Auguries and autumns

Dear Side Questers,

The name of today’s newsletter, auguries of autumn popped into my head and refused to leave. Sometimes bits of text do that to writers, like they know something we don’t. Fine, I said, auguries it is. But first I’ll have to look it up to be sure I understand the word.

An issue, I’ve noticed, of being a lifelong reader, is that some words become intuitive based on their use and decades later, you realize you can’t explain them. Auguries; as in sooth-saying, fortune telling, etc. So I looked it up, to discover that the original augury was the practice of telling the future by observing birds.

I don’t know if I’m a superstitious person. I do like learning about omens and meanings from a magical, cultural standpoint that appeals to my inner storyteller. Then I remembered that pair of blue jays I mentioned in last month’s newsletter, teaming up to chase a very embarrassed-looking hawk from their territory.

I would very much like that to be an augury from birds.

Banned Book Club is a graphic novel written by Kim Hyun Sook and Ryan Estrada, and illustrated by Ko Hyung-Ju. Set in 1983, this book is based on true events that unfolded when South Korea was reigned by a military regime with heavy censorship rules enforced by torture and murder.

The main character, Kim Hyun Sook attends university for the first time, wary of the student protests all around and everything she’s been taught about them. She soon learns that what she’s been taught is not the whole truth and joins a club for banned books. Illegal banned books, I should point out. Spies are searching for them. Her friends are tortured, all for the ‘relentless rebellion of reading.’

It’s a high adrenaline, fast-paced book that I enjoyed immensely. There was a particular page (31) that stopped me in my tracks when I realized how well it represented current events.

The 3-S’s: sex, sports, and screens. If you plug that into a modern-day context, it can get quite disconcerting. It’s been almost a year that the headlines have been dominated by Epstein Island and the rape of children. More recently, they’ve added the FIFA world cup, “bring the [world cup] so they can cheer for their country instead of against its leaders” (page 31, Banned Book Club). And as for screens, well, you’re looking at one right now.

I read this book when it came up at Red, Wine, and Blue’s (ahem) banned book club, a semi-monthly online book club. The group brought in Ryan Estrada (co-writer and husband to Kim Hyun Sook) to offer a small lecture ahead of the discussion.

The hosts asked him what his reaction was when he found out that his book was being banned from school libraries in certain American states. He explained that his main task was to understand why. It’s a book that has won multiple prestigious awards and has historical value, after all.

What he found out was unexpected. Many of the banned books are culled from a list that is sent out to groups like Moms for Liberty. These groups rarely have time to read the books in question, simply because there are so many, so the list is heavily relied upon.

The hosts mentioned that they’ve heard this from several other of their banned book author guests. There’s a list, their book is on it, and nobody actually read their book to confirm.

I’d like to add a caveat of my own here. In the fundamentalist Christian cult I was raised in, we were always discouraged from reading books that come under scrutiny because they could allow the evil “into our hearts,” sway our faith, and the part that was not said out loud: wreck all the hard work of brainwashing us. We were simply to accept that the books were what our leaders told us they were and preach accordingly. And we did, because that’s what we were trained that faithfulness to god looked like. I strongly suggest that this control tactic has more to do with the books not being read rather than that the lists are simply too long.

In addition, Estrada found that if a book happens to have the first three title words of another book that is on that list, that book will get caught in the net and pulled as well.

All of this, as an author, is infuriating, but it got weirder (puts on conspiracy hat). Remember, this book is based on his wife’s lived experience, so Estrada wants to understand. He keeps digging and follows this list to a private school thinktank (my term, not his) who developed this list to discredit public school libraries, knowing that by selecting a certain type of book, they could get religious groups to do the hard work for them and redirect funding from public into private schools.

This is wild to me as someone who lives in a place where public schools are the norm and private schools are a rarity. But it’s a zoom book club and I’m watching the mostly American audience nodding along like this is common. The upper class weaponizing Christianity to funnel more money their way; a literal medieval tactic still in play. Banning books for greed. Ugh.

If you’re enjoying this banned books content, you might also enjoy my book, Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop, a cozy, contemporary fantasy novella about a magical bookshop who delivers banned books to the readers who need them most. Check it out here.

We continue to have fairly regular rain, though I’m cautious to write that “out loud” with another drought raging in Europe right now, looking as brown and brittle as we did this time last year. Our rainwater collection is ridiculous, yet I can’t bring myself to empty the containers that were so precious last year, just in case we anger the gods or what have you.

Here in New Brunswick, the forest is still recovering from the drought, which has been a curious thing to watch. One of the young yellow birch trees (perhaps 10-15 years old) near the spot where we hang our hammocks only leafed out along a single branch this spring, and even those were thin. I think I counted six leaves. Perched on the edge of a steep section of hill, it left a noticeable hole in the canopy, but dead trees are important, too, so we consoled ourselves on the loss and left it alone.

Slowly, carefully, the tree sprouted a few more leaves, close to its center. A few weeks later, a different branch bore a thin stretch of leaves. Then again, and again, as I realized with some wonder that each tiny leaf is playing this massively important role of strengthening its tree enough to push the next leaf, one at a time until they save themselves.

This is the part of the newsletter where I should probably say, never believe you’re too small to make a difference, because you’re not, or even that nothing is ever truly hopeless. But mostly I just want to sit in the wonder of trees for the moment.

the three that will survive

With rain also comes mushrooms, and they’ve been showing off a little extra for having had last year off.

The folds of her gills capture the light like fairy curtains, and there’s something about her that suggests she knows how pretty she is. I never know what to make of this kind of confidence; in people or in mushrooms.

After years of hearing about blue-staining boletes, I found my first, and then dozens more (they are the orange ones to the right in the photo above). In a fit of creativity, I decided to use a stick to stain a poem onto one, which delighted me to no end, but I’m not sure anyone else saw as anything more than someone who wrote on a mushroom with a blue pen. Ah, well.

Then it started to decompose, as all mushrooms do, only I’ve never seen a poem decompose before. Have you?

The article I mentioned last month, that I was hired to write for the 100th anniversary of the Royal Canadian Legion, was published this month. It was an honour to write this, and deeply satisfying to know that, by writing them down, these stories are saved… for now.

The story also coincided with my own research into WWII for my current novel-in-progress, which is now reaching the halfway point. Serendipity! I couldn’t quite believe it when I got the assignment, and I like the way learning these local stories grounded the history for me.

The article is also the most action I’ve ever written! Tank explosions, motorcycle dispatchers being shot off their bikes, and the first Allied member to learn that Hitler was dead was a lady soldier right here at home. ‘Magine! Of course you can read it, too, as it’s available without paywall here: https://www.connectingalbertcounty.org/culture–heritage/heroes-of-albert-county

Appropriately, this volunteer poppy bloomed to coincide with the publication, which was another lovely bit of serendipity.

Well, that’s all my news for this month, but what about you? I’d love to hear from you! Simply hit reply or leave a note in the comments with what you’re reading, your summer adventures, or anything at all.

Until next month, stay enchanted, friends.

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it

Anne Frank and blue jays

We almost had a thunderstorm last night. Almost. I sat in my hammock chair in the woods, enjoying the dimming light, the distant rumbles, ready to go inside if anything got close. At this elevation, we are sometimes inside the thunderstorms in a way that’s absolutely, deliciously frightening. Last year we didn’t have any due to the drought, and this year… well, I’m hopeful. I have been tantalized.

Growing up, I was low-key obsessed with Anne Frank: Dairy of a Young Girl. Part of this was my fascination with anything related to writing, and Anne Frank was a writer. Alongside her diary entries, the book features her fairy tales and short stories. I thought about that a lot in terms of escapism, of seeing yourself through something unbearable. I mean, the utter boredom of spending years in a few tiny rooms with the same people. Hunted and hungry. Staying quiet not just to save your own life, but everyone’s.

It taught me how writing can save a person.

I’ve learned since then that her father edited her entries before publishing, which satisfied one question I’d always had: she never wrote her situation as unbearable. She complains, sure, but there’s never a sense that she might break. Which, given her age, seems like a lot of heavy lifting for her imagination.

So now, burdened with this new knowledge, I reread Anne Frank tentatively, because it’s just as important to me now as it was then that writing can save a person’s mind. That it can still see me through terrible, unbearable things.

I wonder what younger me would say if I traveled back in time and found a way to tell her that Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl was being banned from school libraries stateside. She’d know. There’d be none of this frog sitting in the pan while the water was heated up to boiling. She’d know.

If you’ve never read this book, I challenge you to read it this summer. Enjoy the innocence of Anne’s fiction, and she is a good writer, but don’t skip the diary sections, even when they start to feel oddly prescient.

EDIT: A friend pointed out that they’d read The Diary of Anne Frank, but didn’t remember any short stories and fairy tales. After a short jaunt down a rabbit hole, I discovered that my edition of the Diary has Anne Frank’s Tales from the Secret Annex included, while other editions do not. Apologies for any confusion, for I didn’t realize there were different editions on this scale. And I do recommend Tales from the Secret Annex if you haven’t read any of Anne Frank’s fiction.

I’ve been going for more and more walks to stop myself from going online and tapping into a now-constant frustration of the news cycle and what seems like deliberate intention to destroy this beloved planet at this point.

This afforded me the pleasure of seeing two blue jays, two of those raucous birdfeeder villains, in an all-out, admittedly majestic protest at the presence of a merlin. Rather than King Arthur’s magical friend, this was the bird of prey kind of merlin, who feasts on smaller birds. Screaming, insistent, and very much in danger themselves, this blue jay pair refused to tolerate the predator’s presence, swooping and herding it away. The merlin looked embarrassed that there was a witness to its retreat (me). The blue jays, for their part, escorted the merlin well out of their territory, or at least my line of sight, down past the wooded ridge.

My opinion of blue jays was much improved by the experience.

new forest friend. He has a walking stick.

Work continues on my work-in-progress. Deliciously secret work, I’d like to add, after having to give regular updates on my last to satisfy my grant contract. I like sharing, but sometimes I think it breaks my focus.

I did have a fascinating writerly side quest this past month. Hired to play reporter at our local legion’s 100th anniversary and Canada Day celebration, I was privileged to be a part of an intimate audience while family members recounted their father’s and uncle’s experiences in WWII. Better still, I was there because it was my job to write about this event and those experiences.

In a funny bit of serendipity, my secret work-in-progress also deals with WWII. I’m so glad I said yes to this experience.

I need to save the stories for the article, but I’ll happily share that article with you when it’s published.

Until next month, enjoy the dog days coming and I wish you all a pair of raucous blue jays to chase away the predators,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it

Looking for a book?

I got you!

In addition to the links below, I’m always happy to send you signed copies via Canada Post. Email me at shelby.jenniferd{at}gmail.com and let’s make it happen.

Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop is available here: https://mybook.to/LittleBannedBookshop

Borrowed Wings and other Stories is available here: https://mybook.to/Borrowed-Wings

The Incredibly Truthful Diary of Nature is available here: https://mybook.to/IncrediblyTruthful

On the CBC

Earlier this week, I was interviewed by the CBC about Borrowed Wings and other stories going to the Moon with the Lunar Codex, and it’s now available online! You can catch that story here: https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/new-brunswick/lunar-codex-new-brunswick-author-9.7225223

If you’d like to read the book that’s heading to the Moon, you can find it here: https://mybook.to/Borrowed-Wings

New book day!!

Borrowed Wings and other stories is officially launched!

This book means a lot to me, full of stories that feel like old friends, written over the past decade. When I first received my proof copy, I was surprised to find myself tearing up over seeing them all together for the first time.

Ever since, I find myself reaching for it, flipping through, reminding myself of the journey I went on with each of these tales. From idea to writing, to editing, editing, and yes, editing again, then submitting to magazines, an often grueling slog, until the thrill of an acceptance letter finally arrived. We’ve been through a lot together, these stories and I.

I hope to share a bit of these journeys in the coming days, but for now: it’s out there. 26 stories, 4 of which are brand new. In places where people can read it. A thing both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

But where, you might ask? Well for starters, my billionaire free ebook shop here: https://payhip.com/b/jPHGv

On the amazon Canada site here: https://www.amazon.ca/Borrowed-Wings-stories-Jennifer-Shelby/dp/173866967X/ref=sr_1_1

And on the U.S. site: https://www.amazon.com/Borrowed-Wings-stories-Jennifer-Shelby/dp/173866967X

I’m still in holding with Ingram, but it will be available at Indigo and for Kobo in the coming days.

In the meantime, I hope you love it. I hope you read it and it fills your heart with hope and soft joy. I hope that when you’re done reading, you turn it over, gaze at the cover, and give it a hug.

Bookshops and Happy Things

Dear Side Questers,

This past month, a new bookshop was born. Its not a fictional one, but it might be magic. It certainly feels a little magical when you walk in the door, and I did spy some banned books on the shelves.

The bookshop is located in Hillsborough, NB, not far from me (which is almost a miracle in terms of bookshop proximity) in one of the charming Victorian heritage homes the area is known for, and it’s called Fundy Bay Books.

Will my book addiction keep them in business? It’s certainly going to try!

Fundy Bay Books offers new, used, and some gorgeous rare books. It’s a lovely spot and the owner is wonderful. She even managed to draw my youngest and shyest out of her shell to take to a ride on the rolling book ladder installed on one wall. Behold that wonder:

There is a local author section and yes, my books are stocked.

I’m also excited for future author signings and events, and especially… well, if you follow this newsletter, you’ve been learning about my adventures in bookbinding. I brought a few of my creations, hardback, handbound with hand-dyed papers copies of The Little Banned Bookshop’s Guide to Guerilla Bookbinding and showed them to Kourtney, the shop owner. You’d better believe I was holding my breath. Happily, she agreed to carry these as well.

Bookbinding is very much an exercise in patience; glue this section, press for 24 hours, then glue this part, and press for another 24 hours. This is compounded by the time it takes to dye the paper, dry it, and iron it flat so that my printer doesn’t eat it while printing the signatures. If nothing goes wrong, I can make a book in five days, but, you know, things go wrong.

But when it all goes well, it’s so satisfying to see your story go from draft to polishing, then from printing to binding, with all the little embellishments that make my heart glad.

Have a look, and feedback is welcome!

a deer with flowers on his antlers sits beside words that read Jennifer Shelby's nature notes

We didn’t tap our maples this year for maple syrup. Last summer we had a drought that lasted well into fall, taxing our forests terribly, and it didn’t seem kind to ask anymore of the trees but to let them drink heavily of the snowmelt and heal.

Meanwhile the birds have returned. I’ve been seeing red polls and doves, even a few merlins around the yard. I saw a red-winged blackbird at the marsh and closed my eyes while he sang his pretty song, which completely infuriated one of the local beavers, who then smacked his tail in warning and cut off the song mid-note. Of course, my eyes were closed so I didn’t see the beaver, which sent my heart into my throat, fully expecting Jenny Greenteeth to pull me to my doom, until he smacked his tail again and revealed himself.

There are still (small, shrinking) patches of snow in the woods, but there are also crocuses in bloom and pussy willows collecting raindrops.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

On the writing front, I’ve been busily formatting and prepping Borrowed Wings and other stories for release. A single chapter remains of A Binding of Spellwork and Story, made possible by a grant from artsnb, and the draft will be complete. I’ve already caught up on the typing of the handwritten draft because I’ve been hemming and hawing over the ending. It won’t be perfect when I turn it in, but it will be finished. Editing will come after.

My books and I will be attending the GMRD Book Fair in Riverview on May 23, along with 40 other authors. Last year was a wonderful event and I’m looking forward to seeing my author friends and reader friends again.

Talk soon,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it

Battling for Charity

Happy spring, Side Questers!

The annual charity battle that I’ve been joining over the past three years has come and gone, an exciting and much-needed boost of fun and silliness right when it’s needed most.

It was a unexpectedly dramatic battle, perhaps because the rest of the world is in such turmoil and we were all desperate for something positive. At its essence, we are meant to create memes to get people to buy our team’s sticker, and all of the money raised goes to predetermined ecological efforts. This year there were two projects in the Amazon rainforest to fund, as well as a habitat project for frosted elfin butterflies.

At the end of the battle, the team who has raised the most money through these stickers is named the champion and has bragging rights forevermore. But to keeps things fun, the organizers throw in some chaos. If someone on your team happens to be online when the buttons go live, they can race to buy the button, and, once bought, a mystery goals is revealed. For instance, the team who raises the most money over the next seven hours will get a larger, or holographic sticker. That’s going to give the team a huge boost over the competition, so everyone scrambles. Other times, it’s a riff on a inside joke, like the button that hid each teams behind a crab. It’s absolutely chaotic and fun.

My team has been named Ice Pack for five or so years, and our animal characters are all best on ones that live at the North and South Pole. But this year, in order to not retraumatize any members or risk having any viral memes co-opted by baddies, we were told to change our name. And yeah, there was drama. Some people made very good arguments and walked away. There was tension between members when people started bringing forth new potential names, enough that I had to remind myself that this was meant to be fun. After a vote, we were the Frosty Fiends and we never looked back.

At one point, Pickles the cat flopped over on my keyboard mid-meme, quickly doubling, tripling, quadrupling a meme-story I was working on. The musk ox caught in the middle caught my eye. I cropped him out, doubled, tripled his length again, and the muskoxipede was born.

And sure, the muskoxipede is not a real animal, but we also have a fictional Pedro Pascal as the Mandalorian and Joel from the Last of Us in our gang as “Frost Daddy” because Claire the polar bear fell in love with him three years ago. Sometimes you just have to run with this stuff when your cat flops onto your keyboard.

The difference between writing my stories and the ones I meme for the battle is the team factor. Things move quick in the charity battle, and I wouldn’t get a second chance with the muskoxipede, so I ended up crowdsourcing his personality, and presenting the responses in meme format. And that just exploded. Note to self, when you have an audience, use them.

This ridiculous critter was the highlight of the battle for me, especially when Animalia Marginalia, a team based on the animals found in medieval illuminations, tried to steal him. Fortunately our bloodthirsty stoat, Nat, was on hand to rescue him.

The Frosty Fiends were neck and neck with the Goth Gang for first place for the last half of the battle, but the Frosty Fiends had some allies who stepped in with donations at the zero moment, and somehow, we won!

More importantly, the conservation projects won, with all the gangs raising over 180K USD. You can learn more about the individual projects and charity battle here if you’re curious.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

Charity battle side quest aside, work continues on my novel, A Binding of Spellwork and Story, made possible by a creation grant from artsnb. I knew this book would be a challenge when I first applied for the grant, but I did underestimate just how much of a challenge. I’m glad for the freedom to pursue that the grant provides, but as the due date looms, I will also be very relieved to finally complete the first draft.

Sometimes you hear of authors saying “this was the hardest thing I ever wrote” and, for me, that is this book (so far, of course). It’s usually followed by a paragraph on why it was worth it. I really really hope that paragraph happens on the other side of this.

For now, I persist.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

That’s it for this month, Side Questers. Hopefully next month I’ll be excited proclaiming The End on this novel and diving head-first into one of the projects I’ve had to put on ye olde backburner. Hopefully the extra burst of energy we get from spring boosts us all.

Don’t forget to take a break from all the terrible to do something for your creative soul. Joy is resistance too.

Take care,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it

Requiem for a Cat

Happy 2026 Side Questers! Despite everything, I’m determined to find the joy in this year. Even if I have to dig it up with bloodied fingernails.

It has, admittedly, started out rough.

My family had to say goodbye to our beloved Blizzard the cat. After untold years, his body was failing, his vision poor, and I couldn’t bear to watch him suffer anymore. I was so afraid I would regret it after our trip to the vet, but instead it felt right. I held him on my shoulder, rubbing his head on the spot he liked best, as his purr faded away and he passed. Unexpectedly, I can still feel him there, which has been deeply comforting.

He was a good cat, and well worthy of having a newsletter dedicated to his furry self. So, while the memories are still sharp, let me tell you about my Blizz.

It was twelve years ago, our first winter in the Enchanted Forest. Every so often, I’d look out the window to see a cat sunning himself on the south-facing steps leading into one of the side buildings. Every time I opened the door or tried to approach him, he ran and hid under the building. I didn’t push.

This carried on for the warmer, earlier months of winter, until a nor’easter blew in, our first on the mountain and let me tell you, it was a proper blizzard. At one point I had the door of the front porch open, trying to shovel the drifting snow off in the howling wind, when I looked across and saw the cat peeking out from the side building. I swung the door open behind me. “You should probably come inside,” I told him.

His little head perked up like he understood and he didn’t hesitate, crossing the distance in just a few kitty leaps and shaking himself off in the mudroom. I was secretly amazed, but didn’t want to make a big deal about it and scare him off. When I opened the door to the house proper, he walked right in. Sniffed noses with our dog Kira, who he surely knew from the yard, accepted the hisses he received from our indoor cat Crookie graciously, then wandered over to the woodstove to warm up.

So now you know how he got his name.

Blizzard never accepted the indoor life. He was a forest cat and, among other things, flat out refused to do his business inside a house. That was disgusting, kitty litter was an abomination, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

The thing with Blizzard is that he very much considered the entire forest HIS. Kira and I would go for a hike to the far end, bordered by a line of hydropoles, and he would show up out of nowhere with a happy little chirp, “fancy meeting you here.” Along the way home, he’d bound up and down trees, criss-cross fallen trees like they were secret passages he’d known his whole life, quite in his element and happy for the company.

Once he came across me, alone, in an altogether different spot after I got tired of following the trail and wanted to explore. For whatever reason, he wasn’t having it. After a sound scolding, he insisted I leave at once, which he accomplished by bounding away, stopping, and crying piteously until I reached him, at which he’d do it again. I don’t know what danger was there that day, but it was certainly important to him.

Kira, our black lab, became one of his best friends. He’d catch a mouse and promptly turn it over to Kira, which, to our horror, she would toss in the air and swallow in one gulp. Blizzard also gave Kira’s ears a good internal grooming at least once a day, and the three of them (Blizzard, Kira, and Crookie) would usually take over the couch for naps mid-afternoon.

Crookie and Blizzard took longer to bond, but after a year or two, they could be found curled up together on sunny floors and abandoned beds. Or getting their midnight zoomies out while Kira huffed in frustration.

Blizzard was the last one remaining of their trio and it does feel like a generation of pets has passed. The magical, mythical pets of the kids’ early childhoods. Strange how those generations form in your mind as your own years start to pile up.

When we first took him for vaccines and to be neutered, the vet estimated Blizzard was 5-7 years old, and we had 12 good years with him. That’s a fine, long life for a cat who grew into adulthood as a stray. Despite a few frostbite scars, the forest had been good to him.

Goodbye, Blizzard. You will be missed and you will be remembered, which is a good ending for any story made of fur.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

Until next month, thank you for reading and for letting a little bit of my heart into yours.

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it

Solstice Side Questing

We made it to the shortest day of the year, side questers. Tonight the Wild Hunt will ride, some of us will burn our Yule logs, and tomorrow, the sun will return and the days will grow longer.

I, for one, will not be tempting the Wild Hunt in the year that has been 2025.

But the legends do say it’s a good tradition to eat something yellow on the solstice, to invite back the sun. My version of this will be drinking a cup of the chamomile flowers I grew this past summer, my comfort tea, with a splash of honey. I remember thinking of this every evening as I picked the flowers, and as I kept my lone chamomile plant watered despite the drought we were having. It’s gone now, the garden a skeleton of brown things patched with snow, but the chickadees still flutter there, happy for the birdseed I scatter in the mornings. Feeding birds feels like fighting back the dark as well.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

I’m still side questing in bookbinding, though I have extended myself into dying the paper I’m using in more fun and textured ways. Most of this is happening with different types of tea.

It’s easy enough to do: first I blot the pages with the wet tea bags, then I hang them to dry around the woodstove. Once dry, I iron them, though they’re never quite as flat as they once were.

I experimented with soaking the paper on soy milk beforehand, which, I was told, would help the pages absorb pigment, but the paper was so fragile by the time I got to the tea stage, I abandoned the effort.

Because tea is acidic, particularly black tea, this method isn’t exactly archival quality; the acid in the tea will eventually eat the pages, but we’re talking a few decades. I’ll admit this would have given me pause when I was younger, dreaming of becoming a celebrated writer after my inevitable demise. In my jaded present, I can’t help but think of the mountains of garbage we all leave behind that will never decompose and suddenly leaving more seems an almost immoral decadence.

That being said, one can cut the acid by mixing baking soda with the tea when dying the paper.

I’ve gotten some lovely grey-blue pages from hibiscus tea, and shades of textured brown from black tea.

It’s the texture that captures my attention. After I discovered what was possible, I made a few of what I’m calling ‘composition notebooks’ – a few couplets of signatures stitched together without a cover, made from tea-dyed legal-sized printer paper, and alternating the two shades of colour.

After struggling to write in the more “proper” notebooks I made, I kept these composition notebooks small enough that they’re flexible while writing. Since I’m left-handed, I was taught to write with my page sideways, which can mean some notebook covers will stab me in the chest when I’m writing on the left hand side of a page. To avoid that discomfort, I usually use coil-bound books, but I’ve always wanted a handmade alternative and I think these are it for me. I can fold the notebook in half without damaging it and write comfortably, even while sitting up in bed. And I can easily redo the stitches and give these composition books a hardcover once they’re full.

There’s also something to be said for reaching for a notebook that I’ve already been creative with. There’s no fear of the blank page, because they don’t feel blank, they feel heavy with creative history. They feel safe and welcoming for untested stories.

a deer with flowers on his antlers sits beside words that read Jennifer Shelby's nature notes

or a few days, before the snow blanketed everything in winter, a pileated woodpecker kept returning to this well-rotten log on the woods across from where I usually park the truck. There’s nothing strange about seeing one of these birds, as they are often flitting in the treetops, but I’d never seen them on the ground before and I was struck by their size. I thought they were robin-sized, but no, this one was closer to a pheasant’s size.

They were likely feasting on carpenter ants from the old log and I was able to take a few blurry photos of them. I didn’t get close for clearer shots, as I didn’t want to frighten them off. Not an acceptable risk when I can otherwise watch them from afar for however long they’ll let me. And he did seem to be having a merry feast.

I first learned about these birds long ago when I was studying to be forestry technician. They’re what’s considered to be an indicator species, because their presence signifies that the forest is healthy and mature enough to sustain them, which is a fine thing for the Enchanted Forest to be, especially after a difficult drought year.

It felt like a good omen going into the end of the year.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

I had hoped to bring you an announcement of my latest published story, but this particular publication keeps meeting up with delays. Hopefully soon! This is short piece, a sort of fictional essay that ties into the book I’ve been working on and I’m very excited to have it out in the world.

In the meantime, I wish you all a festive Yule, keep safe from the Wild Hunt tonight, have a very merry Christmas later this week, and enjoy the longer days ahead.

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it

Bookbindings and Disappointments

I took a deep dive into bookbinding. And honestly? It’s main quest-adjacent enough that this might turn into a full-fledged hobby.

I’ll preface this by saying that I bought a bookbinding kit last spring, thinking that it could be a fun rainy day project over the summer break. After some initial excitement, the kids decided, after the kit arrived, of course, that they weren’t interested. Since it never did rain last summer, it’s probably for the best.

But it did rain this month. So. Much. And I was writing a story about bookbinding, after all, so I pulled out the kit, queued up some YouTube videos, and dove in. I rebound a paperback of Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop to begin with, then I learned coptic and French link stitches, and made these adorable little notebooks:

After that I attempted my first hardcover, also a notebook:

It was time to put it all together, cut up some sketchbooks, and figure out how print signatures from my home printer, and create a hard-bound, pocket-sized short story. I picked one of my longest short stories and got to work.

And… it was fine? It looked just like a little book. Which, at this point, did not intrigue me in the least. Somewhere along the line, I realized that just because I could make a book like a machine made, I didn’t particularly want to. I liked the open stitching of those few notebooks, I liked the possibilities of what I could do. Of how I can make a book look like the story, how it can be an extension of the art. That maybe, if there’s magic inside the book, there’s space for magic on the outside, too.

I’m still working on that, my next bound story half-finished and a feral, artsy little thing. I pulled out the acorn cap ink I made last year, this odd ink that damaged my fountain pens but leaves this lively swirl when it dries, and the pages have started coming to life. It drew everything together for me. When I write, I get these odd, disconnected ideas that I write into my notebooks because I know they’ll find their purpose in a few years, in another story. And here is this ink I made that appears to have been waiting, just like those story bits.

The biggest nature news is… it rained. It finally rained and rained and rained, just like we so desperately needed. Our little pond went from empty to flooded:

It didn’t last, a day at most, before the thirsty trees and desperate ground slurped it all up, but then it rained some more, enough that the local mushrooms finally made an appearance:

And, oh, there were lovely writing days in all that rain. Of course, some other forms of precipitation also made an appearance:

Which I thought was mean, since we’d only just got mushrooms and now they were all hidden again. But what can you do.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

And that’s about it for November, folks. I’d love to hear what you’re up to before the season is lost to busy-ness. My next letter will the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, which seems farther off than close, but will arrive before we know it.

Keep the light close,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it