Let me say this when it comes to finding the form: nothing is wasted. My entire first novel
remains sitting, unpublished, in my desk drawer. However, the first chapter went on to place in the Toronto Star short story contest in 2019. It was a novel about four middle-aged women who move into an old home together and take a stab at communal living. So, when I say that Margaret came into the void, while I was procrastinating on another project, it’s true and also not true. Nothing is wasted. Good characters can be renamed, recycled, and even find love on the internet.
Veracruzana—A Novel of Mexico's Gulf Coast /
Hotel Mocambo, Veracruz, MX
1968
In a crumbling, seaside mansion, young Camila Lomelín is sheltered from the sparks and fire of the civil rights movement, seemingly destined to follow the sedate bourgeois trajectory of her parents until tragedy strikes and the cries of Tlaleloco’s victim’s reach the port of Veracruz, threatening to tear her family apart.
In the aftermath, her brother’s revolutionary fiancée continues to resist while Camila’s parents barricade themselves within thick mansion walls. When a desperate boy shows up on the doorstep one day, Camila lets him in, and a bit of life returns to the Boulevard.
The boy becomes Camila’s playmate, until a betrayal sends him away. Lonely once more, she sets out to find work and falls in love with a forbidden suitor. Though disobedience goes against her upbringing, she refuses any path mapped out by others. She longs for familial harmony, for safety in her country, for the freedom to pursue the marriage of her choice, for the privilege of raising a family without being dragged into the underworld of rogue ranchers…But to have any power at all means bowing to convention, fighting a revolution or succumbing to the pervasive corruption around her, and she rejects it all. Subsequently, neither marriage, motherhood or vocation turn out the way she thought. When heartbreak returns, so too do unlikely allies, who encourage her to tell her story in a sanctuary of her own creation.
“Veracruzana is at once a portrait of the sparks and fire of the 1960’s Mexican civil rights movement to the globalization of the 1990’s and the emancipation story of one single woman caught between the institutions of the past and the possibilities of the future.”
Author Life—A Thank You /
Years ago, when I was drafting “Between Silk & Wool”, people would ask me why I wanted to write about WWII. Hadn’t everything about the war been excavated already? Was there anything new to say?
The question was posed sincerely, with genuine curiosity. WWII literature is a canon unto itself, and the challenge of telling a familiar story from a different angle wasn’t lost on me. Did I have something different to reveal to the reader? My research had surprised and intrigued me. Would my characters be strong enough to surprise and intrigue readers?
These were my hopes a year ago when “Between Silk and Wool” was released. Since then, what a whirlwind it has been to meet readers and hear their insights about what the story meant to them. I had hoped the novel would touch readers; I never imagined the degree to which I would be on the receiving end of so many letters and personal stories.
Read MoreIt Began With a Story About a Groundhog /
Growing up on a farm, with many cousins and brothers, sometimes an aspiring writer just needs an escape to the city.
Ha ha.
I write this as a city woman now, escaping to the country, so that I can write. Life is funny.
Read MoreThe Allies are Coming /
“I was a saboteur,” he told me, eyes crinkling with mischief at the memory of it. He stretched out a shaking hand and pointed to a bridge over his shoulder. We were standing on the Quai des Célestins and I was lost, which is how I usually attract storytellers. “We blew up that bridge…it was a risk, vous comprenez?” Yes, I understood. Paris under German occupation made daily life a series of risks; attaching dynamite to the bridges was another level. “Mais on avait courage…les allies venaient.” We had courage. The Allies were on their way.
Read MoreI Can’t Be a Spiritual Leader in These Conditions /
It was a perfect late summer evening. A breeze swept through the living room of the big old brick home that would soon welcome twenty young people to live and learn together for the next season of life. The candle flickered on the table. I opened my mouth to pray when instead I began to shriek…
Read MoreThis Story Needs a Chatelaine... /
Having already completed a novel, I wasn’t motivated to start on another ambitious project, but started jotting down ideas anyways. In my downtime, I fell in love with the PBS series “Downtown Abbey”, and particularly the more snobbish characters. How would a wealthy family respond differently to Nazi occupation? How would the lives of a farmer’s daughter and an aristocrat collide? Who would be most able or willing to help a stranger?
Read MoreThere Are Spiders In The Shower /
I’m sitting on an old couch that smells a little like winter leaked through the roof (it did) and looking for a place to put my feet up between the Gilmore Girls box set and a half dozen towels haphazardly folded by my son. It’s summer, we’re on vacation and my body, soul and mind are tired.
I know why my body is tired. We finally decided to do something about the squirrel hotel that is our old cottage shed, and I spent the afternoon hauling shingles to the dumpster. Yes, this is what we do on holidays. It’s more or less like being at home but with a place to swim, paper plates, margaritas and spotty cell service. You know what they say: a change is as good as a rest.
But my soul? My mind? Why are we so tired?