Waiting for Spring

A recently divorced woman trudges out of one small, Maine town and into an even smaller one, hoping to escape her pain. Instead she finds herself surrounded by people who are trudging on, just like her. Waiting for things to get better. Waiting for spring.

The first question people insist on asking a new acquaintance is: What do you do for a living? I hated that. Insecurity, probably, because I’m not a lawyer or a doctor or any of those other professions that make people say, ‘Oh…’ in that reverent, awestruck way. And anyone unlucky enough to ask me that fatal question without preceding it with at least two others–for example, what books have you read lately or who’s your favorite ballplayer–was answered with:

‘I’m a lumberjack.’

Because any person with a greater interest in what it is I do to earn enough money to afford rent and music and beer and food and jeans–rather than in the fact that I think Bill Lee is the coolest guy ever to climb onto the pitchers mound–deserves to think I spend my days in the woods cutting down trees.

– Excerpt, Chapter 3

“The best compliment I can think to give you and your writing is that I am not much of a reader of traditional novels, or novels of any kind, but your fan club has a new member – I’d read anything you published. In print or otherwise.”

–Jeremy, Iowa

“When I noticed I was two chapters from the end I wanted to cry. Not just because of Tess and all she was going through, but because I didn’t want the book to end. I would have been happy staying curled up in this world forever.”

–A.M.L., Maine

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