Ben & the Fairy Glen

I probably will end up writing a book set here in Liverpool but this week I finally got back to my Huguenot story! It felt so good to be working on it again, which means I was right to take a break—I didn’t lose the plot, I hadn’t forgotten anything, and now I feel ready to finish it up. Having a little distance from Tours and the project helped, as I’d hoped. That’s the best thing about getting older as a writer: I trust myself more. I recently read an essay by Roxanne Gay where she talks about menopause and feeling as if she might never write anything worthwhile ever again. She was trying to come up with alternate career options when she finally realized menopause messes with your brain. I have been super productive during my perimenopausal decade but the past couple of months did leave me wondering whether I’d just keep coming up with ideas and never finish all the projects I start.

Today I went back to Sefton Park, which is becoming my favorite place to walk. The sign says it’s a Parisian-style park and it’s huge; if I do stay in Liverpool, I would try to find an apartment close by. It reminds me a bit of Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Today I checked out the Palm House and nearby Fairy Glen. I wasn’t sure I was in the right place and was about to ask a man standing by the gate when I realized he was feeding a robin out of his hand! I looked from the bird to his face and I’m pretty sure he was Black…which made me think of Ben Weatherstaff and how this Liverpool novel will be in dialogue with The Secret Garden. It’s World Book Day here in the UK and the radio presenter this morning was describing all the costumes kids were wearing to school since they got to choose their favorite literary character. I did wonder, of course, if all the kids of color chose Harry Potter and if they had any BAME options…then I worked on my puzzle over breakfast, went for my walk, came home and assembled a shelf for the bathroom before putting in my first load of laundry. I don’t know why ordinary things make me anxious. Washers and dryers are different in Europe; this one small load of laundry will take FIVE hours to complete. Which means doing another load tomorrow and over the weekend, probably. Then it will be Sunday, which means the trash bin needs to be pulled down the alley and left on the curb. I like the satisfaction of doing ordinary things without anxiety but by the time I get the hang of it, it’ll be time to move on…

I spent some time on Upwork last night looking for an illustrator for The Crow’s Daughters. Or Daughters of the Crow. Finally gave up and reached out to a Norwegian artist I’ve worked with twice before; Christina is amazing and she’s available, so this afternoon I sent her a bunch of reference photos. Yesterday I found a researcher who published online all the female given names she found in tax records from central France in the 14th-17th century. Some were common in the Touraine region so I pulled my characters’ names from those options: Anne and Berthaude. I’m going with Mathieu for the brother. It’s such a privilege to have this time, in this cozy home, in this city. There’s chaos all over the world but things feel calm here. Yesterday I bought half a dozen brownies from the nearby bakery and joined the Anglican church around the corner for their weekly community dinner. Stayed for the religious conversation that followed but didn’t have much to say. Still, it was nice to be around Christians who weren’t disemboweling one another! I’ve been wading through too many accounts of too many massacres, first in Ireland and then France. Found a post-WWI lynching here in Liverpool and a more recent hate crime killing of a Black teenager but will tuck those away for now.

I finished yet another Huguenot novel yesterday (Merchants of Virtue) but have decided not to finish that trilogy. I need to read something fun! Or maybe I’ll revisit The Secret Garden so I can build bridges to my next novel, which doesn’t yet have a title. It was Global Scouse Day last Saturday so I tried a new place and realized much of the food here reminds me of my maternal grandmother. She cooked a roast every Sunday, I think, and that was pretty much the only time in my childhood when I had beef (that wasn’t ground). I found a new grocery store and was thrilled to find they sell the same root hash my grandmother used to make with carrots, parsnips, and turnips! She was so proud of her African American ancestry but my grandma was very English when it came to her cooking and baking. Grandma always offered about half a dozen homemade baked goods for dessert. I’ve only had one piece of cake so far but there are so many sweet things here. Really appreciated the analysis of the sugar industry that I found at the Museum of Liverpool. There was a refinery called Fairrie & Co. here in Liverpool, which got the wheels turning…could make a clever little picture book about the very first sugar fairy…but for now, it’s back to 16th-century France!