A Warrier in the Weeds

I had some good news to share this month ~ Flooded has been released as a Scholastic Gold paperback and I've a new book scheduled for release next fall. I was eager to talk about both, as well as the expected but still startling treasures of spring— the forsythia, the crocus, and this year, quite unexpectedly, the purple iris growing among the weeds. 

The world is in need of good news, and I wanted to share mine. But writing such a blog seemed far too self-absorbed when our country is so broken and our earth so tortured. 

I write historical fiction for children. Even during the darkest times, I look for the narrowest crevice in which to shine a sliver of light and hope. It's not so easy to find that crevice, to bring that light to current events. Adults are supposed to leave the world a better place than when they found it.  We have failed.

I grew up in a bubble. Yes, there were hard times, but with faith and trust and a loving circle of family and friends, I found my footing, and have often reflected on the message my philosophy teacher, Mr. K.,  wrote in my high school yearbook. May life grant you all the joy you can bear and just enough sorrow to know the difference. I didn't think of Mr. K. much during my times of joy, but his words came back like a curse in times of sorrow.

I've never been political, but that was part of my bubble—a belief that what I read in books, what I learned in history class was true. We were the land of the free. The home of the brave. American history is stained, terribly stained, but we were inching towards justice. 

I have been, as I recently told my editor, gliding through life in a canoe. It had been tricky to maneuver through some lake weeds, but I had done it. I write my books. I shine my light. I know the difference between joy and sorrow. 

But again I find myself in the weeds. This time, the whole world is in the weeds and my small canoe has capsized. 

There are, I've learned a few reasons which lead to a canoe capsizing. Perhaps there's an uneven distribution of weight inside the canoe. Perhaps the weather is more challenging than expected or the canoe has bumped into some unknown obstacle beneath the water. There are lots of metaphors here for me to explore, but the bottom line is that I'm soaked in politics now. I'm desperate to give our children a safer, more beautiful world. 

My good news is still good news, but Mr. K. would be proud to know that I truly do understand the difference between joy and sorrow. I also understand the sacred responsibility of every adult to create a less violent, more beautiful world. Like my purple warrior among the weeds, I am drenched in commitment.