Thursday, March 15, 2012


It’s been a wonderful journey getting my novel out into the world. The book’s been with me a long time, sometimes neglected for years but always residing in some corner of my mind. There have been moments of doubt, sometimes entire continents of doubt to traverse. It’s been edited and reedited, plumped up and reduced, pored over and read again and again and again. And now it’s out there. People write nice things about it and sometimes, I have to stand and face someone who’s read what I've written. It’s the strangest feeling, like being exposed, some private part no longer entirely private.
But it’s good, the sharing. I nod and smile and offer my thanks and then I slink back to my hidden place and work on something else. Exposure, then fade back to black.

            “So what do you think your special talent is?” Dot asked. “You said your mother was hoping that you had a hidden talent, some calling.”
“I don’t know,” Vivian said.
Dot leaned forward. “Something you’re really good at.”
“What’s yours?”
            Dot paused, looking up at the withered porch awning. “I’m a good friend, I think.  I’m loyal and I try to be honest. Oh, I can make great paper airplanes. I had a book once on how to do it.”
            Vivian laughed.
           "I guess I haven't found one great talent, not yet. I hope I'm not disappointed when I find out what it is."     
from The Qualities of Wood


  1. this snippet was so good, i started reading. i'm five chapters in so far and confident i'm in the hands of a writer who knows what she's doing.

  2. Thanks, Katie. Looking forward to your thoughts and looking forward to reading your novel too! Pub date yet?!?

  3. monsoon season comes out this summer. i'm reading slowly, only because i'm deep in house renovation. i reward myself with a chapter or two in the evening.


"As soon as we express something, we devalue it strangely. We believe ourselves to have dived down into the depths of the abyss, and when we once again reach the surface, the drops of water on our pale fingertips no longer resemble the ocean from which they came...Nevertheless, the treasure shimmers in the darkness unchanged." ---Franz Kafka