It’s celebration time in my house for a number of reasons, including the completion of the third book in The Bond trilogy (now in the very capable hands of Blue Crow Books). This was a hard one in part because of the circumstances surrounding us all: a pandemic, a heated election, and an even more heated aftermath.
But there it is, a draft completed. I even pulled one all-nighter. No hours slip by as fast as the ones between 2 and 6 am.
I feel a little like this neighborhood sign. Now, I can exhale, at least until the editor’s letter comes and the next crisis hits.
I started Book III on a writing retreat in the Kentucky Knobs in 2017. Unbidden, contemporary events and familiar figures crept into the story albeit transformed into the world of the Weave, Bounty, and my new lands, The Deep. I guess it was cathartic to then mold these figures to my own measure, highlighting some traits and sanding away others (one of them is on the newsletter header). But the real catharsis was finally getting this story, long-simmering, out of my mind and onto the page. More on that, hopefully soon.
Like many writers, I struggle with the point of writing stories in these times. When there’s so much happening—and so much suffering—the work of the imagination can seem trivial. But even a moment’s thought reveals that to be false. We need stories just like we need air and food and water. Not just to escape, mind you (though that’s nice). Stories remind us who we are, what we value, what joy is, and how we can make our way through suffering. One of the themes that came through clearly as I wrote was the importance of family. By that, I don’t just mean the family we’re born into, but the family that we find as we make our way through life.
One thing I’m doing to respond to this political moment is delivering food to Durham school kids. They’re part of families that, for the most part, didn’t realize they were going to slip so quickly into poverty. They didn’t realize that this weekly delivery was going to mean survival.
I’m constantly struck by how little I understand what poverty “looks like.” In my mind, I think of black-and-white photographs from the Depression or famine far away. American hunger often has a car in the drive-way and toys on the porch. But behind the door and the blinds, there’s little food in the cupboard and persistent fear and dread. This wrenching Washington Post story looks at hunger across the country.
I hope you find a way to help in these challenging times.
If you have a friend who needs a good read, please recommend The Bond and The Hive Queen! If you haven’t already, please leave a review on Goodreads.
Until next month!