The Secret Library: Spring 2024

I walk faster than I run.

Photo by TOMOKO UJI on Unsplash

I walk faster than I run.

Running has never come easily to me. In high school, I was the one at the back of the pack, red-faced and embarrassed as my peers lapped me over and over again. The one who had to complete the laps on her own because everyone finished before her. The one that lied about how many laps she’d done because she couldn’t bare the shame of being so behind. For years I’ve written myself off, never even attempting to run let alone sign up for a race.

And I’m not one for resolutions, either.

On a random Tuesday in February, I decided I’d run a 10 km race in June. I downloaded an app, found a trail close to my house that’s flat (and not too crowded that I’d have an audience but also not so remote I’d be an opening of a horror novel.) And I started my interval runs, with one minute doing the running shuffle (you know, I’ve got to protect my joints) and two minutes walking.

But WALKERS would pass me as I ran. The arches of my feet ached and my calves spasmed and I wasn’t sure my ankles still connected to the rest of my bones but in the name-of-all-things-female-protagonist, I would make it through the 60 seconds of running.

When my watch buzzed after those 60 seconds, I’d look and grow frustrated with my pace. Real runners ran faster. Real runners don’t get passed by walkers.

I’m nothing if not persistent, so I continued these runs, even if my walking time beat my running time. My feet ached less. My calves didn’t scream at me. My ankles are indeed still attached to my bones, and although I still walk faster than I run, the gap between the two is shrinking. My running is gaining strength. I am gaining strength.

I read faster than I write, too.

I have colleagues that can draft a book in a week. I have friends who can query multiple projects at once while drafting another. I have friends who write everyday and have prolific word count goals that they achieve on a consistent basis.

I am not one of those writers.

Peace in your practice doesn’t come by hating your pace. It doesn’t come by comparing yourself to your peers. It certainly doesn’t come at the expense of cutting yourself off from community because of shame or resentment. All this does is cause isolation, despair, and lack of creativity.

I know this, because I’ve done this.

There is a unique freedom in changing the personal narrative from, “They’re beating me,” to “I’m proud of them.” There is a unique freedom in noticing the first reaction and meeting it with love rather than hatred. There is a unique freedom in meeting oneself in their full humanity—flawed and broken as it is—and choosing to continue anyway.

There is a unique freedom in knowing your limits and working within them, rather than writing yourself off entirely.

Friend, if you’re reading faster than you’re writing and your calves spasm as you sprint and you can’t tell if your ankles are connected to your bones—

I see you. I see you writing 10 words after putting children to bed. I see you as yet another colleague reaches a goal you so wish to make, but feels impossibly far away. I see you cheering for writers, even if it hurts, because you know they’ve been where you are, too.

I see you wishing. I’m here to tell you you’re enough as you are. You’re welcome as you are.

I believe in you. Keep writing.

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Story Study

Fantasy Books I’ve read lately that you should, too! (Hint: Click on the book cover to go to their GoodReads page.)

1. Bride by Ali Hazelwood. If you’re looking for a standalone with vampires, werewolves, an arranged marriage and a lot of fun, this one is for you! I read it after a sprawling fantasy series and it was the perfect palate cleanser. It is adult and has some spice, so keep that in mind.

   

2. The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden. Katherine Arden is an autobuy author for me. This book follows a combat nurse and her missing-in-action brother during 1918. I finished this one in a day.

   

3. This Vicious Grace by Emily Thiede. With Italian influences (I want to try limoncello, now!) and a unique blend of god-given magic and demon enemies, I loved this fantasy with a side of slow-burn romance. Be warned it is a series, though the next book, This Cursed Light, is out now!

   

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Anticipated New Spring Releases

Add these titles to your Spring TBR!

1. Your Blood, My Bones by Kelly Andrew

   

2. Dragonfruit by Makiia Lucier

   

3. Off With Their Heads by Zoe Hana Mikuta

   

4. To A Darker Shore by Leanne Schwartz

   

5. Song of the Six Realms by Judy I. Lin

   

6. The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo

   

7. To Gaze Upon Wicked Gods by Molly X. Chang

   

8. The Honey Witch by Sydney J. Shields

   

9. A Letter to the Luminous Deep by Sylvie Cathrall

   

10. Evocation by S.T. Gibson

    

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A Gift For You

Drafting is slow but dreaming is not. Here’s a first draft snippet from my FMC.

Etta

Nana always loved storms. 

Rain patters a song on the trees outside my window. It calls in waves, at first soft, then growing until a cacophonous roar. The lace curtain floats in the breeze, a graceful dance lit by the glow of the street lamps below. 

The window wouldn’t close fully, even if I tried. But I don’t want to. 

Padding footsteps slow, and the hinges groan as my door creaks open. Even in the dark, I know my sister’s tread like I know her voice when she calls. 

“Are you awake?” Pip’s sleep-laced voice croaks, just above a whisper. 

I flip open my blanket and pat the mattress beside me. She shuffles her bare feet to my side of the bed. Her toes crack as she climbs in beside me, curling her back to my belly. Her hair tickles my nose. I shift it out of my face. 

Nana always loved storms. 

With a shiver, I cocoon the blanket over our shoulders and sling my arm over Pip’s. She threads her fingers between mine. 

Cold wind sighs through the curtains, bringing a chill to my nose. But in bed—this single mattress barely big enough for a child, let alone two women—we lie in the warmth of each other. 

“I miss her,” Pip says. I can hear the wobble trembling her bottom lip. Pip, so brave. Pip, so confident. 

Pip, who lost her grandmother too young. Younger than even me. 

A hot tear slides down my cheek. “Me, too.”

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Wishing you warm breezes, sunshine-filled walks, and good books.

I’m a real person. If you’d like to talk about books and/or writing, please feel welcomed and encouraged to hit the “reply” button to this email, or leave a comment below.

Until next time,

Nadine