I’m in Scotland just now, on book tour with the very first events for Cacophony Of Bone, and I’ve been trying to write this post since I arrived days ago. The days are busy and I’m bone tired but it’s not that that’s made this difficult to write. Right now I’m in the back of our van in Fortwilliam where I will have an event this evening at the Highland Bookstore with Kirsteen Bell. I can’t wait. Like with so many other amazing women, we met online; growing closer during the lockdowns, and I can’t wait to talk with her about motherhood, moths, magic in the everyday and gardens. It will be quite moving for me, as—at a time of deep anxiety, when I felt like all the threads that tied me to who I once was had been cut—I dreamed Kirsteen showed me around her garden. I was in my fourth trimester, my son only a few months old, and I was grieving for so much more than I can really word, even now. Talking about this book these first times has been a profoundly moving experience, one I was not fully prepared for — and it is this that has made writing this post a little tricky.
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