It’s been ages since I’ve been here, in this space. Sometimes it feels like the world presses in so hard that it’s difficult to breath and the words come slow like molasses or not at all. In the last few months I’ve thought of this little corner of the web that I call my own, my tattered flag waving in the ever-present jumble of others scratching out their words on this new-aged parchment. I haven’t been sure where to take this weathered page, one that started as a cathartic way to move through my grieving and put a balm on my childless body. It was here in this place that I laid down the words I wanted to say and no one wanted to hear. It was angry. It was raw. It was my therapy. Since then, all those years ago, my writing has adapted to the space in life I find myself and now, the words have seemed tied up tight, whispering to me-just out of reach. In this time I’ve written off this place. Three books have come from these fingers tapping on missing keys and dying computers. The first two have made their way into many of your homes. The last is waiting-turned down by publishers and agents-trying to find it’s time and place. I want to make changes still and may just forgo the rest and publish sans agent but for now it rests, the characters building their home and rewriting their stories.
A long while ago I asked what story you’d like to hear next, something new or the story behind our beloved Gran and Gramps that filled the pages of Fearfully Made. The response was a resounding petition for their story, and I’ll admit, I love them too. These two who lifted off the page and nestled themselves into my heart. What you might not know is that Gran and Gramps are loosely based on my own grandparents. Unfortunately, I never met my grandfather and my grandmother was lost to me through dementia when I was very young. But I heard some stories, and even though I never witnessed it myself, their love was ever present, almost tangible in that way that history calls to you-begging you closer and whispering secrets of ages past. In the book I said that they met when he shook her from a cherry tree, but how my grandpa said it-it was an apple tree in the orchards of Oregon. He had a hard life and I like to think that when he saw her there, this girl balancing on the branches, arm stretch toward another piece of fruit, another penny in her pocket, that he saw his future. I have a romantic heart and it aches to see their story come to life.
Today a picture of them popped up on my newsfeed and the tug of their story pulled tight on me. I mean, just look at that dashing man? He deserves a story, yes? I only know bits and pieces of the true history, but I would love to see how Gran and Gramps’ story unfolds. I think I’d like to change this page a bit. Maybe share the story here in full or in pieces. Would you like to come on this journey with me? Stay tuned, their story is coming…..