A Time for Kindling

and the magic of catching sparks.

Sep 02, 2025

Last night, we held our first bonfire of the season. Ribbons of smoke curled into a lengthening dusk as our feet wiggled toward the flames. Toasty marshmallows wilted on sticks, while at the edge of the yard dimples of light blinked from the descent of the evening fireflies. It was an ordinary, essential moment within the slurry of travel and chores and back-to-school events. As I sat with my husband and daughter, I thought of how relieved I was for a dispensation from the brutal heat. I could nearly catch that brief but potent glimpse of something new on the horizon.

It’s been a sweet summer. But fall is upon us and fall is a time for kindling.

Kindling works on our creativity in much the same way it acts upon logs and tinder. It’s a process of igniting what lies underneath by finding a tender, combustible beginning of an idea, then nurturing that idea into something we want to own. If we’re lucky, the kindling catches into spark and flame, a warm breath to part the cold reaches. Unlike the quick-spreading urgency of a bonfire, I think of emotional kindling as a slower act that requires patience and stamina in order to unearth what hides within our bones. It’s a meditative pause that, with the gentlest of prods, can become something so much greater than the sum of its parts.

I’m tiptoeing into a fledgling novel now and I am finding that this is the most deliberate period of discovery I’ve experienced with a project. Because I’ve adhered to deadlines for other books, arbitrary or otherwise, I’ve never allowed myself to linger in the moment of inception for so long. This time, rather than measuring my progress in word counts or external milestones, I’ve been tracking movement by the flickers of life I see in my characters, their erratic yet satisfying leaps from the plane of imagination into some in-between space on the page. I keep feeling that the world I’m trying to reach is flitting in my periphery, accessible only by a cautious turn of the head.

This is kindling, a blush of heat and light, an unhurried pivot toward curiosity.

I’ve found this sensation in other, unexpected areas of my life. Friendships I want to excavate more deeply, a partnership I get to regard anew. Classic books that I skipped out on in my teen years but want to reexamine. The gradual transformation of the trees outside my window, a shift that feels like the opening strains of an old song. Sometimes this sense of kindling can be a tease; a frustration, even. I’m seized with a keen ache for that future moment of conflagration. But what happens before, the first gasp when an incandescent particle touches ignitable matter, can be just as radiant. Just as essential. For now, I’ll dawdle in that unformed country of kindling, knowing that traveling there is also a gift.

Wherever you are in this life, I hope that you are kindled by the ideas and people around you. I hope you can nurture what is meaningful, what is joyful, what is warm and bright. Because the kindling heralds change, and change, for better or worse, is the only thing promised within this cusp of seasons.

Et Cetera

Room to Read, a wonderful organization that focuses on global literacy, is hosting a reading pledge in celebration of International Literacy Day. Just twenty minutes of reading a day to enhance our lives immeasurably. And if you’re able, please consider making a donation to this cause—all donations are matched this month!
On the book front: we have an elegant interior design for The Seekers of Deer Creek, one sprinkled with many thoughtful visual references. I’ll see cover designs this week and will share the final with great eagerness. This is the phase in book publishing that swivels the lens from that internal editing cave to all that goes out into the world. I love this moment; it’s one of hope and excitement.
And a read for kindling the heart: The Leaving Season, a memoir in essays by Kelly McMasters. This is a thoughtful examination on marriage, art, and parenthood, exploring what it means to stay and what it means to leave your love story behind.
In personal news, we adopted a cat named Marshmallow Bandit, an affectionate colorpoint with an incredible knack for finding the secret corners of our home. She’s brought joy and peace into our household, and also, an element of mystery! I keep threatening to take her to a cat psychic to learn about the lives she’s lived before she joined ours.