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
Wildflower Inspiration
the magic and beauty in the small and simple things
Hello, all! Welcome back to the blog. I’m so glad you’re here.
In my last blog post, I talked about the subversive power of creativity and the ways in which we are all connected by art. Today I want to touch on how we find our inspiration– and in how many ways, inspiration can be a choice.
It’s often said (I’ve said it, too) how we ought to just be receptive, and inspiration will flow to us. That’s true, to an extent. But what does it mean? And what happens when we somehow block inspiration?
In the past, I couldn’t see the beauty and magic in so many small, simple things in my life because I was constantly seeking out the next “mountaintop experience.” For instance, I couldn’t truly appreciate the beauty of my local city parks because I was only chasing the rugged mountain trails hundreds of miles away.
Now I know better the value of the little things, too. But I had to really cultivate a practice of noticing them– a practice of looking for them. Over time, I learned how to better see the wonders right under my nose. And only then did I find the inspiration waiting for me right outside my door (and often inside it, too!).
“Inspired by Wildflowers”
My Instagram bio reads, “inspired by wildflowers.” It sounds quippy, but I share it because it’s true. Over the last few years, as I’ve been leaning into living more in tune with the seasons, I’ve begun to connect with the flowers of each one. I now know which wildflowers and flowering trees bloom first in the spring, and how to tell when we’re shifting toward fall by the flowers, too. This knowledge has all been through cultivating this practice of noticing.
It has opened me up to noticing so much more, too. Like the ways each of my dogs’ noses twitch ever so slightly when they smell something interesting in the air. Noticing behavior patterns and the calls of wild birds. How we as humans are influenced by and connected to nature, too. How my energy levels are attuned to the moon cycle, and how stepping outside into fresh air and sunlight can make everything feel instantly better. It’s really incredible how our understanding can deepen when we choose to slow down and look around.
My novels inspired by wildflowers
One early spring morning a few years ago, our family went for a short hike at a local nature preserve called Ritchey Woods. This place is a hidden gem in and of itself, smack dab in the middle of suburban neighborhoods and business parks. But when you walk into the woods, you’re in a whole different world.
It was here that I encountered what first inspired my novel-in-verse Wildflowers in Watercolor. Inside the nature preserve, there’s a tiny pioneer cemetery alongside the trail above a creek. That day, someone had placed a small wildflower, a spring beauty, on one of the old weathered gravestones.
That was enough inspiration for me. Two years later, I released Wildflowers in Watercolor, a gentle coming-of-age novel-in-verse that was first inspired by a single wildflower and a small act of kindness.
My new book inspired by wildflowers
My upcoming novel Heirloom Rose was also first inspired by wildflowers– this one by daffodils! We don’t often think of daffodils as wild, but they can be. Once, when wandering the hills and hollows in and around Brown County State Park in southern Indiana, I learned something incredible about daffodils. The thousands that grow wild all through the area are mostly descendants of those in pioneer gardens from centuries ago.
I love what nature-inspired artist Kim Koehler recently wrote, “Daffodils are tenacious perennials. They multiply and spread on their own, often outliving the people who planted them. Have you ever seen rows of daffodils blooming in the woods? They are time travelers, marking the footprint of a garden that existed decades or even a hundred years ago.”
When I learned this about daffodils, I knew there was a story in there. So, I wrote it. Based on the history of the communities displaced by the construction of southern Indiana’s Lake Monroe, Heirloom Rose is a middle-grade novel about a family: a grandmother, a mother, and a young daughter, and how they reconnect with one another and with their heritage. And in the story, too, it all starts simply, with daffodils.
Heirloom Rose releases later this year.
Tell me: What small things around you tell a story if you look a little closer?
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— inspired by wildflowers.
I’ll be back on the blog again soon!
Katie
The Subversive Power of Creativity
Image: Nick Fewings@jannerboy62 on Unsplash
Hello, folks! Welcome back to the blog. I’m so glad you’re here.
Today I want to talk a little about creativity and its power to bring people together and create change. Perhaps like you, I have felt the brunt of the lies that my creative dreams are frivolous and silly. That they are simply child’s play and should be abandoned– which is kind of ironic because I write for kids and believe in the value of play.
And the sad truth is, I’ve almost caved to these lies… too many times. Let me tell you, I have been through the wringer when it comes to creative blocks and resistance. One creative drought of mine lasted years. It was a time of depression and grief, of living in survival mode. So when I say that I have had to fight for my creative writing, that is the honest truth.
Being Human & Making Space for Art
But there’s something I’ve come to realize (and need to remind myself often): creativity and beauty make us human. It’s what keeps us going. It’s what brings us together. Some of the earliest evidence of human society is artwork, after all. Talk about survival mode– even in prehistoric days, humanity was making space for art on cavern walls. Just like Robin Williams’ character said in the movie Dead Poets Society, “poetry, beauty, romance, love– these are what we stay alive for.”
I may never make what some may call a “big influence” with my creativity, but at this point, I refuse to deny that it does make a difference. I’ve also had to reckon with the fact that if it sustains me, the way it always has, it’s worth it.
I’ve seen a short quote by Toni Morrison making the rounds on social media lately, but I wanted to investigate it further. I thought I’d share it in more context here:
“I am staring out of the window in an extremely dark mood, feeling helpless. Then a friend, a fellow artist, calls... he asks, ‘How are you?' and instead of ‘Oh, fine... and you?', I blurt out the truth: ‘Not well. Not only am I depressed, I can’t seem to work, to write; it’s as though I am paralyzed, unable to write anything... I’ve never felt this way before…' I am about to explain with further detail when he interrupts, shouting: ‘No! No, no, no! This is precisely the time when artists go to work... not when everything is fine, but in times of dread. That’s our job.' I felt foolish the rest of the morning, especially when I recalled the artists who had done their work in gulags, prison cells, hospital beds; who did their work while hounded, exiled, reviled, pilloried. And those who were executed... this is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.” – Toni Morrison, 2015
Read the entire essay here:
https://www.thenation.com/article/archive/no-place-self-pity-no-room-fear/
Connected by Art
So, I want to ask you: how many times have you felt the warmth of connection and unity with others through art and beauty? Have you joined in a collective laugh or cry in a theater? Have you sung along with a crowd at a concert? Or even with family in the car on a long road trip? Have you read a picture book to your kids and enjoyed the story together?
We need art. And as author and artist Amie McNee says, “We need your art!” So I hope you never doubt that (your) art makes a difference, or believe the lies of the powers-that-be that it is unnecessary or useless. No.
I know that when I’ve felt alone or as if I cannot continue, it has been art, music, poetry, literature— the creative works of humanity— that have picked me up and kept me going. I cannot tell you how many times over the last decade that the musical Hamilton alone has been my best lifeline.
What works of art been yours?
Just as Toni Morrison wrote, “That (art) is how civilizations heal.” And as Jonathan Larson wrote in the musical Rent, “The opposite of war isn’t peace. It’s creation!”
And we need healing. We need art. We need creativity.
So I hope you keep creating. I sure will.
Thank you for stopping by the blog! For book news and writing updates from me (especially for very special book release news coming soon!), 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