Do you ever decide to ignore that little voice in your head that says “I’m not sure this is how the story is supposed to go” and plough ahead anyway? I know better, but I do it anyway. Sometimes I think I need to shake the story loose, but all it seems to do is make the story hide deeper in the shadowy depths of my mind.

That’s what happened with my “Binding of Spellwork and Story” novel that I’ve committed to write AND received a generous grant from artsnb to do just that.

I wrote about 22 000 words, hemming and hawing, poking and prodding. Maybe it’s too writerly. It probably is too writerly. This is a word I use that intend the same way that the art world uses “painterly” for techniques that makes the painter real and present in the final artwork. Painterly gets a whole term in art, while writers are not supposed to present in the finished “product” (here the quotations are to represent me cringing because I referred to art as a product). Writers are told things like “never break the fourth wall.” As a reader and a writer who delights in any sort of authorly asides, I co-opted the word painterly back in grade 11 art history class and wrote things are writerly as my rogue heart desired. Look at my brush strokes! An author was here, a human, a (gasp, horror) WRITER wrote this.

Then I had to stop that if I ever wanted to get published. There’s a whole thing about this, “first you have to learn the rules before you can break them,” but you also have to PROVE you know the rules, which is a whole other thing.

Then along comes AI and I’m thinking it’s time to get writerly AF. Forget about creating a story where the writer is ignorable, now is the time to make writers a FEATURE rather than a bug.

So when it came up when I workshopping those early chapters, I got quiet and paid attention to what was being said. “I’m not sure how appealing this will be to non-writers,” one writer told me, “but I like it.” This gave me pause, because that’s the trick isn’t it? Convincing non-writers to like something deliciously writerly.

And I think I need a challenge like that to really lose myself into a project. So these past weeks, I’ve been dismantling the story that was starting to feel forced and stalled, and instead, I’ve been gently coaxing the story it wants to be, and I want it to be, to come out of hiding. Some writers call this plotting, but it feels more like trying to soothe a feral cat so they come out of the hole they’ve hidden themself in after I tried to pick them up before they were ready.

Which requires I put my ego aside and learn oh so much patience. Bless the writers who don’t need to plot before they write; they clearly sacrifice to very different gods than I.

As I write these words, the feral story has started responding to my pleading mews and is revealing itself, however slowly. It nibbles the food I’ve left out for it when I’m sleeping. Patience. We’ll get there.

Last month I mentioned that my first ever book fair was coming up and on this side of time, I’m happy to report that it was a smashing success.

It wasn’t without its tense moments. The first few hours, as readers trickled past, not interested in me or my book and the smile on my face started to ache, my heart began to sink and oh gods what if I don’t sell a single book. But then the cozy fantasy readers, who had apparently just slept late (very cozy of them, if I’m honest), arrived and everything got much better after that.

I was especially thrilled when an academic of banned books picked up a copy of Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop. I hope they leave a review!

The real stars of the spring ephemerals are the fawn lilies (aka trout lilies or dogtooth violets) and trilliums, followed by the tiny white violets that grew in the Lover’s Lane of the woods where I grew up and now, my lawn. But this year, I was all about the inedible cinnamon fern fiddleheads.

As they grow, they huddle together, a tightknit little fern family. Encouraging each other, no doubt, as they gather their bravest thoughts and slowly unfurl.

My family’s been doing a lot of this this spring. Leaning on each other, supporting each other through difficult things. It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve got each other.

And of course I have one of those brains that sees faces everywhere and cheerfully assign characterhood to just about everything so the horsey little fella eyeing us in the picture above while his hair flops downward and a line of drool escapes him unbeknownst, well, that’s just joy.

That’s my news for May. The leaves are just about half-sized here and I get a lovely gasp of green delight still when I look out a window or go outside. The hummingbird feeder is up and my laundry basket is full of tomatoes and petunias traveling inside and back out again while we get through the final frosts of the year. I’m excited to get the garden in and welcome the fireflies this June. What are you most looking forward to this summer?

Until then, keep writing, keep reading, keep dreaming.