January Newsletter

Mud Witch 2 came back in early December for the first round of edits. Those weren’t so bad, so I was able to get them right back to my editor for the second round. I’ve got a couple more weeks on the manuscript I’m working on now, and then that’ll go in the queue to be edited too! It’s a bit faster than I’m used to, but this is a contemporary fiction so there’s a lot less research to do. (It’s easy to make everything factually accurate when it’s a made up town full of made up people!)

Speaking of research, I’ve been spending my afternoons do a lot of it for Mud Witch 3. Writing for that will start in earnest in February, once I’ve got the outline tweaked to my liking. So, all of that to say, there’s a lot of writing going on but no official book release date yet. Soon, I promise!

It’s been cold, cold, cold here! We’ve been doing our best to make the winter garden look presentable, but it’s hard when you can barely feel your fingers. All of my garden podcasts have been talking about leaving cuttings where they lay for the winter to provide shelter for all the beneficial bugs and beasts. I am so looking forward to seeing the bees return, so it’s not a hard sell for me. But most of my gardening right now is imaginary. That is to say, I’m doing a lot of ordering seeds and planning things out. The house rule is I can’t start seeds inside until March because the seedlings sprout too fast and die when I put them out. So if you hear someone loudly sighing from Washington State, that’s me.

Here are five winter delights that are keeping me cozy:

1.      Stash Meyer Lemon Tea: It’s that time of year and this is my go-to sore throat cure. Add some honey and voila! You’ve got a soothing brew with just enough sharpness to cut through the sniffles.

2.      All Creatures Great and Small on PBS Masterpiece: It’s our family’s favorite Sunday night show. Enough drama to keep it interesting, and just enough animal humor to lighten it up.

3.      Code Name Verity: Speaking of British wartime media, this young adult book was recommended to me by a friend of my daughter’s. But I’d recommend it for people of any age. It tells the story of two friends who end up working as spies in France, and it ends with a twist that had me gasping in shock.

4.      Snickerdoodles: It’s a classic for a reason! My middle daughter has perfected the recipe (and the realization that I’m never going to say no to a cookie and cup of tea!)

5.      Territorial Seed Company: It’s too early to plant, but that doesn’t mean you can’t order! Territorial Seeds is our go-to place, if only because they specialize in varieties that thrive in the Pacific Northwest’s unique short dry summer/dark wet winter combo.

From the world of The Mud Witch of Verdun

On the Île de la Maman, December 31, 1917

“Ahh, cassoulet.”

Grandmère pulled the dish out of the oven and breathed in the familiar scent. Just like her mother had made it. She could still remember coming home from school or working in the Grand Garden on cold afternoons, to find her mother plucking a duck her father had shot. Thankfully, on this particular day, she’d been able to beg some already butchered meat from the kitchens. She wasn’t much good at duck hunting.

It was barely five and the sun had already gone down, but that was to be expected on New Year’s Eve. Christmas had been a festive time, between caroling and the feast in the dining hall. But she was tired. Tired of talking, of making merry, of pretending that everything was normal this year, when it was anything but.

Too many families on the Île de Maman had an empty chair this year. Too many young Sirenes had gone off to fight their own war, in the middle of The Great War. It was her Addy’s fault, really, that so many had gone. And to be honest, her own fault. She’d let the girl speak, knowing what would happen. Adelaide Simone’s passion and moral convictions were contagious. Grandmère should know; she’s been the first victim.

She settled down in an armchair by the fire, bowl in hand, and took a bite. Not quite the same as her mother’s, but close enough. Adelaide didn’t know it, but she’d changed her grandmother’s heart long before she’d stood up in that meeting and convinced those girls to go after the metalworkers. In the terrible years between when her own daughter, XXXX, left, and Adelaide had come, Grandmère’s ideas had hardened. She had become the most conservative voice on the Council. In her views, the outside world was to be treated with the utmost suspicion. It was necessary for students to go and learn from the hospitals there, if only because they’d largely eradicated most diseases on the Île. But she was wary of the services that the Sirenes had traditionally provided: nursing care, Water Angel duty, and disaster relief.

It was Addy who’d changed everything. Not with words; that wasn’t her way. But with actions. She’d followed every rule Grandmère had given her. Keep your grades up. Act with respect and propriety. Volunteer to help whenever asked. Go above and beyond.

It was that last part where Addy had flourished. She’d gone above and beyond, every time. In class, she’d asked questions that provoked her teachers. Why? Why are we isolated? Why do we keep these things to ourselves? If we can make people forget, why do we withhold our gifts under the excuse of maintaining secrecy?

Grandmère had rumbled, but Addy wasn’t breaking the rules. And when she’d left for Water Angel duty, she’d done that exceptionally too. Always improving, making sure that she saved every person she could. And through reports and letters, Grandmère had begun to see where her own isolationism was wrong. Addy used her gifts to change things out there…and her bravery was a call to action.

Grandmère was so proud. And yet, for all of that, she’d have given anything to be spending New Year’s Eve with her granddaughter.

Where was Adelaide right now? Sleeping in some dugout? The squads had been clearing out the tunnels, hunting down the last remnants of the metalworkers’ smuggling operation. The last of the metalworkers had been caught and brought back only two months ago, but between mines, artillery shells, and the occasional firefight, a lot of things could happen. Goodness knows Adelaide would be at the tip of the spear if anything were to happen.

Grandmère scraped up the last of the cassoulet with a piece of bread and hoped her granddaughter was at least getting a hot meal tonight. Black pudding or some other English culinary atrocity. Better than nothing.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Coming!” she called.

Outside, Maureen waited by a wagon full of Sirenes.

“Tantine! We’re going to a party in the Grand Garden. Come with us!”

Grandmère looked at the wagon. Maureen must have stopped at every house along the coast road.

“Thank you, Maureen, but I’m going to stay home tonight. I’m rather tired.”

Maureen stepped forward, examining the old woman’s pallor, and nodded.

“I was going to try to convince you, but I’ve been rather tired on many nights lately.”

“How is Anna?” Grandmère asked.

“She’s fine. Waiting in Brest right now, just in case she’s needed. But I had her here for Christmas. And while she was, I gave her ship a little extra protection from the U-boats.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Maureen laughed. “That she is. Although I’m probably luckier to have her, if we’re being honest.”

Laughter burst out from the dozen women behind them.

“I should go,” Maureen said. “They’ve already started the party, I guess. But if you change your mind and want some company, please, come.”

“Thanks, Maureen. I will.”

Grandmère closed the door behind her and went straight to the wine rack. She didn’t drink alone as a rule, but most nights hadn’t been as difficult as this one. The bottle was nothing special, just an everyday red, but it was enough to smooth the edges of the fears that kept creeping up.

An hour later, the fire was dying. She considered putting another log on, but perhaps it was for the best to let it go out. To go to bed and start the new year as soon as possible.

1918.

It had to be a better one. There was hope. She couldn’t let go of that. Addy’s last visit had been to bring Hope, her former best friend, back home to face imprisonment. It had been a somber visit, but one that hopefully heralded the beginning of the end. There were no more active metalworkers on the front lines. The Sirenes were contending against mere conventional warfare now.

It had to be over soon. It had to be.

Grandmère set down her glass and her bottle, ready to put this year and herself to bed.

Another knock sounded.

“Maureen, I said no,” she muttered. But she went to the door anyway.

And opened it to see Adelaide. Dirty, exhausted, and smelling like sweat and muck.

“Happy New Year, Grandmère. Do I smell cassoulet?”

 The End

The Dillaway Diaries