like a parade or a rally. There were no cares or trucks at all, only tens of thousands of people.

There were men in business suits, and some in khakis. There were women in skirts and dresses, walking barefoot or in shredded pantyhose, holding their high-heeled shoes because they hurt to wear and they hadn’t had time to grab their commuter running shoes. I saw the ladies who worked in the manicure shop across the street from my building running outside with the flip flops they put on their customers’ feet when they’ve had a pedicure (the flip flops the staff always make sure they get back before you leave).

But today, the staff was giving the flip flops to the women who were barefoot. They were giving away the flip flops.

The manicurists weren’t the only ones trying to help. The men who worked in the deli on the corner were running outside with bottles of water to give to the hot, thirsty marchers. New York City deli owners, GIVING water away. Usually they charged $2.

The world had turned upside down.

“They have to be in there,” Luz said, about her son and my husband, pointing to the crowd. “They’re walking with them, and that’s what’s taking them so long to get here.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. But I wasn’t sure I shared her faith.

Then Luz ran downstairs to see if anyone in the crowd was coming from the same college her son went to, to ask if anyone might have seen him.

I was afraid to leave my apartment, though, because I thought my husband might try to call the landline. Not knowing what else to do, I logged onto the computer. My email was still working, even if the cellphones weren’t. I emailed my husband: WHERE ARE YOU?

No reply.

A friend from Indiana had emailed to ask if there was anything she could do. At the time, the only thing I could think of was, Give blood.

My friend, and everyone she knew, gave blood that day. So many people gave blood that there were lines around the corner to give it.

After a month, a lot of that surplus blood had to be destroyed, because they didn’t have room to store it all. And there turned out to be no use for it, anyway. There were few survivors to give blood to.

My friend Jen, the one who’d woken me up, emailed me from her job at NYU. Fred (out of respect for their desire for anonymity, I have changed the names of some people in this piece), then one of Jen’s employees and also a volunteer EMT, had jumped on his bike and headed downtown to see if there was anything he could do to help.

Jen herself was organizing a massive effort to set up shelter for students who didn’t live on campus, since all the subways and commuter trains had stopped running, and the kids who commuted to school had no way of getting home that night. Every single bridge and tunnel into and out of the city had been shut down, and no traffic was being allowed in or out of the city. Jen was trying to arrange for cots to be set up in the gym for the students.

She ended up staying in the city too that night. She had no way to get back to her house in Connecticut.

Another co-worker from NYU, my friend Jack, did manage to reach his spouse, who worked in the Trade Center, that day. Jack used to train the RAs. He would ask me to “interrupt” his training with a fake administrative temper tantrum — “Why are you in this room?” I would demand. “You never reserved it!”— and then he and I would “fight” about it, and then after I left Jack would ask the RAs what would have been a better way to handle the situation . . . and by the way, did any of them remember what I was wearing? After they’d tell him, he’d have me come back into the room, and point out that every single one of them was wrong about what I’d had on. This was to show how unreliable witness testimony can be.

Jack’s wife had just walked eighty floors down one of the Towers to reach the ground safely since the elevators weren’t working due to the flames, only to realize the guys in her IT department were still up there, backing up data for the company. Once she reached the ground and saw how bad things really were, she tried calling them to tell them to forget backing up and just COME DOWN, but of course she couldn’t get hold of them because no phones were working.

So she climbed back up all eighty flights to MAKE THEM come down, because who doesn’t love their IT guys?

“Why did you go back up?” Jack asked her, when he finally reached her. By that time she, along with the IT guys, had become trapped in the fire and smoke, and couldn’t make their way down again.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” she said.

Of course it did. She was married to Jack. Jack would have done the same thing. She told Jack to say good bye to their twins toddlers for her. That was the last time they spoke.

I can never think of this, or of Jack’s happy, cheerful greeting every time I saw him, or the stunned looks on the RAs faces when they realized we’d pulled one over on them, without wanting to cry. It seems so unfair that those twins have had to grow up not knowing their mother.

Another friend, a pilot who had access to air traffic control radar, emailed me to say all the planes in the U.S. were being grounded — that what had happened had been the result of highjackings. That it was a commercial jet that had hit the Pentagon, where my friend’s father-in-law worked (they eventually found him, safe and sound. He’d been stuck in traffic on his way to the Pentagon when the plane hit. Many people that day were rewarded for tardiness).

But another friend – a girl I’d worked with when I’d been a receptionist in my husband’s office, a girl whom I’d helped pick out a wedding dress, and who, since the big day, had quit her job to raise the four kids she’d had – wasn’t so lucky. She never saw her husband, who worked at the Trade Center, again.

Then, behind me, I heard Pat Kiernan on the TV say, “Oh, my God,” again.

And this time he really WAS crying. Because one of the towers was collapsing.

I watched, not believing my eyes. Since having moved to New York City, I had become accustomed to using the Twin Towers as my own personal compass point for the direction “South,” since they’re on the southern tip of the island, and visible from dozens of blocks away. Wherever you were in the maze of streets that make up the Village, all you had to do to orient yourself was find the Twin Towers, and you knew which direction to go.

(If you ever watched closely during the movie When Harry Met Sally you can see the towers beneath the Washington Square arch in the scene where Sally drops Harry off when they first arrive in New York, and of course they’re shown in nearly every episode of Friends.)

And now one of those towers was coming down.

I don’t remember anything else about that moment except that, as I watched the TV in horror, the front door to my apartment opened, and, assuming it was Luz back from the street, I turned to tell her, “It’s falling down! It’s FALLING DOWN!”

Only it wasn’t Luz. It was my husband.

He said, “What’s falling down? Why are you crying?”

Because HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON.

Because my husband, being my husband, had picked up his briefcase after the first plane hit and said, “Let’s go,” to everyone in his department, took the elevators downstairs, and insisted everyone start walking to our apartment, because it was the closest place to where they were that seemed unlikely to be hit by an airplane.

(He told me later he’d worried “they” were going to try for the Stock Exchange, or the federal buildings you always see on Law and Order, and so had made everyone take small side streets home around those buildings, which is why it took them so long to get there).

They had to dodge the bodies of the people who’d jumped from the burning towers. They saw the desk chairs and computers that had been blown out of the offices so high above littering the street like tickertape from a parade. They saw the second plane hit while they were on the street, and ducked into a cell phone store until the rubble from the explosion settled. A piece of plane, nearly twenty feet long, flew past them, and landed in a parking lot, just missing St. Nicholas Church.

And they kept walking.

I don’t know what people normally do when someone they love, who they were convinced was dead, suddenly walks through the door. All I know is how I reacted: I flung my arms around him. And then I started yelling.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME?”

“I tried, I couldn’t get through,” he said. “What’s falling down?”

Because they had no idea. All they knew was that the city was under attack.

So my husband and his colleagues gathered in our living room—hot, thirsty, but alive, the ones who lived in New Jersey wondering how (and if) they were going to get home. Eventually, that night, they managed to catch boat rides (see the short but excellent film below).

Meanwhile, Luz, not wanting to go home until she’d heard from her son, who was supposed to meet her after class in my building, cleaned.

I told her not to, but she said it helped keep her mind off what was happening.

So she vacuumed, while eleven people sat in my two room apartment and watched the Twin Towers fall.

It wasn’t long after the second tower came down that our friends David and Susan from Indiana, who lived in a beautiful condo near the Twin Towers with their two young children, showed up at our door, their kids and half the employees from their office (which was also in our neighborhood) behind them.

They had been some of the people shown on the news escaping from the massive dust cloud that erupted when the towers fell. They’d abandoned their daughter’s stroller and run for it, while shop owners tossed water on their backs as they passed by to keep their hair and clothes from catching on fire.

In their typical way, however, they had stopped on their way to our place to pick up some bagels.

For all they knew, their apartment was burning down, or being buried under ten feet of rubble. But they’d stopped for bagels, because they’d been worried people might be hungry. Or maybe people just do things in times like that to try to be normal. I don’t know. They didn’t forget the cream cheese, either.

I took the kids into my bedroom, where there was a second TV, because I didn’t think they should see what everyone was watching in the living room, which was footage of what they had just escaped.

I set up my Playstation for Jake, who was seven or so at the time,  while Shai, just turning 4, and I did a puzzle on my floor. Both kids were worried about Mr. Fluff, their pet rabbit, whom they’d been forced to leave behind in their apartment, because there’d been no time to get him (their parents had run from work and grabbed both kids from school).

“Do you think he’s all right?” Jake wanted to know.

At the time, I didn’t see how anything south of Canal Street could be alive, but I told Jake I was sure Mr. Fluff was fine.

This was when Shai and I had the following conversation:

“Are planes going to fly into THIS building?” Shai wanted to know. She was crying as she looked out the windows of my thirteenth floor apartment.

Me: “No. No planes are going to fly into this building.”

Shai: “How do you know?”

Me: “Because all the planes are grounded. No more planes are allowed in the air.”

Shai: “Ever?”

Me: “No. Just until the bad guys who did this get caught.”

Shai: “Who’s going to catch the bad guys?”

Me: “The police will catch them.”

Shai: “No, they won’t. All the police are dead. I saw them going into the building that just fell down.”

Me (trying not to cry): “Shai. Not all the police are dead.”

Shai (crying harder): “Yes, they ARE. I SAW THEM.”

Me (showing Shai a picture from my family photo album of a policeman in his uniform): “Shai, this is my brother. He’s a policeman. And he’s not dead, I promise.” (My brother does not live in New York.) “And he, and other policemen like him, and probably even the Army, will catch the bad guys.”

Shai (no longer crying): “Okay.”

And she went back to her puzzle.

Watching from my living room window, we saw the crowds of people streaming out from what was soon to be called Ground Zero thin to a trickle, then stop altogether. That was when 4th Avenue became crowded with vehicular traffic again. But not taxis or bike messengers.

Soon, our building was shaking from the wheels of hundreds of Humvees and Army trucks, as the National Guard moved in. Downtown was blockaded from 14th Street down. You couldn’t come in or out of the neighborhood without showing proof that you lived there (a piece of mail with your name and address on it, along with a photo ID).

The next day, after having spent the night on our fold-out couch in the living room, Jake and Shai’s parents snuck back to their apartment (they had to sneak, because the National Guard wasn’t letting anyone at all into the area, even with proof that they lived there).

At their apartment, Jake and Shai’s parents found Mr. Fluff alive and well. Later that day the entire family (along with Mr. Fluff), got on a bus to the Hamptons, where they lived for the rest of the year.

As my husband and I were walking back to our apartment from the bus stop where we’d seen off our friends, we saw a familiar face standing on the corner of 4th Avenue and 12th Street, where we lived:

Bill Clinton and his daughter Chelsea, asking people in our neighborhood if we were all right, and if there was anything they could do to help.

I didn’t go up to shake the ex-President’s hand, because I was too shy.

But I stood there watching him and Chelsea, and something about seeing them, so genuinely concerned and kind, made me burst into tears, after having held them in the whole time Jake and Shai had been in my apartment, since I didn’t want to upset them.

But you couldn’t NOT cry. It was impossible. Everyone was doing it …so much so that the deli across the street put a sign in its window: “No Crying, Please.”  Even Rudy Giuliani, New York City’s then mayor (whom I will admit up until this crisis I had not liked, and am certainly not fond of now), kept crying.

But he also kept showing up on New York 1 telling us, “It’s going to be all right.”

The same day we put Jake and Shai’s family on a bus to the Hamptons, September 12 — which also happened to be poor Shai’s birthday — companies (even RIVAL companies) all over Manhattan offered up their spare apartments, conference rooms, and offices to all the people and businesses in the area of the Trade Center that had lost theirs, another act of kindness that never gets mentioned anywhere, but should. Where did the survivors of companies destroyed by 9/11 go to work on 9/12? The conference rooms and offices of their competitors, who offered them up FOR FREE.

Since he was the only person in the company who lived downtown, my husband was elected for the duty of removing all the sensitive data from their now mostly destroyed office, which meant he had to pass through the Brooks Brothers in his building’s foyer, from which he had bought so many of his business shirts and ties. The Brooks Brothers at One Liberty Plaza was now serving as Ground Zero’s morgue.

He never talks about what he saw that day, but I know he threw away the clothes when he got home.

For the next few weeks in Lower Manhattan, even if you wanted to forget, for a minute, what had happened on that cloudless Tuesday morning, you couldn’t. On every corner from 14th Street down stood a National Guardsman, armed with an assault rifle. For days, you couldn’t get milk, bread, or a newspaper below Union Square because they weren’t allowing any delivery trucks — or any vehicles at all, except Army vehicles — into the area.

The National Guardsmen stationed in my neighborhood were not from New York. I know, because I spoke to them frequently. Other states generously sent their own National Guard to help New York. There was no “red” state or “blue” state nonsense. Every single state sent troops. None of them were from the area. They were so young, and most of them were as clueless and scared as we were. None of them were able to answer even the simplest questions, such as: “Where can we get milk?”

But it was comforting to see them there, even if we ended up helping them more than they helped us.

Meanwhile, the front window of my apartment building filled with Missing Person posters of loved ones who’d been lost in the Trade Center. The outside walls of St. Vincent’s Hospital were papered with them as well, and Union Square, at 14th Street, became an impromptu memorial to the dead, filled with candles and flowers. So did the front doors of every local fire station, including the one across the street from my building. The old ladies who used to bring cookies there stood in front of it and cried.

Rumors abounded. This was in the days before smartphones and social media, so there was no way (at that time) to confirm many of the most improbable stories of survival: that a man “surfed” from the 80th floor of the Trade Center on a piece of debris and survived (untrue). That no plane parts were found at the site (untrue). That a woman on the ground, hit by the wheel of one of the planes, woke up in the hospital with no idea what had happened, and jokingly asked if the surgeons could make her butt smaller (never confirmed either way, but amazing if true).

The truth was so much worse than the rumors. You couldn’t go outside during that week — until it finally rained Friday night, four days later – without smelling the acrid smoke from Ground Zero … and, in fact, you were encouraged to wear surgical masks outdoors. An eerie grey fog covered everything. Some of us tried to brave it by not wearing masks — like Londoners during the Blitz — and meeting for lunch like nothing had happened, but the smoke made your eyes burn. I have no idea how the rescue workers at Ground Zero could bear it, and I’m not surprised so many of them now have respiratory diseases and cancer. Several of my friends and colleagues from NYU have now also been diagnosed with cancers caused by 9/11. I have no doubt that for some, the horrors of 9/11 will continue to be felt years.

It wasn’t until employees from a barbecue restaurant drove all the way to Manhattan from Memphis, and stationed their tanker-sized smokers right next to Ground Zero, and then started giving away free barbecue to all the rescue workers there for weeks on end, that the smell changed to something other than death. Everyone loved those guys. It was just barbecue – except it wasn’t just barbecue. It was a sign that, as the mayor kept assuring us, things were going to be all right.

But of course, for a lot of New Yorkers that day, things were never going to be all right again. While I was celebrating the fact that my husband had come home, Fred – Jen’s employee, the volunteer EMT who had ridden his bike downtown to see if there was anything he could do – couldn’t find his crew. This was before the buildings fell, before anyone had any idea those buildings COULD fall, when the police and firemen were still streaming into them, confident they could get people out.

The crew that Fred normally volunteered with were inside one of those buildings, helping people down the stairs. Fred couldn’t find them, because all the cell towers were down, and communication was so sketchy. Someone told Fred to drive a bus they’d found, to help evacuate people out of the World Trade Center area.

Fred didn’t want to be outside driving a bus. He wanted to be inside with his crew, saving people.

But since he couldn’t find his crew, he agreed to drive the bus.

Then the buildings came down. Later, Fred found out that the crew he normally volunteered with had been one of the many rescue squads buried under the rubble.

Like a lot of the rescue workers who lost coworkers in the attack, Fred seemed to feel guilty about having survived, while his friends had not. Even when all his NYU co-workers pitched in and bought him a new bike (after his old one got buried beneath rubble at Ground Zero), Fred couldn’t seem to shake his sadness. It was like he didn’t believe he’d done any good that day.

“All I did,” he said, “was drive a stupid bus.”

But that’s not all he did. Because remember Luz’s son?

Well, he showed up at my apartment not long after Jake and Shai and their parents did. Luz grabbed him and kissed him and shook him and cried, and when she finally let go of him, he told his story:

He had been heading towards — not away from – the towers, because he’d wanted to help, he said. A lot like Fred.

But suddenly, from out of nowhere, someone grabbed him from behind, and threw him onto a stupid bus.

“But I want to stay and help!” Luz’s son yelled at the guy who’d grabbed him.

“Not today,” Fred said.

And he drove Luz’s son, and all the other students from that community college to safety, just before the towers fell.

More than two decades have passed since 9/11. A year or two after the company he worked for got back on its feet, my husband decided financial writing wasn’t for him. He chose to follow a lifelong dream: enrolling in the French Culinary Institute in Manhattan. He got to work with chefs like Jacques Pepin. At his graduation, Michael Lamonaco – who ran Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of the Twin Towers. Michael is another person who happened to be late to work on 9/11 – offered my husband a job in his new restaurant.

My husband declined, however, because we were moving to Key West, where the pace of life is a little bit slower. Michael said he completely understood. We’ve kept our place in Manhattan, though–not the rental we were in that day, but an apartment we purchased right after 9/11 from a woman who was fleeing the city because she didn’t feel safe here anymore.

Luz and her family are doing fine. Fred is now married with two children, and is head of his own division at NYU. Mr. Fluff did eventually die, but of natural causes. Shai is starting graduate school, and Jake is getting married this fall.

What happened on 9/11 was one of the worst things I ever personally experienced (and I was a safe distance away). But I still try to keep in mind what I told Shai that day: that while “bad guys” still exist, there are way more people in this world who want help others than there are who want to hurt. I feel that the stories above, and this film narrated by Tom Hanks, prove it. I hope you agree with me.

Thanks for reading. Stay safe.

The post What Was It Really Like in NYC On 9/11? appeared first on Meg Cabot.

Question: Is it true there is an open casting call for Princess Diaries 3?

Answer: Yes, the rumors are true. There is an open audition (online) for a lead role in The Princess Diaries 3. You can send your audition here. You only have until 9/7/25 to get it in, so hurry up!

The post Princess Diaries 3 Casting Call, Event in Ohio, New Books appeared first on Meg Cabot.

The post Incident Report From the Royal Genovian Guard appeared first on Meg Cabot.

But I’ve been waiting for some good news to post, since I try to keep this a positive place. And so far 2025 hasn’t been a real bundle of laughs. I know most of you agree because I’ve been inundated with people (and memes) asking, “How can I get citizenship in Genovia?”

Ha! If I had inside information on emigrating to Genovia, I would be there myself! But I’m the royal biographer, and I don’t even qualify for a work visa, let alone citizenship.

I have no movie news, either (that I’m allowed to discuss in public). So since we can’t escape to Genovia, what can we do?

Escape into a book!

I know, I know. Of COURSE an author is going to say that! So predictable. I get it. Who even has time to read?

Except…reading is the only thing that’s gotten me through these past few months. I was just starting to feel better after my heart surgery when my mom was diagnosed with dementia, and I had to help move her to a safer environment (which she now loves, but she was not at all happy about at the time).

And then, of course, Pearl broke the bone that attaches her tail to her spine, and now she is incontinent and has to have her bladder expressed four-five times a day.

This waterproof bedspread is a life saver

I feel like a lot of us are going through something similar right now. Okay, maybe you don’t have a wonky heart, parent with dementia, or an incontinent cat.

But multiple studies/polls show that stress levels in America (as well as elsewhere in the world) are at an all-time high!

Fortunately multiple studies ALSO show that one of the best ways to relax, unwind, and reset is to read a book (preferably fiction). Reading helps with depression, stress, dementia…even popcorn brain!

I know it can be hard to find time to read in today’s hectic world, and even harder to find books that keep us engaged. But I’ve had a lot of success lowering my stress levels by re-reading beloved favorites. It still counts as reading if you read something for the 439th time (me with Cold Comfort Farm)! You’re not the same person that you were the first time you read it, so the book might hit in different ways. And even if it doesn’t…hey, it’s great to escape into a fictional world!

That’s why right now, during these “unprecedented times,” I’m doing my part to help combat stress by giving away copies of your favorite Meg Cabot comfort reads—for FREE!

Meg Cabot Comfort Read Giveaway

All you have to do is fill out this form. Then, if your name is chosen, I will mail you a signed Meg Cabot book (again, for FREE)! If you need help choosing a favorite, try our Favorite Finder.

I’m doing this because ever since I started re-reading some of my favorite books (North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell! Miss Mole by EH Young!) I’ve felt much better. I can even concentrate on NEW books!

What are some new books I’ve enjoyed lately?

In no particular order (and by no means a complete list):

The Education of Kia Greer by Alanna Bennett  – A sweet and spicy older YA romance that offers readers an “inside peek” at life inside a wealthy but dysfunctional reality TV family! Perfect when you want something dishy, but also engrossing. Kia is everything, but Cass! OMG.

Contemplation of a Crime by Susan Juby – Yes, I’m biased, because Susan is one of my favorite writers (and people). But I think anyone would find comfort in this smart new adult mystery series featuring a crime-solving Buddhist butler!

Grand Finales by Susan Gubar – Think your life will be over if you don’t get that book published/play produced/record deal by the time you’re 30? Read this book immediately. You will be so, so comforted and inspired by the women in this book, all of whom managed to find ways to keep creating art later in life, despite tremendous health/family/career challenges. This book is the perfect gift for any creator you know. Full disclosure: I am biased about this Susan, too. I used to babysit her kids back in the 1980s while she was writing her previous brilliant books! She is a total inspiration.

Meet Me At Wonderland by Julia DeVillers – A new Julia DeVillers is always a treat, and this one is no exception. Funny and sweet, this younger YA has everything you want in a summer read, including humor, heat (especially under that moose head), very little angst, and a  sweet little romance.

Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray – Shout out to Libba, who is yet another woman I admire. I’m so glad she has a new book out! I haven’t had a chance to read this one yet, but it’s at the top of TBR pile. I’m told it’s amazing.

Disappearing into a good book has always been my go-to move when the bad news becomes too much—only I tend to WRITE books when things are bad, as opposed to reading them.

That’s why in the past few months, I’ve handed in FOUR new books that will be making their way to shelves in 2026 and beyond (more news on them, as well as movie news, closer to release dates).

Until then, I hope you’ll find comfort/nostalgia in my previous releases, and a fresh new story to comfort you in my recs above!

What is this? A new author photo by Michael Blades?! Yes, it is!

It gives me so much comfort to remember that we readers are a community—and as a community, we help each other out! We’re all in this together…and together, I know we’re going make it.

More later.

Much love,

Meg

The post New Book Recs/Comfort Read Giveaway appeared first on Meg Cabot.

The post Happy Holidays! appeared first on Meg Cabot.

So, in my capacity as her royal biographer, it is my duty to inform you that Princess Mia Thermopolis is committed to welcoming every person who wishes to bring their unique skills and perspective to her country…but only if they’re interested in advancing Her Royal Highness’s fight for the health, education, human rights, and financial stability of every single Genovian citizen.

But of course I understand that, until the Royal Genovian Consulate gets their backlog of paperwork straightened out and can begin approving visas, we need to figure out how to cope with the mental/emotional whiplash that many of us are experiencing due to the US election.

But having lived through this many, many times, I know what to do about it:

First:  Fight.

Here are  26 groups whose work is going to be critical in the next few years. From climate justice, empowering women, helping marginalized people, and fighting censorship, these groups desperately need our help. If you can’t contribute money, many of these groups list other ways to contribute, including donating your time and any other skills you might have to create Good Things while fighting the Bad Thing instead.

Second: Read books.

“But who has time for books?” I know some of you are asking.  “The world is on fire—in some places, literally. I can’t bury my head in a book. And I don’t even have the attention span to read the news anymore!”

I know. I went through the same thing myself. But then I did something crazy:

I exited social media (in some cases, deactivated and deleted apps entirely); turned off the news; disassociated with toxic friends/family members; and picked up a book.

It wasn’t easy! At first, no book in any form could hold my attention, let alone distract me from the Bad Things.

But reading books is one of the best ways (besides volunteering, exercising, and socializing with others) to combat stress, depression, and even the cognitive dissonance that can be caused when there too many Bad Things.

So I decided to try re-reading the “classics”—personal favorites that have always made me feel good. Never mind that these were books I’ve read before. I have fond memories of them, which means I enjoyed reading them once. Maybe that magic would return, and I’d enjoy reading them again?

Readers: It worked.

I’m back to reading, both old and new stuff, and despite the many storms brewing outside my window (in some cases literally), I feel centered and calm. While burying your head in a book might seem like a selfish (or even self-defeating) thing to do right now, it’s actually not:

It’s a form of self-care.

Reading can reduce stress, lower blood pressure, and improve sleep quality. It also enhances our critical thinking skills and creativity, while stimulating the brain’s neural pathways. This stimulation enhances brain activity, memory and cognitive function — ultimately boosting our creativity and expanding our capacity to learn, which will prepare us for the fight against the Bad Things!

And it doesn’t matter how or what you read–audio books, graphic novels, e-books, physical books, fiction, nonfiction…all of them will work to give you the mental boost we’re going to need for the battles that await.

Which is why this holiday season, I will be giving B O O K S to myself and others as a present! If you would like to join me, please visit:

 Books and Books Key West (which also happens to be an indie non-profit bookstore and qualified [501(c)(3)] charity set up and co-operated by none other than famous author JUDY BLUME, as well as other community-minded Key West citizens), especially if you want to give the gift of Meg Cabot books.

Just go to the online Meg Cabot page at Books and Books KW, select the book(s) you’d like, and let the store know how you’d like them personalized (or if you’d only like them signed). You don’t even have to speak to anyone if you don’t want to, you can write the instructions on the comment section when you order.

Then leave the rest to Books and Books! (The store is happy to ship internationally, so no worries about that, either.)

If you’re ordering signed books for holiday gifts, you might want to do so by Friday, 12/13 in order to get free shipping (within the continental US). For 1-3 day priority shipping, you should order by 12/19 if you want the books to get there on time (for shipping outside of the continental US, consult the store)!

If a book is out of your price range right now, don’t worry! You can still get that special someone the gift of reading. Send a self-addressed stamped envelope (SASE) to my PO Box (address below), and I’ll return it to you filled with the autographed bookplates (indicate how many you’d like, and if you’d like them personalized), and bookmarks while they last!

Send the SASE to:
Meg Cabot
P.O. Box 4904
Key West, FL 33041-4904

Send your SASE now (RIGHT NOW) so it can be sent back to you in time for the holidays, and so that you can then give the enclosed items to your friends/loved ones!

I don’t know when the Royal Genovian Consulate will get through their backlog of applications for citizenship so that we can all go there.

But I DO know that there is room for everyone…and that makes me happy.

I hope you’ll find something this holiday season that makes YOU happy, as well, and that you’ll join me in helping to create Good Things.

More later.

Much love,

Meg

The post Reading is Self-Care, So Give Books for the Holidays appeared first on Meg Cabot.

It’s been really hard not to say anything about it these past few months (years, actually). I’m so glad my secret’s out in the open now!

I’m a writer, but even I can’t find the words to express how happy and grateful I am to be returning to Genovia, and with such amazing people as Debra Martin Chase (the producer of the first two films!); Adele Lim (director of some of my favorite movies!); and of course the princess herself, Anne Hathaway!

I know people have a lot of questions. I can’t answer all of them.

But, in the spirit of Mia’s diary, here is a list of (spoiler-free) answers to the top 5 questions I’ve been getting the most lately (that I’m allowed to answer):

1. Is it a prequel? No. Not sure where anyone is getting this information, but it’s not true. Please do not trust all the news you read, especially on social media. We are living in an age of rampant misinformation, and this applies to movie news as well.
2. Will it be released in theaters? That is the plan!
3. Does it follow the same storyline as the books? In some ways yes, in other ways no. There are many differences between the books and the movies, but that doesn’t mean both aren’t fun in their own ways.
4. Will it be good? Yes. This script, written by the immensely funny and talented Flora Greeson, is great, whether you love the book  Princess Mia, the movie version, or both. It not only made me laugh, it filled me with a warm, happy feeling. And while I know it might seem like I’m biased,  since I’m both the creator of Princess Mia and Genovia and an executive producer of this film, I’m confident it will make you happy as well.
5. Michael or Nicholas? Sorry, you’ll have to wait and see.

I’m more grateful and excited than I can say that 20+ years since the first Princess Diaries book was published, we’re still embracing (and celebrating) Genovia, and its very beautiful, very funny, very hard-working princess.

Thank you, all of you, very, very much.

More later.

Much love,

Meg

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