Story Synchronicity & Trusting the Process
Hello, all! Welcome back to the blog. I’m so glad you’re here.
Last winter, I found myself struggling with my writing and who I was as a writer. I had released three new books in quick succession over the past year and had no new projects that I was really passionate about. I felt directionless. I even considered giving up writing altogether. Eventually, though, I rallied and decided to buckle down on two projects in particular. I shared about them in a blog post. But–
Enter a New Idea
–wouldn’t you know it, that announcement was precisely what opened the door and invited in a new idea– a new idea I loved. Because of course it did! (Note to self: Trust the process.)
By January 2025, this story idea had landed within me, but I wasn’t sure if I had what it took to write it. But a hike our family took in the Hoosier National Forest near southern Indiana’s Lake Monroe confirmed it.
It was a freezing cold day, and we squeezed the hike in before a big snowstorm rolled across Indiana. While hiking, I came across a trailside sign about none other than the basis for my story idea. The sign told of the “The Land of the Lake” and the community displaced for the construction of the reservoir in the 1960s. Hello, somebody.
Reader, I wrote the book. The story led me to go back and continue my MFA, where I wrote with the help of a faculty mentor. Once I finished the first draft, I went through several rounds of revisions. As of just yesterday, the novel is on its second pass with my editor.
Heirloom Rose will be releasing this fall!
Heirloom Rose
Thirteen-year-old Janie Wells wants nothing more than to go camping with her friends over spring break. After all, a camping trip to southern Indiana’s Lake Monroe sounds a whole lot more fun than staying home. But when Janie’s mother decides that she and her grandmother are going, too, the trip takes an unexpected turn.
Once everyone makes it to the campground, it doesn’t take long before Janie discovers a long-hidden family truth– her grandmother grew up in the community displaced by the construction of Lake Monroe decades earlier. Now there’s so much for Janie to unravel about this place and her family’s troubled past, but it’s made immensely more complicated when she also learns that her grandmother is losing her memory.
Over the course of the week, Janie navigates a bittersweet reunion of the past and a tender reconnection in the present, learning compassion and understanding along the way.
Ultimately, Heirloom Rose is a story of a family’s heartbreak and healing.
Moments of Synchronicity
Research was incredibly important to writing this book, as it has always been for me. I spent a great deal of time around Lake Monroe through the process. I hiked around it and visited several old cemeteries in the area. I researched at the Monroe County History Center in Bloomington, and drew extensively from their website on The Lake Monroe Oral History Project.
One cemetery that’s really out of the way is the place I envision the final chapter of the book, but I hadn’t been able to track it down yet. This past weekend, I finally got the chance to visit. It sits high on a hill above the lake, so it was spared from the flooding for the reservoir. I could even see the waters through the trees at the edge of the cemetery.
In the cemetery scene in my book, there’s a blue jay that plays an important part. While I was wandering among the stones, a bluebird flew right past me– another moment of synchronicity that was not lost on me.
Elizabeth Gilbert writes in her book Big Magic about how stories– or really, any creative work, find possible creatives to bring them into existence. But we must choose to be their conduit. We must choose to devote our time and energy to bring them to life. It sounds wild, but for me, I know it’s true.
I am so thankful this story chose me, and I’m thrilled to release it to the world this fall.
Thank you so much for stopping by the blog. Be sure to subscribe to my monthly newsletter for book news and writing updates. You will also receive a free resource on writing historical fiction for kids, plus a very special short story. My newsletter subscribers will be the first to hear book release news, too!
I’ll be back again soon!
Katie
Sugar-free Lemon Bars & Old Family Stories
Mary Holsclaw (Grandma Andrews) with her mother Helen and grandparents Elmer and Lottie Ash Oder. Christmas Day 1923. Indianapolis, Indiana.
Hello, all! Welcome back to the blog. I’m so glad you’re here.
Family history is intertwined with my writing so deeply that it’s impossible to separate the two. I wrote about how the stories of my ancestors have inspired my historical fiction in this blog post. Today I want to go back to the beginning of my journey as a family historian, because that story deeply impacted my upcoming middle-grade novel, Heirloom Rose.
A Family Historian Origin Story
When I was in high school, I spent many afternoons with my Grandma Mary Andrews. My grandpa had recently passed away and she was living alone in their home of over thirty years. I was curious about our family history, and she was more than happy to tell me about hers. We’d sit in her kitchen at an old covered poker table, snacking on sugar-free lemon bars, and going through boxes of old photos. Many times, we’d spend an entire afternoon talking about just one photo and all the memories and stories it’d bring up for her.
I remember the moment she brought out a picture of her grandparents. It was a sepia-toned photograph of two young people, their heads gently touching, and it was the oldest thing I’d ever seen from our family. Holding that picture and listening to her stories, I realized with awe just how our family is connected to history– how connected I was to history.
Elmer and Lottie Ash Oder c. 1890 My great-great grandparents who raised my grandma Mary Holsclaw Andrews
The Stories of Grandmothers
Janie Wells, the main character of my upcoming middle-grade novel Heirloom Rose, has a similar experience with her own grandmother. On a camping trip to southern Indiana’s Lake Monroe, Janie discovers that her Grandma Marty grew up in the area and that her family was among the communities displaced by the construction of the reservoir decades before. Janie had never known the story of her grandmother’s past. She’d never heard her speak of her parents, or the land of her childhood. During their time at the lake, Janie listens to stories that had been buried for years, and it opens the floodgates of healing for their entire family.
Janie learns, like I did, just how meaningful it is to simply listen to someone’s story. She learns how it can soften hardened, hurting hearts, and pave the way for compassion and understanding.
My Grandma Andrews was raised by her mother and grandparents, the two people in that old photograph. I didn’t know until I was a teenager that her father had left their family when she was little. I didn’t know that she lived with her grandparents growing up. But I listened, I learned her story, and it helped me know and understand her better. And it’s this that I’ve woven into the story of Heirloom Rose.
Heirloom Rose releases this fall. In the meantime, I invite you to check out my other books for young readers here.
Little Katie with Grandma Andrews
Question: What old stories can you tell about your family?
Try this with kids: Share an old family story with your kids. Tell them a funny story from your childhood, a special memory about your elders, or something special about a family pet. Invite them to share their favorite family stories with you, too.
Thank you so much for stopping by the blog. For book news and writing updates from me, please subscribe to my monthly newsletter below. You will also receive a free resource on writing historical fiction for kids, plus a very special short story– based on a sweet childhood memory my Grandma Andrews told me once upon a time.
I’ll be back on the blog again soon!
Katie
Star Wars— and why I write stories of hope
I wrote this post a year ago in May 2025, but I thought I’d bring it back for Star Wars Day 2026!
For the past several months, I have been quietly doubting my writing journey, considering whether or not I wanted to continue pursuing this in my life.
Why– when the arts and humanities are constantly devalued and defunded, when the cost-of-living is soaring and access to healthcare is not guaranteed– WHY in the world would I keep writing?
Why? Because it’s not all about me. Because I have a message to share, especially with young readers.
I believe we all have a message to share with the world– but I also know that many choose to turn away from it.
Too many succumb to the insanity and chaos and noise that drowns out what our inner voices are desperately trying to whisper to us and through us.
I understand why, too… and it’s heart-breaking.
But I didn’t grow up on stories like Star Wars to just give up. Maybe it’s my autism– maybe I took messages of hope and courage and perseverance too literally?
Of course Star Wars is a fictional example– but there are too many true stories in our history that tell me I am far from alone. Or, in the words of John Lennon, “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.”
I recently referred to John Lennon in conversation with someone who responded, “The world said it didn’t want that.”
Yes, I suppose it did. I get it. There’s talk of eugenics regarding folks with brains like mine right now. Much of the world is telling us they don’t want us either.
But I can’t give up. Is that the kind of world I want to leave to my children without a fight?
And so I choose to continue writing stories of hope. Not to bypass or dismiss our feelings of sorrow, grief, despair, or hurt.. no, I write of hope because of these– because in our darkest times, hope is what keeps us going.
I’m reminded of what Kurt Vonnegut once said, “Well, I've worried some about, you know, why write books… why are we teaching people to write books when presidents and senators do not read them, and generals do not read them… you catch people before they become generals and presidents and so forth and you poison their minds with... humanity, and however you want to poison their minds, it's presumably to encourage them to make a better world.”
Maybe my mind has been poisoned with humanity?
Good.
Okay, back to Star Wars–
As I’ve been watching the second season of Andor (and absolutely loving it), I am constantly reminded of how Cassian Andor’s story “ends” in Rogue One.
(I knew how it would end when I went to see the movie back in 2016 and it still got me.)
But really, Cassian and Jyn’s stories didn’t “end” there. No, of course they didn't. If you haven’t seen Rogue One, or aren’t familiar with Star Wars, sorry for the spoiler: these characters give their lives to send the Death Star plans to Princess Leia, which of course leads to its destruction by Luke Skywalker and the Rebel Alliance.
The final scene of Rogue One depicts an officer handing Leia the plans and asking, “What is it they’ve sent us?” to which she simply responds, “Hope.”
No, Cassian Andor’s story didn’t end there.
Why write of hope again? Because stories of hope keep us going. Storytelling is as old as humanity is. Archaeology shows that humans were creating art before they developed agriculture. Stories and the arts have always given us hope to keep going, even when it seems all is lost.
I know what it’s like to feel like all is lost. But if you’d permit me one more Star Wars reference– I have something I want to remind you:
In Episode IX, near the end of the Battle of Exegol, Poe Dameron tells the other Resistance fighters, “My friends... I'm sorry. I thought we had a shot. But there's just too many of them.” All of a sudden, a familiar voice cuts in, and Lando Calrissian says, “But there are more of us, Poe. There are more of us.”
YESSS!
Y’all, I often feel so very isolated and alone— in this world of billions, too many of us do. But it is in these lonely times when I turn first to stories to remind myself that I am not alone. You are not alone, either. None of us are alone– and I write of hope to help us all remember that, and to come back together again.
I hope that somehow I am able to share my message through the stories I write.
Yours truly,
Katie
Bittersweet Endings: Writing Grief into My Middle-Grade Fiction
Hello, all! Welcome back to the blog. I’m so glad you’re here.
I used to think that I wrote “happy endings.” But recently, as I’ve been reflecting on my writing and every book I’ve ever written, I’ve come to realize I actually write bittersweet endings. Writing for young readers always requires an element of hope in the ending, but if I’m honest with myself, I have never actually written a truly “happy ending.”
My books and their endings reflect a line that an ancestress of mine wrote toward the end of her life. Almyra King Holsclaw (1842-1931) wrote, “I can see my life like a pattern woven in with the lives of so many others. It seems, as I look at it from here, now that it is so nearly finished, that there is plenty of brightness to offset the dark, gloomy part of my weaving.”
Almyra’s reflection reminds me that there is always light piercing somewhere through the darkness– and if not, we remember that it’s always darkest before dawn. But without darkness, we would not know the power and beauty of the light. In life, we have both/and. And that nuance is so important to write into fiction for young readers.
Writing Grief into My Middle-Grade Fiction
When I was seven, I lost my beloved grandmother in a tragic car accident. I don’t remember the next several months after she passed away. To this day, the loss still affects me. I don’t know if I felt fully supported and seen in my grief as a child. I don’t think our whole family was fully supported and seen. And in this society, as grief is seen as inconvenient and even pathological, and the grieving are often shamed and shunned, I imagine I struggled far more than I’ll ever know– and that so many kids today do, too.
I wrote my novel-in-verse, Little Bird Woman, for this reason. Writing it helped me process my own grief from across my life. My hope is that it helps others feel seen in their own grief, too. The story takes place all in one day, that of the funeral of my character’s mother. It is Nature that supports her– and Nature has often been where I’ve found solace, too.
Nature always lets me be
just how I am.
She is my refuge.
She draws out my grief.
Only wilderness
can restore my peace.
Read Little Bird Woman
“We Love Anyway”
Grief says that something– or someone– still matters to us. I’ve read that grief is love with nowhere to go, but I don’t agree with that. I believe it’s more like this line from the show WandaVision, “What is grief if not love persevering?” This is how love lasts. We keep it alive. We keep meaningful moments and memories alive through grief, no matter how difficult it can be. And young readers need to see this in their fiction.
Last week I went to see the musical Next To Normal with my daughter at the University of Indianapolis. The musical tells a story of a family dealing with mental illness and grief. It is truly a powerful indictment against the systems that try to shove our grief aside. These lyrics struck me in their profundity: “The price of love is loss, but still we pay. We love anyway.”
That’s it: we love anyway– that is the tragic beauty of this life that I’m trying to infuse into my middle-grade fiction.
While writing my upcoming novel Heirloom Rose, I had to come to terms that the idealistic ending I’d wanted to write was not the ending the story needed.
Without giving too much away, I decided that this story– and these characters– needed a bittersweet ending instead. It was not easy to write, but writing this story was cathartic. I imagine this is part of why readers return to fiction– we process through our stories. We feel seen in stories.
So we need truth in our stories. And so truth is what I write– even when it’s hard.
And even if it’s hard, it’s filled and overflowing with love. And we can still be okay, as long as we move forward together. There is plenty of brightness to offset the dark, gloomy parts of our weavings– through our connections to one another. Through love persevering. In the final lines of Next To Normal, “there will be light.”
Tell me: Where have you felt seen in fiction?
Try this with kids: Look up the definition of “bittersweet” in a dictionary. What does it mean? Discuss ways in which the word may also be used to describe how something tastes. What kinds of food taste bittersweet? How can this help us understand what bittersweet might mean in the context of a story?
Well, thank you so much for stopping by the blog. For book news and writing updates from me, please subscribe to my monthly newsletter below. You will also receive a free resource on writing historical fiction for kids, plus a very special short story. And be sure to check out my books.
I’ll be back on the blog again soon!
Katie