Until next time, Seattle
An inadvertent Irish goodbye
I don’t think I heard the phrase “Irish goodbye” — referring to slipping out of a party or social situation without saying goodbye — until well into adulthood. One explanation for the phrase attributes it to the grief of Irish emigration during the Potato Famine, when to say goodbye would have been a too-painful acknowledgement that those leaving likely would never see their loved ones again.
My own Irish goodbye involves my unplanned early departure, due to a family emergency, from what I’ve flippantly described as my summer internship at The Seattle Times. The good news: All is fine on the family front now, and I’m still working for the Times for a little longer, albeit remotely.
But I never got to say a proper goodbye to my terrific colleagues there or to the city for whom I’d come to feel such affection. Its breathtaking views of Mount Rainier continued my longstanding fascination with volcanoes, earlier fostered during a monthlong residency in Naples (Vesuvius), another residency on Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula (the triumvirate of Augustine, Iliamna and Redoubt) and several trips to Sicily (Etna).
There were so many more places in and around Seattle I’d planned to explore and more of its fabulous food scene I wanted to try. And I’m bummed that I left when I was this close to filling out my punch card at Elliott Bay Book Company.
To add insult to injury, New Jersey “welcomed” me back with Defcon 1-level heat and humidity. Meanwhile, my weather app cruelly taunts me with daily reminders that Seattle continues to experience summer perfection, with day after sunny, warm days with low humidity and gentle breezes.
But I brought a little bit of Seattle back home with me. After a long fallow writing period, something clicked while I was there. I started a new project, unrelated to any of my earlier books. It’s set – where else? – in Seattle. Which means at some point, in the interest of research, I’ll have to go back.
Looking forward to that day.
Book News: When reality trumps fiction
I wrote Best Be Prepared, my fourth novel (Severn House, 2023) featuring amateur sleuth Nora Best, after a monthlong residence at Willapa Bay AiR on Washington state’s Long Beach Peninsula. Despite having spent so much time around volcanoes, I’d never been in a serious tsunami zone and the peninsula’s tsunami alert towers made a powerful impression — along with the realization that if “the big one” hit, most people on the largely pancake-flat peninsula didn’t stand a chance. Hence, a novel (termed “enthralling” by Publishers Weekly) about a Pacific Northwest town caught up in a debate-turned-deadly over the cost of tsunami preparations vs. lucrative tourism development.
Enter real life this week, when tsunami advisories were issued for much of the West Coast after a monster earthquake off Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula. Fortunately, by the time the waves reached the continental United States, their power was largely spent. But it solidified my long-held suspicion that no matter how inventive fiction feels, fact frequently wins out.
Bakes of the month: Discarded, not
I jumped on the sourdough train during the pandemic, when it seemed as though everyone was posting photos of beautiful brown loaves with crackly crusts and impressive open crumb. Me, not so much. Somehow I never got the hang of it, and when the other adult in the house tossed my starter, mistaking it for something scary in the fridge, I called it quits.
A couple of weeks ago, though, during my annual pilgrimage to the King Arthur Baking store in Norwich, Vermont, I impulsively picked up some new starter. It’s bubbling away in its little jar, daring me to try bread again.
Meanwhile, I’m ending up with gobs of discard. Instead of throwing it out as I did last time, I turned to recipes that use it – and shazzam! I’ll probably never make pancakes any other way again. I also tried cornbread – a favored butter-delivery device in our household – and blueberry muffins.
Next month – deep breath – bread. Watch this space.
Cool reads for hot days
I no longer have a hammock or a porch swing or even the crook of a venerable willow, all favorite childhood summer reading spots. Turns out it doesn’t matter. All that’s needed to conjure that feeling is a great book, so engrossing that the heat no longer matters. This month’s reads qualify, especially given their subject matter.
Claire Keegan’s aptly named Small Things Like These (128 pages; I read it in just a few hours) takes place on a snowy stretch just before Christmas in County Wexford, Ireland. The icy damp fairly seeps into your bones as you read, as does the cold-blooded secret the book reveals.
P. Finian Reilly’s Ice’s End deftly toggles between early Antarctic exploration and a futuristic but entirely-too-believable scenario involving deep-sea mining off Antarctica – and a secret that ties the two together. It’s a terrific blend of historical novel and sci-fi thriller and you’ll probably want to read it with a parka at hand.
The season in Megan Abbott’s latest, El Dorado Drive, is psychological – the winter of Detroit’s auto industry and the collapse of the entitled lifestyles of its executives and their families. The book revolves around three sisters who grew up in that world, and the chilling lengths to which they go to regain the privileges of their previous status.
Appearances
I love talking with groups about books or writing in general, either in person or via the magic of Zoom. I also give writing workshops, perfect for libraries and writing groups. Interested? You can contact me via my website or by messaging me here.
Good read! Let me hearing about your adventures.
Always love reading your dispatches, Gwen!