My first novel The Beloved Wild, a historical YA, came out in 2018, but once in a great while, a reader will still contact me about it. It’s gratifying when this person shares what they liked about the book, but usually they just have questions. Okay, one question: “Are you going to write a sequel?”
I don’t know. That’s usually what I say. But the truth is, when that novel was finally off my plate and out in the world, I was relieved and ready to move on. A sequel was the last thing on my mind. Not that I didn’t love my girl-masquerading-as-a-boy protagonist Harriet Winter or the early nineteenth century Genesee Valley where her pioneer adventure unfolds; just that crafting an excellent historical novel is, well, hard. [Read more…] about When the Present Makes a Writer Want to Curl Up in the Past
I recently started reading the Harry Potter series to my kids. They’re ten and eleven. They’re home—every hour of every day, for who knows how long, on account of the pandemic. And they’re anxious. I am, too. If ever there was a time to plow through eight fantasy novels and escape into a world of witchcraft and wizardry, it’s now.
Some of the most popular works of fiction are what I think of as monkey-wrench stories. They’re tales that establish an ordinary, habitual, possibly boring-as-hell situation, then introduce an element that upends everything. When an author throws a monkey wrench into the works, the reader gets to experience the disruption (along with the ensuing stress, struggle, excitement) and then, if the tale leans toward hope, the reader can enjoy the restoration of order or the development of a new order. 
“A mindful happiness knows, and acknowledges, everything from which it has been excluded or freed. It often has a frame of suffering around it.”
My friend Rebecca recently recommended that I check out A Fit of Shivers, a collection of ghost stories by the children’s-book author Joan Aiken. I really enjoyed it. Aiken describes the enchanted, horrifying, and strange with matter-of-fact briskness to disconcerting and wryly humorous effect. I found the tale “Something” particularly arresting. It plays with the experience of dread. Dread, of course, is inherent in spooky tales, right along with fear and surprise. But Aiken doesn’t merely highlight dread in “Something.” She lets the feeling function as the antagonist. 
“You can measure your worth by your dedication to your path, not by your successes or failures.”
When I turned forty, my husband, brother, and older sister threw a surprise party for me at Krony’s, a local pizza shop. I remember the event as a jumble of joy: laughter, strewn wrapping paper, the loud antics of seven kids, the pop of a balloon, and a mess of cake and ice cream and pizza crusts. In contrast to the cacophony was something else. A quiet celebration. A piercing thrill. Only the day before, I’d received an acceptance from a literary journal—my first acceptance, after five years of faithful writing. My story “Practical Solution” was to appear in the next issue of Oblong Magazine. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present. 
When I was young, around the age of twelve, I’d start my mornings by making a to-do list. I also incorporated a schedule for the tasks. Homework, studying, practicing the violin, reading, “free time,” mealtimes, bedtime: they all got a specified chunk of minutes. I crossed off the goals as I met them. The daily itinerary was ambitious, impossibly so, and it made me perpetually anxious. Not surprisingly, my middle-grade years were pretty miserable. 
The other day, on a mission to gather books that needed to be returned to the library, I waded through my older child’s room, skirting piles of stuffed animals and hopping over scattered markers, colored pencils, Pokémon cards, nail polish, sketchbooks, Littlest Pet Shop figurines, and who knows what else. I found the library books mixed in with some of my girl’s books, on the floor by the shelves. 
My blog has become a good place for me to reflect on my writing and life. But this month, I’m reflecting on someone else’s work—my brother’s. Robert Ostrom is a professor at New York City College of Technology and the author of The Youngest Butcher in Illinois (YesYes Books, 2012) and Ritual and Bit (Saturnalia Books, 2016). Sandhour, his third poetry collection, is coming out next month. I very much admire Robbie’s work, and his steadfast commitment to his craft inspires me. I thought it would be interesting to interview him and ask him a few questions about his latest collection. Here’s our conversation: