Sometimes Wisteria outdoes herself. You never quite know when she’ll show up. And then one morning you step outside to see her gorgeous drapey perfection almost crooking a finger and saying: “Hey, girl, isn’t it cool that I’m smack in the middle of the back gate and ready for my photo shoot? Do get my good side, there’s a dear.”
Yes. Yes I will, Wisteria. Of course all your sides are excellent. Welcome to the yard. The ferns have been longing for you.
The Booker Rebellion came to me as I drove on a two-lane highway somewhere between Alsea and the ocean. I had been thinking about my nieces and nephews in the magic of a temperate rainforest, all rich and dark and riding the steep ridges of the Oregon Coast Range. The kids I adore, the landscape I love merged into a story. It has never let me go.
Those kids are much taller now, and The Booker Rebellion is a real thing, a literary thriller coming from Sibylline Press in November. The Booker siblings — fifteen-year-old Belinda, twelve-year-old Jack and six-year-old Emmy — discover a corpse in the forest near their remote home and are on their own as they uncover a secret militia caching weapons in the woods, see their aunt disappear, and find themselves the target of a deputy who’d rather they disappear too. Their parents may be off fighting wildfires in Alaska, but these free-range kids have operating instructions: Pay attention. Notice what’s right. Notice what’s wrong. Do what must be done.
In coming months I’ll be sharing more news: a cover reveal, an opportunity for early readers, an upcoming writing workshop. I’ll keep you posted.
A note to the nieces and nephews: I swear, kids, it’s fiction. None of the stuff you actually did is in here. Promise.
Kate’s been gone a while. Years. Today, while tidying the electronic desktop, I stumbled on several images that made me smile. Kate loved investigating a lower kitchen cupboard during late-night wanderings. The open cupboard door next morning always revealed her secret.
This particular morning was the beginning of a gut-the-first-floor house remodel. We’d set up a safe room for her in the upstairs bathroom: her toys, her food, the litter box, a cushion she liked to drowse on.
The construction crew was due to arrive and I wanted Kate (a stranger-averse being of the first order) safely tucked away before they showed up. But Kate, anticipating disruption, had safely tucked herself away. I searched high and low and couldn’t find her.
That morning, she had added a new skill — closing the cupboard door behind her. When, as a last-ditch effort, I checked, there she sat looking at me like “May I help you?” I laughed and grabbed the phone, and she, with great dignity stepped out.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Photo by Susan Palmer
Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now 