I sat down with a longing to share a thought, only to realize that a thought and a longing are two separate, lonely things. If I could take that which aches beneath my heart and string it into words, than I could tell you why the night hovers outside my open door. How the darkness has saddled up to that which has come and gone, making the years collapse into moments that bump against the holes of the screen and slip in. The weight of it, when it comes down all at once and slips in, pretending to be nothing more than a moonless night in spring.

Asking myself, why am I writing a novel about a certain time and place in history, the answer hides behind the trunks of trees at twilight. Wondering, has it not already been written about by so many others and what do I have to offer that is new, I find the answer come morning. I put on my earphones to hear a really old Aretha Franklin song while I stand upon the mossy grass in my front yard, sunshine falling like rain. What I have to offer, through the characters I create and the vivid world I set them in, is how it feels to have lived in such a time and place. Having an emotional connection to the knowledge we absorb allows us to know (even when we don't understand) that we are each other, despite so many disguises.

I spent the morning talking with young writers at Paulsboro Middle School. Eighth graders who already have a thing for words! I envy them their fresh, raw perspective. I offered them the advice: read, read, read and write without worrying about who might ever read it. The act of writing is the cake, a reader would just be frosting.

My daughter gave me a mug for Christmas that I have been using daily. Not only is it the best color green (same as my favorite tattered t-shirt, almost the inside of an avocado) but also, undeniably large, which plays nicely into my new year's resolution of one cup of coffee per day. Best of all is the phrase "no plan B" painted in black by Billy the Artist who sells his mugs in a wonderful art gallery in Collingswood NJ, where we celebrated the winter solstice.
So, no plan B, I say to myself, not so much when buying dessert nor choosing random books from the library. But declaring myself as writer: no plan B!

Recently my fifteen year old son wrote a paper analyzing an Alice Walker short story. He had spied the avenue in which the main character (a poor black woman in the jim crow south) found her power. I thought to myself when I read it, this would make Alice smile. No this would make her beam. One day, they should sit down and share a cup of tea.
On a different day, in a rather casual tone, he mentioned that he didn't believe one person could really belong to another. I looked at his young face and thought of Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon, which he has yet to read. When one of her character's says "Don't. It's a bad word, belong. Especially when you put it with someone you love." it struck a chord with me when I read it. I wonder if I knew that to be true when I was his age, then had to be reminded a decade or two later when I read her book. I believe our children do come to teach us the things that we have grown to forget.
"You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you." Kahlil Gibran

I spent another lovely evening with a book club, this one huddled in a cozy home along the Minnehaha Creek in Minneapolis. Fortunately, I was able to join them in spirit, voice and vision (through the amazing technology of Facetime). How lucky to connect with a powerful group of women with beautiful insights into Finding Hollis. Funny how I keep learning things about the characters and the storyline each time I talk to someone new. It reminds me of the wonders of the creative process. A chance to be made bigger and stronger by daring to open up to that which connects us all.

"Dismiss what insults your soul" W. Whitman
There is so much clutter in the way of a clear thought and a simple deed. Sunshine through my windows, landing like packages across the room, reminds me to let go and let go and let go of all that proves insignificant. Rather step, patiently, into each pool and absorb that which is essential to the well-being of my own best self. Opt to build the four frames of my own windows in which to see the world and then kiss the view each night into my children's cheeks, and each morning, and halfway through everyday. Until the moment they stand mesmerized by the light of mid-morning and their own ability to look at life through whatever prism they choose.

At a recent book reading in Minneapolis I was asked what black people think of Finding Hollis. While writing the book I was continuously aware of the fact that I was creating characters from ethnic groups from which I did not seemingly belong. Knowing the historical misrepresentation of people of color by white writers and the limited opportunity for people of color to tell there own story, I thought of my options. I could write a book omitting the presence of groups of people I can only really know by shared concerns and not shared experience or I could include them, acknowledging that they germinate from my own specific perspective. I obviously opted for the second choice and felt confident as my story emerged that I had paid enough attention as a human and a writer that I could construct my characters with an authenticity that each deserved.
Nonetheless when the reporter asked me the question, the answer that I gave boiled down to "my husband and my one black friend liked it." An answer that I laughed about over dinner with that friend a few days ago. Since being asked, all the people of color that have read it and gave me great feedback have popped into my head, including my mother-in-law.
Thinking about it, of course it matters to me what black people think of Finding Hollis but I also told the reporter that the book is really aimed for white people to read. Here is why. As a white person writing a book about race, I can only offer wisdom from my unique point of view. I can offer the idea that the world is not just about us even when we could easily pretend it is, especially in 1944 in Minneapolis. This is the privilege of being white in America and Finding Hollis is an attempt to prove that it is a privilege worth discarding. Like a number of characters in the book, I have learned that I prefer a world that expects more from me and offers more to those I love. To write a book that does not include issues of race, would be for me, an offense against my children's right to walk into the future wearing a smile.

The cool thing about being an author, is the ability to connect with people. When I can use a creative medium to share my perspective on life and then someone reads it and says "YES, that's what I'm saying" what could be more exciting? I have met the coolest people. Tomorrow I will describe a few. As for now, it is lunch time with my three favorite people.