About Abigail
Abigail B. Hartwell writes gentle Amish-adjacent cozy mysteries rooted in the small towns and wooded backroads of east-central Ohio. Though she is not Amish, she lives near Amish communities and draws inspiration from the region’s quiet rhythms, close-knit families, old stories, and rural traditions. She shares a modest home on five wooded acres with her long-haul truck driver husband. They have two grown daughters and three grandchildren. When she is not writing, Abigail enjoys church activities, family time, and the peaceful beauty of the Ohio countryside.
The Quiet Art of Writing
Mysteries with Heart
I have always believed that a good mystery is about more than discovering who committed the crime. It is also about the people left behind, the truths a community protects, and the relationships that change when old secrets finally come to light.
The romances in my books unfold slowly. Affection grows through trust, shared work, restrained words, and the small kindnesses people offer when no one else is watching. I prefer a quiet glance or a walk home to a grand declaration. The heart should take its time.
Life Near Amish Country
I live in east-central Ohio, not far from Amish communities, where horse-drawn buggies still travel country roads and the seasons shape much of daily life. I am not Amish, and I never want my stories to suggest otherwise. I write as a neighbor and observer, with respect for the faith, privacy, labor, and individuality of the people who live here.
The Ohio countryside gives me no shortage of inspiration: wooded roads, farm auctions, church suppers, old cemeteries, family businesses, and houses where generations of stories remain tucked inside drawers, Bibles, quilts, and recipe boxes.
How the Stories Begin
Most of my mysteries begin with an ordinary object that carries more history than anyone realizes. A sampler. A ledger. A hymnbook. A faded postcard or a name written where it does not belong.
From there, I begin asking questions. Who kept it? Who altered it? Who hoped no one would look closely?
I do much of my thinking in the quiet moments, often with trees outside the window and a cup of tea nearby that I will probably forget to drink. The mystery grows slowly, one detail at a time, until the past finally gives up what it has been trying to keep.