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A couple of weeks ago, I shared an open letter to the Substack founders on the subject of Nazis on Substack that followed an article in The Atlantic. I published it both here and on Fictionistas, the community for fiction writers that I co-organize with of the awesome Substack Adventure Snack. The goal of the letter was to push Substack’s leadership into explaining why they allow Nazis, white supremacists, and other far-right figures to not only publish on this platform but make money on it (and Substack also gets a cut). It wasn’t an ultimatum, just a pressure campaign to get an answer.

Racism and hate speech are stochastic terrorism (incitement to violence) even if they don’t overtly mention violence, and most people agree it’s in violation of Substack’s terms of service:

"Substack cannot be used to publish content or fund initiatives that incite violence based on protected classes. Offending behavior includes credible threats of physical harm to people based on their race, ethnicity, national origin, religion, sex, gender identity, sexual orientation, age, disability or medical condition."

On both Fictionistas and Story Cauldron, after publishing the letter, a handful of people unsubscribed (a situation that has already resolved itself as new subscribers have already replaced those who left), and there was a flurry of conversations over on Substack’s chat platform Notes, as well as in the comments on Fictionistas.

Some of the main issues people had with the letter—and my sharing it—can be summed up as follows:

• Fiction writers/readers don’t want to be ‘political’ or have politics shoved in their faces;

• People won’t encounter Nazis on Substack if they don’t go looking for them; and

• Wanting Nazis off Substack is infringing on free speech.

Why did I share the letter?

I had several reasons why I jumped at the opportunity to sign on to the Substackers Against Nazis letter.

As I commented on Fictionistas,

There are political/religious/philosophical beliefs I disagree with. I have no problems with people having the right to express those beliefs, generally speaking, in public forums such as this.

I draw the line at hate speech and white supremacy, which is stochastic terrorism. In this case, I take issue with any Substack that riles up its readers against Jews, gay people, trans people, immigrants or people of color - or any other group - and which can and does lead directly to people committing acts of violence against those groups. You don't have to be the one to call for violence directly if you encourage people to hate another group of people. This is a known and effective technique and it cannot be swept away by saying, "but the author didn't actually call for violence - they only expressed their beliefs that another group was inferior." That is why many people are calling it what it is - Nazism and fascism.

And this letter and the calls today aren't for censorship but demanding that Substack's leadership explain why they have recruited some of these people to the platform, why they invite them to be on the podcast, and why they have no issues with generating revenue on hate speech.

But it goes beyond all of this.

Why fiction writers shouldn’t hide from the issue

It’s easy for some people to put their heads in the sand and say, “I’m apolitical,” or that they don’t want their work to be associated with controversy. I mean, wouldn’t it be nice if we could just pretend for a moment that Nazis died out in 1940s Germany? Wouldn’t it be nice?

But they didn’t, and pretending otherwise is disingenuous at best. Arguing that Nazis should have a right to spread their hate speech (under the guise of “free speech”) is absurd because Nazis don’t believe in free speech. They have no problem invading and infecting every form of media to spread their propaganda, lies, and hatred—and silencing their opposition. That’s what Nazis do.

And lots of fiction authors much bigger than me are standing up against Nazis on Substack. Case in point: Margaret Atwood, who knows a little about fascism. As she wrote on her Substack,

No, Substack: You can’t have both the dystopian nightmare and “Flopsy Bunny’s Very Busy Day.” You can’t have both the terms of service you have spelled out and a bunch of individial publishers who violate those terms of service. One or the other has got to go, and hiding under the sofa and pretending it isn’t happening will not make your dilemma go away. Nor will some laudable rhetoric about free speech – not when you yourselves have clearly stated that not everything is allowable, including threats of “violence” and “physical harm” to “protected classes.”

And if that’s not enough, it’s also a question of what Substack could become if the Nazi problem continues unabated. As points out in his article about moderation on social media platforms, if fascist rhetoric is allowed to continue on Substack unabated, there may be a point when that’s all that’s left.

Fighting Nazis is personal

In addition to the millions of people who opposed the Nazis in WWII or died under their regime, my grandfathers both fought the Nazis (and carried the weight of their efforts for the rest of their lives), and members of my extended family in Croatia were some of the Nazis’ victims.

We beat them once. I don’t want my generation to have to fight these battles—or fall victim to this ideology—again.

As an outspoken leftist who identifies with the LGBTQ+ community and who has many friends who are people of color, immigrants, and/or non-binary/trans—and as a student of history who has studied how the Nazis came to power the first time around—I will stand up against today’s fascists and Nazis at every opportunity.

But even if I weren’t directly impacted and had no family history of fighting Nazis, this would still be personal. Nazis believe that some people, simply due to their location and position of birth, skin color, religion, or sexual or gender identity, do not deserve equal rights. Some say those people don’t deserve to live. And those sentiments are alive and well and being shared on Substack every day.

The outcome of the letter

This is a Substack about storytelling, after all, and it wouldn’t be a good story without the ending.

The good news is that, after years of being asked their position on this topic, the Substack leadership finally responded to the open letter shared by more than 200 Substacks (including Atwood) and covered by major news media. So despite the people asking, “What are you hoping to achieve?” the public pressure campaign worked.

The bad news is that while the leadership responded, it was a wishy-washy statement (on Notes, rather than an actual post on Substack, so it will be harder to find in the future). They claim they don’t like Nazis, but Substack won’t ban their content based on free speech principles (although, interestingly, other content, including porn, is banned, so they do censor some things). The tone-deaf response doesn’t address the root of the problem or why hundreds of people are upset, leading some Substack writers to announce they’re leaving Substack.

As the New York Times wrote,

While Substack says it does not allow users to call for violence, even that distinction can be murky, Professor [Kurt] Braddock said, because racists and extremists can walk up to the line without overtly doing that. But their rhetoric can still inspire others to violence, he said.

Allowing Nazi rhetoric on a platform also normalizes it, he said.

“The more they use the kind of rhetoric that dehumanizes or demonizes a certain population,” Professor Braddock said, “the more it becomes OK for the general population to follow.”

So what’s my plan?

I’m not happy about Substack’s response at all. However, I’ve enjoyed being on the platform over the past couple of years and have made a number of friends here. I have also greatly expanded the audience and reach of my writing. Story Cauldron is an effective place to share my writing; Fictionistas has grown into a delightful and vibrant community; and Unseen St. Louis has opened so many doors and allowed me to share local history with a sizable audience.

So, for now, I plan to join others, such as , who intend to remain on Substack and be thorns in the leadership’s side. If enough of us become thorns, perhaps together, we can grow into an impenetrable bramble, and change will become inevitable.

Think of it a little like the French Resistance but on Substack. Let’s fight like hell to keep the Nazis from destroying this little patch of the Internet.

Thanks for reading. I hope to return very soon with more fiction and updates on my novels, so stay tuned!

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The last time you heard from me, I felt a bit burned out from trying to finish a novel project. I was so close to finishing it, but I was pretty stuck. Just before Labor Day weekend (the beginning of September), I decided to try an experiment. I set aside all of my existing writing projects to dive into something new, just for fun.

The goal was to try to get myself out of what I termed the “writing slog.” Here’s my post about that:

Update

Well, it’s the end of September, and I’m here to report that it was an interesting, if not altogether successful, experiment. Over the course of four days, I wrote about 8500 words on a new project, what I was hoping might turn into the start of the Attic Witch novel I always intended to write.

As an experiment, it was fun, and I did enjoy writing about something else. It was also honestly nice to spend a weekend focused just on writing. That having been said, I don’t know if I want to keep it going. It just didn’t come together for me, and I struggled for ideas, which is the reason I only managed to write 8500 words in four days (that might sound like a lot, but I was really hoping for about twice that.)

But fear not. It did help me shake off some of the mental sludge that had built up as I worked on finishing my Hidden Moon project, and I think I have a better idea of what I need to do in order to wrap it up.

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The Subterranean Faerie

The break also inspired some new ideas. Last weekend, in fact, I fiddled around with the start of a new Favor Faeries piece about a faerie living in the abandoned brewery tunnels in downtown St. Louis (these really exist, and some of which have collapsed, causing sinkholes around the city). The idea actually came from someone’s comment on one of my older Substack posts, and it was too good to pass up. (A hungry creature emerging from a dark hole also feels like it’s a bit too on the nose as a metaphor for my life right now…)

In my story fragment (it’s incomplete), a faerie emerges from the tunnels, having mutated from its normal state into something more terrifying than my typical faeries (which is saying something). This faerie poses a new problem for the local witches who deal with these things.

I don’t know yet if this will be a short story or if it will turn into an entire novel, but I wish I had come up with this idea to work with over Labor Day.

Just so you can see where this could go, here’s a snippet when the creature surfaces for the first time.

The road surface buckled, cracking slowly like a dinosaur was pecking its way out of its shell. As Alfred stood there, transfixed, the newly-hatched creature poked its head out of the rubble, and then used its forearms to pull itself from its subterranean incubator. 

It was enormous, the size of a gravel truck, with pale and luminescent skin that glowed under the street lights, and teeth that could crush granite cobblestones. Unconcerned with the traffic or bystanders, it shook its head before commencing to preen itself, cleaning bits of roadway and membrane from its scales. Then it shimmied its translucent, veined wings, as if invigorated by the feeling of fresh air for the first time. Finally, becoming aware of its surroundings, it swiveled its head to and fro, its eyes, wide like a cat’s, and opalescent, catching a glimpse of Alfred for the first time. Using its front legs, on feet that ended in sharp claws, it took a step forward, those claws sinking into the undisturbed pavement as if it were clay.

The appearance of the creature transfixed Alfred, and he couldn’t move. For years he had longed to get a glimpse of one of these creatures, who were said to survive on nightmares, but confronted with it now, he couldn’t begin to imagine how they would deal with it before it caused widespread panic.

I shared one possible version of this faerie creature at the top of this post. Here’s a different rendition. Both of these images came from me inputting the text above into Midjourney, with a few tweaks, and then manipulating the output a bit more.

Which version do you like more? And what should the witches do with this thing? Let me know in the comments.

Fall plans

In October, I will be blazing through the rest of my Hidden Moon novel so I can move back to the Favor Faeries world for NaNoWriMo. I will be revising/writing Book 3 of that series, taking what I wrote a while back (was it NaNo 2021?) and trying to pull it all together.

Adding some spice to my writing life, this year I’ll be hosting a discussion on how to write a novel in November at the Maplewood Public Library on Oct. 24th, as well as weekly write-ins on Wednesdays (as well as continuing my Friday write-ins) so if you’re in St. Louis, be sure to join my meetup Write It Already STL to get all those deets. I’ve also started a new history meetup called Unseen STL History Adventures, and will be checking out some sites around the city, mostly on the weekends.

And that’s (mostly) everything for now. Hopefully, October and November will be filled with lots of ideas and lots of writing for us all!

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.I’m always so envious of those authors who can knock out book after book. Some people can craft entire series, writing and publishing a book every month or two. 

Sadly, I’m not like that. While I can draft a novel in a month (thank you, NaNoWriMo!), it takes me a long time to revise, finish, and get it out into the world.

As I shared last time, I have been working hard on my novel The Hidden Moon. And I’m close to the end! I’m trying to expand the climactic scene and tidy up a few of the other scenes, adding details and changing up a bit of how things get resolved. 

I’m so close, but it has become a terrible slog in these final days. The things I’m writing are so difficult and frustrating, and I can’t quite get them the way I want them. It’s not perfectionism rearing its ugly head—I know when I am just fussing with words for the sake of fussing—it’s that I know what I am trying to achieve, and it just isn’t quite there.

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An idea emerges

As I was figuratively bashing my head against the wall working on that project, I saw a post on social media about the 3-Day Novel Contest. This is a crazy challenge that happens every Labor Day weekend (aka this weekend).

Back in 2020, when the pandemic was raging, and we literally had nothing better to do, several people in my writing group decided to take the plunge. It was an insane weekend in which I wrote 10K words the first day (a record for me!) and ended up with something like 24K for the three days. After a brief descent into madness, I emerged, I tidied it up, and submitted it.

While that novel (really a novella) didn’t win the contest, it became the first book of my Favor Faeries series, The Girl Behind the Camera. From there, I have written a second novel that I’ve serialized here (in full disclosure, it’s not quite complete, but the last chapter or two is coming soon-ish). I also have about half of both books 3 and 4 written, and they are on my future to-do list, possibly for NaNoWriMo. So that’s not a bad outcome after three days of writing my brains out.

So when I saw the announcement for this year’s contest, I paused and thought about it for a hot second. I didn’t want to pay $60, though, so I decided not to enter officially. 

At the same time, I realized I am so burned out on my current project, and I need a break—even a short one. 

I decided to make a deal with myself: I’ll put The Hidden Moon aside for Labor Day weekend (only!) and work on something else, as long as I get right back to finishing that novel, and then The Boy Who Can Taste Color (the aforementioned almost completed book 2), both before NaNoWriMo rolls around again in November.

The 4-day long weekend writing adventure

Between now and Friday, I’m hustling to get everything else done so that from Friday-Monday I can immerse myself in writing something fun and new.

The plan right now is to build upon my short story “The Attic Witch.” Back in 2018, I discovered that Holly Black (one of my favorite authors) was going to be participating in the Armadillocon writing workshop in Austin, TX. Talk about lighting a fire under me! I didn’t have anything appropriate for the workshop, so I dashed off a story loosely based on the concept of something I remember as a kid but haven’t been able to find. As I explained, it was really just a “proof of concept” for a longer work. As it turned out, I got to be in Holly’s group, and she really liked what I wrote and gave me great feedback. But for some reason, I never really did anything with it.

So now it’s 2023. My plan is to build on the first part of the story, in which a girl named Amy discovers a witch named Magalie living in her attic. I think I have a story arc, but I don’t have much more than that. I’m just going to write by the seat of my pants and see what comes of it.

And basically, that’s all I’m going to do this weekend. I’ll sit at the computer or with a notebook and try to write as many words as possible—and see where it goes. Believe it or not, even though I feel burned out, this plan is getting me EXCITED. It feels like a vacation! Maybe it’s because I’m feeding the part of my soul that wants to create something new, or maybe it’s because I’m giving myself four days to write, but it is firing me up. I’m already pondering where to take my laptop and wondering how long I can keep it going.

Maybe by Monday, I’ll have a good chunk of a new novel. Maybe I’ll have a new short story that works better than what I have now. Or maybe I’ll have another novella. Who knows?

I’ll report back next week with how things went.

In the meantime, if you want to cheer me on, you can comment here or email me at storycauldron@substack.com.

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Twitter is imploding.

Whether it’s by design, malice, or incompetence remains to be seen, but people are fleeing the platform like never before. (And here’s a quick shoutout to all the Twitter employees who were fired out of the blue or bullied into quitting. Hopefully, you land on your feet soon.)

Because Elon Musk makes my skin crawl worse than an army of creepy silverfish (and I wrote that before seeing a statue of his head on a caterpillar ‘goat’ attached to a rocket), I decided it was time I found a way out.

To be fair, I’ve never been a heavy Twitter user on a day-to-day basis. Mostly I go to Twitter for breaking news before any of the mainstream media get the story. What’s on fire? What did [insert famous person] do now? It’s also been how I communicated with friends at conferences, followed presidential debates, and checked in with activists.

So while I’m not a power user, it seems inconceivable that this information pipeline—as problematic as it was—could just disappear overnight. But that feels more and more possible.

It’s not like Facebook can fill the void, either. Even though I do have a few useful FB groups, it’s become increasingly difficult to use the platform as a way to stay in touch with friends, which was its whole reason for existing back in the day. (In that regard, it’s been the world’s biggest dumpster fire for years.) And the AI is insufferable. People get sent to FB jail for innocuous jokes or artwork, while large groups exist without censure to organize insurrection, share porn, and sell illegal carnivorous plants. It’s a despicable platform run by someone with the appeal of a flying cockroach.

With their ad-driven algorithms, both of these platforms have prioritized disinformation, hate speech, and other content. Controversy is the best engagement tool out there, after all. Say something outrageous that angers thousands, and it will go viral and bring in all that juicy ad revenue. But for the ‘good guys’ out there, we’re just crying out into the void.

Why it matters to me as a writer

I’m a writer and author. In theory, that means I’d like people to read the words I string together. And while in another era that might have meant a cushy book contract or a gig at a national magazine, these days it means writing on Substack and publishing my novels on Amazon. And social media helps me share my work and build an audience for it.

Plus, there’s all the research and reading that I like to do, and while I’ve been diligently curating my feeds to follow the people and organizations that matter to me, fighting the ad-driven algorithms feels like a losing battle. It would be so nice to actually be able to see the things I want to see rather than what Tweedle Dum or Tweedle Dee think will make them the most money.

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Maybe we can still have nice things?

But… maybe things are changing. With the Mad Hatter destroying everything around him this past week, several new platforms have sprouted like mushrooms to take Twitter’s place. Is it too much to hope that one of them will rise to the top and supplant not just Twitter but Facebook as well?

Could we have a social media space that isn’t overrun by white supremacists and conspiracy wing-nuts?

Here are a few of the contenders I’m most hopeful about.

• Mastodon

First, there’s Mastodon, which has actually been around since 2016. It’s decentralized, meaning that no billionaire megalomaniac could ever have the power that Space Karen and Zuckerborg wield over their respective platforms. Unfortunately, there’s some friction in getting started—you have to choose a server (and hope you get a good one), and the people you want to follow won’t likely be on the same server, so it’s a hassle to find and follow them. It’s possible someone will build an interface that makes it more Twitter-esque, but right now, it’s a bit of a hot mess.

On the flip side, as the leading horse in the race, it looks like Mastodon is gaining traction. People are sharing content and are surprised that even on a far smaller platform, they are seeing decent engagement. Many are already using hashtags to rebuild their communities as they transfer over from the bird, and there are some interesting conversations already happening.

If you want to learn a little more about how Mastodon is set up (and how it differs from other social media), check out this piece from The Markup (which, like me, is on the newsie.social server) as well as this guide to Mastodon and leaving Twitter.

• Project Mushroom

Then there’s Project Mushroom, a crowdfunded effort to build a platform that includes newsletters and podcasts as well as messaging. It’s organized by Eric Holthaus — a journalist and climate scientist—who says he has help from former Twitter employees. I get excited by their ambitions—I mean, check out this bit from their Kickstarter page:

Project Mushroom will amplify and lift up diverse voices in justice & action.  We are building a creator-first platform where users can easily find, discover and interact with each other on a safer, more inclusive platform. 

This is so inspiring, and I hope they succeed, but I fear that this project may be overly ambitious, and they have only until December 15th to reach their $200K funding goal. If they move forward, they say the platform will be built on the backbone of Mastodon, which could be a good thing or could doom them to obscurity. Only time will tell.

• Post.news

The platform that excites me the most right now is Post.news. It’s a little bit Twitter, a little bit Substack. To me, it seems fresh and breezy, with a simple interface and all the functionality you need to get started right away. It was founded by Noam Bardin, former CEO of Waze (you know, the maps app, since acquired by Google, that uses crowdsourced info to tell you about accidents and speed traps). I was fortunate to be invited in as an early adopter/tester and was able to start checking it out. (It’s still in beta, and they are launching new features seemingly by the hour, so it could be completely different by the time you read this!)

One thing that intrigues me about Post.news is their point system, where you can tip people who provide value, and you can also ask people to pay for content with points. It’s like Substack but without the need to subscribe. It’s an interesting idea that could help Post.news stand out.

Side note: so far, Post.news has no ads, and the point system gives 100% of the points earned to the authors. When I asked Noam in one of his threads where their revenue comes from, he replied,

“we get a commission when you buy the points - like Twitch does.”

So there you have it—a Story Cauldron scoop!

(Friendly note: the link above is my referral link, which, as far as I know, gains me nothing, but might get you past the bouncers a bit more quickly.)

• Hive Social

I’m not very familiar with Hive Social, but TechCrunch says they have a million users now. Hive uses a chronological feed and doesn’t use ads to generate revenue. Instead, you can pay for slots to showcase music. It looks interesting, but I’m not sure how I feel about it yet (or if it really meshes with my Gen X brain). The email signup option wasn’t available, so I had to use my phone number (not cool), and then when it asked me to choose at least three interests, few of the options fit (where’s writing? History? Politics? Books/reading? Why is Halloween an interest, but gardening isn’t?). From there, I got a feed of images that felt like I had walked into a teenager’s bedroom.

And one more point that gives me pause. It was founded in 2019 by a then-22-year-old, Kassandra Pop, who was a Psychology major and executive assistant beforehand. I don’t know about you, but after experiencing almost the entire trajectory of Facebook (I joined in 2006) I’m not sure how I feel about this one. Still, I’ll give it a spin, even I have a gut feeling it’s not a good fit for me.

• Substack

So we’re back to the ‘Stack. It’s not new, but it keeps growing. In fact, Substack recently launched a new chat feature which has been pretty cool to see, and might take up some of the slack from Twitter’s deterioration.

Even though it’s a newsletter platform, I have made a number of friends through Substack’s weekly office hours, a couple of programs they’ve run for their writers (Substack Go and Substack Grow), and the Discord server Substack Writers Unite. Substack definitely has become a new community for me. I’ve also had a few interactions with ‘celebrities’ that felt genuine, which honestly has never happened with the two big platforms.

My wish for the future

I don’t know if any of these platforms will take Twitter’s place—or if we’ll even be talking about them in a year. So many have tried—and failed—to beat the big two at their own game.

My wish is that one or more of these upstarts will take over. It doesn’t even need to be an all-or-nothing thing—who says we can’t have more networks for different kinds of interaction?

I just wish with all my heart that something can stop the fungal spread of Facebook (and TikTok) into the void that Twitter leaves behind. And for the first time in many years, it seems like it might just happen.

What do you see in your crystal ball?

So what do you think? Is Twitter really on its deathbed? Are there other platforms out there that people should know about? What are you going to do? Let me know in the comments!

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Thanks as always for reading. If you’d like to follow me on the new social media, I’m @jadana@newsie.social on Mastodon and @jadana on Post.news (I haven’t been invited to join Project Mushroom yet), And if you do, I’d love it if you’d shoot me a note and let me know you’re there.

And please share this with anyone who’s teetering on the Twitter precipice. It’s always nice to know there’s a soft place to land.

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It’s NaNoWriMo time!

Every November since 2013 I’ve participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and almost every year, I’ve drafted a new novel (I worked on existing projects a couple times, but that’s never as much fun). There’s something magical about entering a new world and meeting new characters for the very first time.

For the past couple of years, I’ve been deep in the world of my Favor Faeries series, writing the first book over the 3-day Novel weekend in 2020, the second over NaNo 2020, and the first half of book three last year. I’m actually a bit ashamed to say I’m a mere handful of chapters from finishing book 2, The Boy Who Can Taste Color, which I am serializing here for paid members. To be honest, I ran into some difficulty wrapping it up, and just before the end of October figured out the right ending.

But it’s been a very narrow focus for the past couple of years, and while I wouldn’t say I’m burned out, I definitely felt like I needed a break.

So just for November, I’m setting those projects aside—as well as my Substacks (with this one exception)—so I can work on a new project for a little while.

The new shiny thing

Since high school, I’ve been a big fan of Mary Stewart’s romantic suspense novels. Back in the 1950s and 1960s, she wrote a number of books, likely influenced by the novel Rebecca, featuring strong female protagonists, mysteries, and romance. In each book, the protagonist always travels to a new locale—be it the south of France or the Scottish coast—and these places flavor each story in unique ways. While there, she stumbles across a murder or other criminal activity. and has to figure out how to keep herself safe and who to trust among a small cast of characters—inevitably including a tall, dark, and handsome man lurking in the shadows.

For this year’s NaNo project, I’ve decided to try my hand at a story following Stewart’s basic principles, but also inverting many of the tropes. Rather than set my story in an exotic, picturesque locale, I’m setting it at a (very fictional) circus camp outside a little town along the Mississippi River in northern Missouri after a snowstorm.

And I am setting myself three challenges.

First, the story will have a much larger cast of characters than I’ve ever tried before—at the moment, there are 13 (it will be interesting to see if I keep them all by the end!). I’ve always struggled to clearly carve out individual characters, especially in early drafts, so this story will allow me to play with building larger-than-life personalities that stand out from one another and can’t be swapped around.

Second, I’m stepping out of my comfort zone big time, as far as genre is concerned. This book is romantic suspense/mystery—genres I haven’t tackled before. And significantly, there’s no magic here. In some ways, this makes things easier because I don’t have to invent rules for magic or do the level of worldbuilding I usually do, but having to maintain a sense of mystery throughout an entire story is going to be tough.

The final challenge is that I am trying to stick with the first-person point of view. Every novel I’ve written has been in the third-person (referring to the protagonist as he/she), so writing a story through the eyes of the protagonist is something new for me. (And so far I’ve written 12K words without abandoning first person, so maybe I can stick it out!)

Introducing In Cirque We Trust

In this new novel (working title; In Cirque We Trust), my protagonist, Josie Weaver has had a very traumatic personal experience that caused her to sink into a deep depression. Her sister sends her to a circus camp as a vacation, hoping the ridiculousness of it all will find her way back to herself.

Josie is a reluctant participant, but she goes along with it. During introductions she tells everyone she has trust issues. She then has to stick it out when a snowstorm prevents anyone from leaving, and an intentional power outage causes everyone to start questioning each other. As things continue to escalate, Josie and the others have to figure out who is behind all the acts of sabotage—and why. Most of all, Josie has to figure out who she can trust. Can she allow herself to fall for the handsome son of the circus owners, or is he the one trying to bring harm to the others?

Current progress

I’m still working through a lot of the plot issues and the personalities of all of the characters. So far, I have about 12,000 words (of 50K) written, and I’ve just reached the moment where the characters discover the power outage wasn’t an accident. Right now, I think I know who’s guilty and why—but who knows? Honestly, that could change at any time. That’s the magic of NaNoWriMo.

I don’t know if this will turn out to be a full novel—or if I will ever finish the draft. But I’m hoping to learn something about genre and give my character-building skills a good workout.

What about my other books?

My plan is to write In Cirque We Trust in November, and then go back to my Favor Faeries books (as well as finish Hidden Moon, the long-overdue sequel to By Moonrise) in December and January. What I have discovered is that I’ve stalled out on longer projects because of a lack of skill and confidence with endings. And slowly but surely, I’m getting better at recognizing what needs to happen and pulling things together. So if you’ve been waiting for me to finish, I promise that’s on deck for this winter.

So let’s see how I do in November, and if I will be able to sharpen my skills enough to race through the final bits of my other works in progress. Fingers crossed!

Thanks as always for reading. Leave a comment if you’d like me to share an excerpt from this new project in a future post (I just wrote a scene I’m pretty proud of for a first draft).

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If you’re curious about my fiction, you can check out my short fiction archives here on Story Cauldron, or purchase my first novel, By Moonrise, on Amazon.

And of course, if you haven’t subscribed to Story Cauldron yet, click on the button below and my robot minions will take good care of you!

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Will robots take our jobs?

It’s a question that’s probably on many people’s minds these days. As a creative, it’s difficult to fathom a computer doing what I do—and yet, artificial intelligence is already hard at work in corporate America writing copy and creating images (admittedly with a lot of help from people).

Since I wrote my last article about the possibilities of using the AI platform Midjourney as a tool for my own work, I’ve had several conversations with people about the future of AI in society. It’s a tricky topic with very strong opinions on all sides about whether or not we should fear the coming age of AI.

So I’ve returned here to ponder the question: With the rise of easily accessed artificial intelligence systems entering the creative sphere, are our days as writers and visual artists numbered?

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Existing creative AI platforms

It’s difficult to ignore the inroads AI technology has made in the past few years., especially in creative pursuits. I’ve already explored the ins and outs of Midjourney, in which you enter text prompts over Discord and the computer spits out a series of interpretations of that prompt. There are a number of other AI image generators out there but Midjourney appears to be the front-runner in terms of ease of use and widespread accessibility.

When it comes to writing, there are several commercial platforms out there that offer AI-assisted copywriting. There’s Jasper, a platform to write marketing copy. Copy.ai offers to take blog writing, emails, and other writing tasks off your hands. And Wordsmith uses AI to create narratives out of data.

Most people probably have little experience with any of these platforms, as they are new, expensive, and/or too specialized for common use. But AI powers many of the tools we use every day. Software like Grammarly and Pro Writing Aid uses AI to analyze our writing and suggest corrections, and who hasn’t used an automatic filter on their phones or in Photoshop to tweak an image? We constantly encounter AI as automated social media moderation (Facebook jail, anyone?), and automated bots are likely running many of the troll accounts as well. Google uses AI to return “better” search results, and if you’ve contacted customer support lately, there’s a good chance you’ve interacted with AI (in text chats or on the phone) and not even realized it.

Don’t Panic!

AI systems are all around us even as we speak. And although the invasion of the bots seems imminent and inevitable, it doesn’t mean we’re all going to be out of a job in the next five years. In particular, I don’t expect AI will ever replace all human positions, especially in creative fields like art, design, and writing.

Here are a few reasons why I’m not panicking (yet):

• Technology has been replacing humans for ages. Cars replaced horse-drawn buggies and carriages. Robots invaded factories. Drones and autonomous-driving cars are on the precipice of replacing delivery drivers, cabs, and ride-sharing (at least as driven by people). And somehow, instead of finding more free time, humans always manage to find new ways to make a living. (Good old Capitalism coming to the rescue?)

• AI technology is only as good as the information behind it, which comes from real people. For example, when it comes to Midjourney, all of the images that the AI remixes originated in photos and artwork that exist somewhere on the web. For example, an artist named Greg Rutkowski was aghast to discover just how deeply Midjourney has mined his own creations. Sure AI art is cool, but we need to remember that it’s not creating new content, but cannibalizing existing works, and my guess is someone will put an end to that sooner or later.

• Most of what AI creates isn’t really that good, objectively speaking. With both image and writing sites, the output generally isn’t stellar, and to make the AI images or copy commercially viable, it needs tweaking—by a human. This kind of content is also pretty obviously computer-generated—at least for now.

• AI output tends to look and sound the same. I suspect it won’t be long before AI writes a complete novel (if it hasn’t happened already) but anything a computer writes is going to be highly derivative, drawing directly on what has already been done. You can feed a computer a novel beat sheet and it might come up with something passable, but can a computer really write the next Outlander novel or tell a story as compelling as Neil Gaiman can? I don’t think so.

Can AI replicate the human experience?

Art isn’t as simple as following a form or structure, stringing words together, or plotting lines on a canvas. It comes from a lifetime of experiences.

When we write, or paint, or engage in other creative pursuits, we’re pulling from years of learning and practice, taking lessons from teachers, books, videos, performances, and so on. Each one of us experiences the world in a unique way, and each of our brains takes all of the books we’ve read and the music and art we’ve consumed and swirls our memories in a chemical blender.

This incredibly complex process allows us to draw on inspirations while also creating something new—in other words, we’re not just meat-based copy/paste machines. That means we’re not just creating by pulling pieces out of a database and sticking them together, but we’re drawing from lived experience.

When I write a story, it may be about a woman encountering magic for the first time, but it’s also about that time I got stuck outside in the rain, or when I went for a walk in another country and got lost. A computer will never appreciate the joy of falling in love or the grief of the loss of a loved one—it can only approximate those emotions. And it can’t understand how the light comes in through your office window in the afternoons, reminding you of the same light that blinded you for just a couple of moments every afternoon in first grade.

Even more than visual arts, storytelling is the essence of being human. I cannot fathom how a computer—regardless of how well designed and programmed it may be, or how many millions of different data points it can draw upon—could ever replicate the human experience.

So is AI OK by me?

Don’t get me wrong. I would never claim that AI is always useful, helpful, or benign. In fact, I’m very concerned about the potential for AI to be used for fraud, deep fakes, and political manipulation, among other things. For example, Gizmodo just wrote about an AI-generated interview between Joe Rogan and Steve Jobs on podcast.ai (link to podcast). But it’s not the real Rogan or Jobs—the interview is a series of clips strung together in a semblance of logical thought. It’s weird and unsettling—and for now, obviously fake. Soon, however, fake interviews will be impossible to identify. (And don’t get me started on the topic of AI tech being used in policing and warfare.)

Furthermore, I fully expect that we’re about to face a tsunami of AI-generated art, music, and writing. It’s the new thing, it’s cool, it’s fast, and it’s cheap. Of course, there will be AI novels soon, and movies and games that draw heavily on AI-generated art. It’s inevitable.

I just don’t think that we storytellers and artists need to worry too much about competing with AI—at least not right now. There will always be someone who wants to read something unusual and different, and always someone who wants designs that don’t look like everything else out there.

What do you think? Are we doomed, or is there hope for humanity? Let me know.

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Last week I made another visit to the Garden, making a beeline to the Climatron as I always do. I adore it because, although it is a tropical garden year-round, somehow it’s always different.

And for my novel, the climactic scene near the end of the story takes place in a faerie version of the dome.

As I wandered through the Climatron this time, I imagined how my characters would feel, combining the familiarity of the space with the unusual elements of magic thrown in.

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The real Climatron

In the real-life version of the Climatron, the vast interior hosts every shade of green as a backdrop to the bright pop of red, yellow, and white flowers begging to be pollinated. Rough textures of tree bark are immediately countered by the delicate lace of tiny ferns. Towering over everything are the massive glossy leaves of the banana trees that shade you from the hot sun, and the splash of multiple waterfalls that add to the lushness of the surroundings. But it’s the omnipresent scent of flowers, poking out from every nook and cranny, that turns the ordinary into the magical.

Within the Climatron are a couple of instances of human-made art, the Chihuly glass ‘birds’ in the ponds and a giant cluster of blue Chihuly glass that hangs from the ceiling.

The version of the Climatron featured in my faerie world

In my Favor Faeries novels, people go to certain public locations throughout St. Louis to make wishes in exchange for snacks and trinkets. The faeries eat the snacks, of course, but what do they do with all the trinkets?

In this excerpt from an upcoming chapter of The Boy Who Can Taste Color, you can get a sense of how I’ve honored the real-life garden space while simultaneously transforming it into something… other. I hope you enjoy it!

It was anything but the normal Climatron.

In Holden and Jenny’s world, it was a giant geodesic dome that housed a tropical plant conservatory. In this parallel world, it remained a tropical jungle, filled with banana trees, exotic flowers, and vines of every description. Waterdrops coursed down palm tree fronds, pooling on the walkway or running into duckweed-covered ponds with ferns that grew in the cracks in the rocks. Creamy Brugmansia draped itself over tree branches, its poisonous blooms hanging languidly in the warm, humid space, while perky orchids perched high in the tree branches daring anyone to notice.

 Here in the Faerie world, the structure stood just as tall, and was crammed just as full of lush greenery. However, unlike in the human world,  there were notable departures from the pretense of a human-curated jungle. No one was doing the painstaking work of tending to the plants, keeping them trimmed and manageable. Vines trailed across the path, and trees remained where they fell. Pale palm fronds, discarded by the trees, carpeted the ground. 

And in this faerie version, bits of human artwork and trinkets were woven into the vines and moss, caught up within tree branches, nested among the low-growing plants, or partially submerged in the pools. Overhead many of the glass tiles in the dome, clear in the human world, had been painted shades of blue and gold. Dangling from wires hung from the tallest trees were bits of crystal and mirrored glass that caused the air to sparkle. Alongside the tropical plants, twigs and bent metal formed archways and tunnels, and statues made of cast-off materials—toys, eyeglasses, lamp shades, bicycle parts, and the like—rose nearly to the ceiling. 

To further the sensory assault, the space vibrated from drum and flute music played at a frenetic pace, while the aromas of sugary treats, lush flowers, and above all, that tell-tale faerie scent of black licorice, saturated the air. 

“What the hell have they done?” Jenny asked as she approached a twisting tree-like structure that stretched across the entryway. Instead of leaves, there were thousands of tiny pendants and charms. “I’ve gone to the Climatron a bunch of times, and this isn’t anything like what I remember.”  

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be.” Holden took a step forward. “I was thinking about what Magalie told us, how the two worlds lay on top of each other.” He felt like he had entered a world within a world. “I think the faeries take things from our world and use them, kind of like how a hermit crab chooses a shell. They pick what they like and make it work for them.”  The faerie world was foreign and bizarre itself, but here it was downright disconcerting. He couldn’t put a name on what had changed, other than to assume it was the magic, as if the existence of faeries created the need for an entirely new sense, adding to the five senses he already possessed. 

Jenny wandered to another structure that reminded Holden of an Easter Island head. When he followed her, he discovered that it had been constructed entirely of small stuffed animals. “I guess this is what they do with the trinkets people bring to the favor faeries,” she muttered. She wandered around, looking at all of the random items covering the ground. “Honestly, this seems kind of sketch to me.”

“Yeah.” Holden picked up a beanbag stuffed dinosaur that was propped up against an iridescent pole. “Who knew the faeries were such hoarders?” 

I hope you enjoyed this brief glimpse into my story. If you want to check it out, you can become a paying member of Story Cauldron, and not only have access to my novels as I write them (the first book is already complete and available as an ebook) but you will help support my writing and make it feasible to keep it going.

Also, I invite you to check out my new Substack The Wonderful Books of Oz, where I am serializing The Wizard of Oz and the rest of the works by L. Frank Baum, entirely for free.

Stepping back in time

What is your first memory of the Wizard of Oz? If you’re like most people, you first visited Oz by watching the 1939 movie starring Judy Garland as Dorothy.

As a kid, I had seen it at least once when I was very young but couldn’t remember a lot about it, so when I saw it a subsequent time, I was confused. Wasn’t it in color? But yes, of course, the film shifts from black and white to Technicolor.

Back then, Technicolor was a new technology, and although The Wizard of Oz wasn’t the first film to employ it, it was certainly one of the most memorable.

The other thing that was important about The Wizard of Oz was that it was shown pretty regularly on television in the 1970s, so of course, I saw it several times.

What stood out for me was that it depicted a world of magic, fantastic creatures, and most of all, witches and wizards. Although I also saw pretty much every Disney animated film, it was The Wizard of Oz more than anything that instilled my life-long passion for fantasy stories.

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The books of L. Frank Baum

Having tasted the world of Oz as a grade-school kid, I was overjoyed to discover that the movie was based on a book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum. Even better, I found out that he had written a total of 14 books about this magical world. As an avid reader, I checked out every single one available in my local library and read them with great excitement. I recall taking at least one along on a family road trip, and hunkering down in the back seat reading as my parents and I drove from St. Louis to my grandparents’ house in Florida.

As I dug into them, imagine my surprise to learn that there were deviations between the original book and the movie. For example, there were no ruby slippers in the original book—they were silver. And the Emerald City was only green because everyone wore green-tinted glasses! But the filmmakers wanted to take advantage of Technicolor and made adjustments that would show up better on camera,

But beyond that—Dorothy and the familiar cast of characters don’t all show up in subsequent books; instead, we meet a number of fascinating protagonists and explore every corner of Oz, including some that aren’t nearly as pleasant as Munchkin Land or the Emerald City.

Have you read Wicked (or seen the Broadway play)? As most people know, Gregory Maguire used Baum’s story as a starting point for a wholly new interpretation of Oz and the Wicked Witch of the West, but the flavor of his book definitely owes a great deal to the stories that came before. (Seriously—if you love Wicked, you really should read the original stories… but more on that in a moment.)

How Oz influenced me as a writer

As I noted, Oz was perhaps my first real introduction to fantasy stories, and it shaped the kind of reader and writer I would become. To this day, I prefer “portal fiction,” in which a character from our world lands in a magical world. When I write, I like to think about how the world works and the different landscapes and types of people who inhabit it, as well as the political and socio-economic underpinnings. But above all, I like to have morally grey characters who aren’t completely good or evil. You see a little of this in the film, but in the books, you get a better taste of it. Is Glinda really the ultimate “good guy”? Perhaps for some people, Dorothy wasn’t the best thing to happen to Oz. And so on.

As I work on my Favor Faeries series, I am often thinking back to Oz and trying to build a world that is vaguely reminiscent of it. Several years ago, in fact, I described my first attempt at a novel in my nascent faerie world as “The Wizard of Oz meets Neil Gaiman.” In other words, I wanted to create a world that was as expansive and peculiar as Oz, but also a bit darker and unsettling.

That first novel never quite came together, nor did a couple of subsequent attempts (although I’ve kept everything, and those stories may get a second look in the near future). Regardless, the time spent writing those books helped me craft a faerie world that might appeal to fans of The Wizard of Oz (though without talking animals, so far anyway).

Reading the Oz books

As I thought about the books that most influenced me as a writer, Oz clearly bubbled to the top. But then I realized that with books written over 100 years ago, and with a massive number of new Young Adult Fantasy novels written every year, people today might never discover the Oz books on their own. In fact, I doubt most people under 40 even knew the books existed.

So I decided to try something fun.

Starting on Aug. 2nd, I will be serializing the first book in the Oz series, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, on a free Substack called The Wonderful Books of Oz. Each week you will be treated to a new chapter along with some incredible artwork. And it will be 100% free.

Each Tuesday, subscribers will receive a new chapter magically delivered via email or via the Substack app. And from time to time, I may drop in here at Story Cauldron with some reflections about the stories.

(In case you’re wondering, the novel, and all subsequent novels by Baum, are in the public domain, so this is entirely legal).

Once we’re through the first novel, assuming there’s interest, my plan is to continue going and eventually serialize the entire 14-book catalog.

Join me on our journey down the yellow brick road to meet the Wizard of Oz. And tell your friends!

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Thanks for reading—and I do hope you subscribe. It’s going to be a lot of fun!

In the comments below, tell me who’s your favorite character from the Wizard of Oz, and why. I would love to know who my subscribers love the most. (Me? I’m kind of partial to the flying monkeys!)

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May has been stressful and eventful in lots of ways. It’s been scary and exhausting and occasionally exhilarating. These are some of the things that have colored my month.

The Doozy

I’ve had a lot going on for a while, but earlier in the month things went a bit sideways.

My stepmom Joan had to go to the hospital for shortness of breath issues (she needed a stent and will need a valve repair). She had been in for about a week and was about to come home, but my dad was concerned about her oxygen levels, and the doctors decided to run a few more tests.

They had postponed her discharge until they got the results back, so my dad and I decided to go out to eat. When I got to his house, I knocked at the door and didn’t hear anything. Knowing my dad is often in the garage working on various projects, this didn’t surprise me, so I opened the door.

That’s when he popped up and yelled at me to get back. I thought he was trying to tell me the floor was wet from mopping or something and didn’t think much of it, but he repeated his warning and sounded panicked. It was very weird. Was he okay? Was there something wrong with the dog?

I still didn’t understand what to think until he finally was able to get out the words:

“Joan has Covid.”

Oh shit.

Apparently, she had called him while I was on the way over, so there wasn’t time to warn me that he had to quarantine. 

After talking to him briefly, I fetched food from the restaurant we were planning to go to, getting completely lost and a bit angry in the process. Mostly I was angry because Dad and Joan have been able to avoid Covid for two solid years, and then she got it in the hospital. (As far as the state of Missouri is concerned, Covid is over and there’s no masking or any other precautions). 

I picked up the food and we sat outside at a distance talking and planning. I could tell he was worried because usually he doesn’t have a big appetite, but when he’s worried he totally stress eats (hey at least I come by that habit honestly!).

Not only was he worried about Covid for both of them, but he was really anxious about having to stay home for a week without anyone there with him (he doesn’t like to be alone, plus he had been spending a lot of time with Joan in the hospital, which had to immediately stop).

The next day he went out for a PCR test and as we suspected, he was positive as well. 

I know that for a lot of people, Covid is no big deal anymore. Lots of people get it, have mild symptoms, and get on with their lives. But plenty of people—even vaccinated people—still die from it. And although Dad and Joan are double-vaxxed and boosted, they have health issues that put them at risk.

So throughout the week, in addition to getting him groceries and trying to keep his spirits up, I had lots of phone and online conversations with friends and family about how they were doing. (I’m grateful to everyone who sent their best wishes to me and my family.)

And as you might imagine, as it was playing out. I was basically a nervous wreck. I definitely had some crazy dreams—when I could sleep at all. For most of the week, I struggled to be productive but in the end, I didn’t get a lot done. And although I tried to avoid playing out hypothetical scenarios in my head, honestly I couldn’t help it.

Fortunately, they were both diagnosed early, so they got the anti-Covid meds and recovered quickly. Given their age and health issues, it’s a huge relief. They had mild cases (no loss of taste or smell, and minimal respiratory and “flu-like” symptoms). And as far as I can tell, they’re fine now. 

As for me? I think I’m still a bit wobbly from the whole experience, but since they’ve both been asymptomatic for over a week, I think we’re in the clear.

By the way—it’s my dad’s 80th birthday on Wednesday. I think we all have a lot to celebrate!

On an entirely different subject…

As you may know, I am finishing up the second novel in my Favor Faeries series. It’s titled The Boy Who Can Taste Color and it’s available as a serial novel for my paid subscribers.

I had already finished a draft before I started serializing it, but as I post chapters here I’ve been revising and adding to it along the way. Over the past month or so I had to spend some time unraveling the middle of the story and I ended up rewriting most of it. It’s still a little rough but overall I consider Act II to be complete and I’ll be working on Act III officially starting this week. In other words, the end is in sight!

For those who subscribe to Story Cauldron: I also decided to turn all annual paid subscriptions into lifetime ones for the time being. (It was the least I could do to give my early supporters a special benefit!) If you’re interested in reading the first book, The Girl Behind the Camera, either in its serial form or as an ebook, and you want to start reading book 2, you can subscribe as a paid member and I’ll convert the annual subscription to a lifetime one, so you’ll only have to pay once. Click on the button below and click on “Annual” to get this special deal!

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All my Substacks

As you may know, I write and manage three Substack newsletters. There’s this one (Story Cauldron) as well as my St. Louis history newsletter (Unseen St. Louis) and a third one I run with Geoffrey Golden for Substack fiction writers (Fictionistas).

Over on Unseen STL, I’ve just published Part 1 and Part 2 of my series on Radioactive St. Louis, talking about how St. Louis processed the uranium for the Manhattan Project and how one of the processing facilities and all of the waste were piled up into a containment cell and turned into a tourist attraction. I’m really proud of the work I did for those two pieces and I’d love for you to check them out.

Currently, I’m working on a post about St. Louis foods, part three of my Radioactive St. Louis series, a piece on the River Des Peres, and hopefully soon, I’ll also have a piece about the Wabash, Frisco & Pacific Railroad in Glencoe after talking to some of the guys who run it.

The best news is that both of my personal Substacks have been growing consistently over the months. May is the one-year anniversary of Story Cauldron, and I’m super excited that the newsletter has more than 300 subscribers! Meanwhile, Unseen STL, which I just started in late January, has already gone over the 200 subscriber mark. 

While these numbers may be small compared to many newsletters, they mean the world to me. Over 500 people have decided to follow me and my writing, and that’s just astounding.

So to my subscribers, thank you!

Recognized by Substack

Substack isn’t just a newsletter platform—it’s also become a community of writers. I engage with many of these writers on a Discord group called Substack Writers Unite. And each week I participate in Substack’s official “Office Hours”, a discussion thread where Substack writers and staff help answer other Substack writers’ questions. 

As it turns out, for their first year of doing Office Hours, I was the top contributor. To thank me for my contributions, Substack featured me in their celebration post, where I read a “poem” they wrote to encourage fellow writers. (An artist also did a drawing of me, seen above, and they also gave me a couple of small thank you gifts).

Great Substack Story Challenge

As I mentioned last time, I am participating in a round-robin story challenge. The story prompt was shared with the participants, and the title will be The Grisly Ghosts of Gruesome Time. 

The first chapter will go live on May 26 on Arjun Agarwal’s newsletter, and I’ll be sure to share the links as they happen.

Whew, that’s a lot!

Thanks so much for supporting me in my writing journey and showing an interest in what I’m working on. Writing can be such a solitary experience and it’s really heartening to know that there are others out there who are reading things and encouraging me to keep moving forward.

Thanks as always for reading. In honor of my dad’s birthday, tell me about one of your favorite birthdays. Did you get a special gift? Were you traveling? Did someone throw you a surprise party?? Let me know in the comments below!

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I’m going to be participating in a great storytelling adventure. Thirteen of us will be writing a story one chapter at a time. What will the story be about? Who knows? Will there be mystery, murders, or magic? Your guess is as good as mine. (Okay, let’s be real. There will almost certainly be magic at least the week I’m contributing!)

I’ll be posting my chapter here on Story Cauldron, but you won’t just want to read mine. To start at the beginning, subscribe to Arjun Agarwal’s newsletter before May 21. Then subscribe or visit each of the others in turn (everyone’s links are on the Fictionistas Substack). I’ll also be posting updates here so you can follow along.

I’m super excited about participating. For the longest time, I’ve been wanting to do one of these round-robin, or Exquisite Corpse, types of projects. I can’t wait to see what kind of hot mess the thirteen of us come up with, but knowing the work of many of the writers, I guarantee it will be interesting and hilarious.

And this seems obvious, but if you haven’t already subscribed to Story Cauldron, now’s your chance!

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The beginnings

Allow me to tell you a story about a storyteller. That storyteller is me.

I’ve been telling stories for as long as I can remember.

It started when I was a little kid, probably in nursery school, where I would make up stories to act out with other kids on the playground, and then at home with my Barbies or stuffed animals.

By 6th grade, I had written the first short story that I can recall, featuring two hillbillies selling lemonade. No, I have no idea why I chose that story to tell. I guess it’s good that I did, though, because all these years later I still remember writing it.

Throughout high school, I seized upon every opportunity to write stories for contests and even took a creative writing class. I also used Dungeons & Dragons to help me craft stories and then worked through the scenarios by playing the different roles by myself. In the British series Robin of Sherwood, when Robin Hood (Michael Praed) was killed, I was so distraught that I wrote my first ‘fan fic’ (though I had no idea at the time that’s what it was) to give the story an ending I could live with. (There would be a new season, with a new Robin Hood played by Jason Connery, but I didn’t know that at the time.)

By the time high school was over, I had written—and won—a one-act playwriting contest and had started what would become, many years later, my first novel. Then in college, I took more writing classes and continued to write well after I graduated.

A novelist

Since then I have written constantly, both fiction and nonfiction. I managed to get my first novel—By Moonrise—finished and published, and I’m pretty happy with it. But since then (December 2015, if you’re keeping score), I haven’t completed and published anything else.

There were lots of reasons. I had a sequel that wasn’t working, so I started a new novel that would sit between the two (and it, The Hidden Moon, is close, but not quite, finished). I also wrote, and rewrote, at least six other full-length novels (or tried to). In nearly every case I choked somewhere past the midpoint and couldn’t finish them—I lost the story or something.

I also dealt with a lot of self-doubt, impostor syndrome, and a feeling of failure brought on largely by my association with successful indie authors. I’d ask myself: how could so many people write and publish so many books when I couldn’t even finish one? If I did it once, why couldn’t I do it again? (Never mind the fact that By Moonrise took decades!)

The fall

But as in all alchemical transformations—and all heroines’ journeys—there has to be a painful period when everything falls apart. I was ready for a change, but not quite ready to be reborn anew.

So I turned to a long and in-depth study of story structure. That journey began in 2017 with working with my good friend and author Skyler White, who I think saved me and kept me from giving up when things were the bleakest. Working with her and a few other writers was my first writing group where we worked through ideas and shared our process with others. But as helpful as it was, it was also terrifying and caused all kinds of insecurities to bubble up to the surface.

For the next few years, I chugged through the steps of rebuilding myself as a writer, trying to claw my way back to the surface so I could breathe again. I worked to apply all the lessons Skyler taught me, while also drinking deeply from the well of the books Save the Cat (and Save the Cat Writes a Novel), which talk about story structure and how to outline a novel.

But with all of that, the insecurity and the studying, writing fiction had all but ceased to be fun. It wasn’t an escape, and it didn’t offer me the excitement that it had for so many years. Instead, it felt like a slog, something I was supposed to do, something that I had to do, not something that I looked forward to doing.

I felt like a failure. And if writing fiction was what I considered my strongest skill, and I couldn’t even do that effectively, where did that leave me?

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Magic happened

Something magical happened in 2020 (no, not that COVID thing). It was in the year that otherwise should not be mentioned that I found my people!

Those people are in the group Stop Writing Alone. With Nicole Rivera and other members of the group, I finally found a safe space to write and be a writer. Within the community, and thanks to a number of “Happy Camper” programs and writing prompts organized by Nicole, I have written more short stories than I can count, revised novels, entered writing contests, and even got a story (that I wrote based one of her 52-week writing prompts) published in an anthology. The encouragement, support, assistance, and fun we had all through quarantine and beyond restored my confidence and helped me find my way back to the joy of writing.

Last August I finished my new ‘book’ entitled The Girl Behind the Camera. It’s a young adult urban fantasy story about the adventures of teenagers in St. Louis. It’s the first of a series called The Favor Faeries that I published as serial fiction on Kindle Vella as well as here on Substack.

Initially, I wrote this story for the 3-Day Novel competition over Labor Day weekend 2020. About four days before it started, a small group within our Stop Writing Alone group decided we’d give the competition a shot. Our last-minute decision meant that I had less than a week to come up with an idea for an entire ‘novel’ and plan it out. To be honest, I had low expectations for the final product.

I had only one goal.

After everything I had gone through, after all of the incomplete novels littering my hard drive, I wanted to see if I could write a complete story of novella length (about 25,000 words) all the way through to the end in just three days. Not 2/3 of a novel. Not a framework with lots of holes. But a complete novel that could stand on its own.

Could I actually do the thing that had been eluding me for five years?

Somehow—perhaps with the help of faeries? Or maybe with the support of my fellow writers—I succeeded.

After I finished it, I didn’t read it. I just let it sit untouched for most of a year. When I went back to review it a few weeks ago, I was shocked at how much I liked it, even in its rough form. So I polished it up, added about 30% more to the story, and it’s ready to go. So for the first time in almost six years, I have something that is complete and ready for the world to read.

In case you’re interested in reading The Favor Faeries, here’s the blurb for the first book, The Girl Behind the Camera:

At a school where everyone is thinner, richer, and more popular, Jenny MacLauren feels like an outcast. Photography is her key to standing out. But when one of the rich girls gets named as photo editor, Jenny turns to the Favor Faeries, controversial beings that people say can grant small wishes in exchange for trinkets and snacks. Will the faeries’ magic be strong enough to help her win the accolades she desires—or find the cute boy she meets along the way?

I didn’t win the competition, but I feel like I won an even bigger prize. And I can’t wait to share it with everyone!

What am I up to today?

Currently, I’m working on serializing the next book in the series, The Boy Who Can Taste Color, both here and on Kindle Vella. The goal is to publish both books, plus the third, The Boy Who Danced with Faeries, as actual paperback books on Amazon.

I’m also writing both this Substack and Unseen St. Louis, my Substack about St. Louis history (the most recent article was about the caves under the city!). And because I believe in the importance of writing communities, I’m also the co-organizer of Fictionistas, a Substack for fellow fiction writers on the platform.

(Pssst: Fictionistas features a great list of fiction Substacks you might want to check out, including Adventure Snack by Geoffrey Golden, my co-organizer of Fictionistas, and Story Hoarder by Nicole Rivera of Stop Writing Alone.)

So that’s the story of me as a storyteller—at least for this installment.

Stay tuned for the next chapter!

Right now both the complete novella The Girl Behind the Camera and the in-progress novel The Boy Who Can Taste Color are available on Kindle Vella and here for paid subscribers. However, if you’d like to read The Girl Behind the Camera for free, just shoot me an email and I’ll send you a download link.

And let me know what you think!

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As to the above image—there aren’t really any depictions of female historians in the Getty image library, so I settled for a 14th-century fresco by the Florentine artist Andrea di Cione di Arcangelo, better known as Orcagna. I’m imagining the woman who’s casually holding a parrot is recounting a scandalous story from the past.

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What is history?

People think of history as someone putting together a string of past events, indisputable moments in time, into a pleasant narrative.

Coming out of a 19th-century desire to understand and classify everything, history was understood as a scientific accounting of “what happened.” Historical accounts needed to be based on factual, indisputable data, and needed to be ‘objective.’ There could only be a single impartial and true historical narrative, and any deviation from that narrative could only be possible with new information that could better explain what we already knew to be true.

But that’s not what history is, and it’s not really what it has ever been. Here’s part of what the Online Etymology Dictionary has to say:

history (n.)

late 14c., "relation of incidents" (true or false), from Old French estoire, estorie "story; chronicle, history" (12c., Modern French histoire), from Latin historia "narrative of past events, account, tale, story," from Greek historia "a learning or knowing by inquiry; an account of one's inquiries; knowledge, account, historical account, record, narrative," from historein "be witness or expert; give testimony, recount; find out, search, inquire," and histōr "knowing, expert; witness," both ultimately from PIE *wid-tor-, from root *weid- "to see," hence "to know."

It is thus related to Greek idein "to see," and to eidenai "to know." Beekes writes of histōr that "The word itself, but especially the derivations ... that arose in Ionic, have spread over the Hellenic and Hellenistic world together with Ionic science and philosophy." 

As this definition of history suggests, the concept of ‘history’ is not a scientific thing at all, but instead is a story of the past. And what story hasn’t been colored and shaded by the storyteller?

What this means is that, whenever you engage with history, you should ask, ‘why does this exist?’ Whether it’s a documentary, a history book, a website article, or a museum exhibit, it’s important to know who made it and why.

Why I like history

Like many people, I grew up with the notion that “history is written by the victors,” a quote inaccurately attributed to Winston Churchill. The idea is that it is those who win the wars, conquer the territory, and win elections that get to decide which stories get told. Most people can name at least a handful of presidents of the US—but how many can name their opponents?

In school, the history textbooks told the story of the growth of Europe, westward expansion, colonialism, and the wars that countries fought along the way, often against indigenous people. But I always found that boring. To me, history is not about memorizing a list of kings and wars, but understanding how people lived their daily lives and how societies have changed over time.

As a graduate student twice, I gravitated instead to cultural history. I wanted to know what people thought, what they believed, and what they told each other. Along the way, what I discovered was that history ultimately is about patterns: human beings have this insane way of doing the same things over and over again, largely because they don’t remember how things worked out in the past.

The role of story in history

I’m a storyteller fascinated in history. Every historical event is, at its heart, a story to be told.

There will always be the ‘official’ story, the one told by leaders with power and influence, as reported in the media. But those storytellers rarely tell the story of the ordinary people, and never fairly report stories of people opposing that power.

When I engage with historical materials, I like to tease out a different version of that story. It might have some of the same historical markers—dates, important people, major events. But there are other stories that can be told by focusing whenever possible on ordinary people and how they lived.

When historians look back on the past couple of years, do you think they will get a fair idea of what it was like to live through the pandemic if they only look at what the presidents and governors and major organizations had to say about events? Or will they need to look at the stories coming out of hospitals and nursing homes, and how we all lived for years in fear of public spaces and at each other’s throats over masking and immunizations?

My current historical work

As I’ve mentioned, I’ve started a second Substack called Unseen St. Louis in which I focus on lesser-known moments in St. Louis history. As I dig into the history—most of which was never taught to me in school—I see how modern St. Louis is the product of its former position as a leading industrial city. Thousands and thousands of people moved here in the 19th and early 20th century looking for jobs, creating unique challenges for the St. Louis area that it continues to struggle with to this day.

To this end, recently I wrote about the Kerry Patch, a very large settlement of Irish people fleeing the Great Hunger. I also examined a notorious housing project in St. Louis that was long cast as so dangerous place that the city had to shut it down—only to find out that it actually failed because the city (and the federal government) never allocated sufficient funds and resources into its upkeep and security. I also dug into a boundary between cities in St. Louis county that was constructed to keep a Black community separate from a white one.

So circling back—what’s my ‘why’ in this equation? Why do I choose to tell these stories?

I guess it’s important to me that people have some sense of history. Like I said before, it’s helpful to know what happened in the past so we don’t keep repeating the same mistakes. And where St. Louis is concerned, I believe that if we don’t examine what happened in the past, we’ll never be able to move forward.

Recent history

If you’d like to check out my recent history articles, I’ve linked them below:

• A little but mighty bridge

• The sulphur springs of Cheltenham

• The St. Louis 1967 twister

• Bagna cauda, Croatians, and Benld IL

• The failed promise of Pruitt-Igoe

• The Kinloch barricade

• Irish kings, gangs, and witches ☘️

Final note

Part of the reason I created Story Cauldron in the first place was to highlight my fiction. While I don’t have a new story to share, I did want to note that I was interviewed for the Serial Fiction Show! In a two-part podcast (one for readers, and a second for writers), I talk about my Favor Faeries series, available here and on Kindle Vella and what it’s like to be a writer, why I write about faeries, and more. Be sure to check it out!

And as always, thanks for reading Story Cauldron. If you haven’t yet, please subscribe.

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It’s almost impossible to escape news about what is going on in Ukraine. But what is true? 

This week let’s look at a few pieces of propaganda that have come out of the war so far, and how this form of storytelling is powerful and can change the opinions of millions. And in a war watched so closely on social media, the victor may end being a case of who tells the better story over time. 

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The basics

As you probably know, Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24th. Since that day, the Russian forces have been bombing Ukrainian cities and the countryside, mining the roads, and attacking both military and civilian targets. By all accounts it has already been quite devastating to the Ukrainian people, nearly 2 million of whom have fled the country while millions more are hiding in basements, bunkers, or out in the country. 

It’s important to note that Ukraine is not a small country. It’s 233,062 sq. mi. in size, just a bit smaller than Texas (at 268,597sq. mi.) and larger than France (210,016 sq. mi.). The population of Ukraine is 40 million, far more than the 29 million in Texas. The country has many large cities—Kyiv is larger than the St. Louis metro area—and many of the people are well-educated, have advanced technical skills, and speak multiple languages, including Ukrainian, Russian, English, and others. 

What’s really happening in Ukraine?

Ah, that’s always the million-dollar question, isn’t it?

To hear Russia tell it, they are trying to wrest back control of part of their country from neo-Nazis who are attacking their own people. That is the official story being shared by Russian news outlets within the country.

The problem is, there’s no evidence of truth in that story, especially since the Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, was born to two Jewish parents and is the furthest thing from a Nazi. 

Meanwhile, Ukrainians claim Russia invaded their democratically-governed, independent country and are now waging unprovoked war against civilians, with apartment buildings, bridges, civilian government buildings, and other structures destroyed. Russia has also bombed a nuclear power plant and has been holding the staff at Chernobyl hostage for days. This is the accepted truth within Ukraine, the US, the UK and EU, and most of the world outside Russia itself.

I feel confident in that analysis not just because of what I see in the mainstream media (which is not devoid of propaganda) but because I work with many Ukrainians who remain in the country. I’ve witnessed how many of their lives have been destroyed by this conflict, and how they remain in danger of violence and dwindling supplies. No matter what Russia argues, it’s safe to say this isn’t Ukrainians fighting Ukrainians with Russia coming to assist.

I mention all of this because some countries—and some right-wing ideologues—continue to cast the war in a different light, in deference to Russia. You’ll find these trolls all over social media.

Propaganda as story

Russia has long portrayed itself as a superpower, mighty and worthy of being feared. Their story—one that most across the world have believed—is that they are undefeatable. 

Yet in the two weeks of the invasion, they have failed to take Kyiv—much less the country—or locate President Zelenskyy in order to assassinate him and replace him with a puppet ruler. Lots of people have recounted the Russian losses, evidence of ineptitude, poor planning, failed equipment, and the like. For Putin, a leader many have long feared, it is an astonishing failure. Are these stories true, and is it the best Putin can muster? Is he holding back? What’s really going on here?

This is a difficult question to answer definitively. In her March 7 dispatch, renowned American historian Heather Cox Richardson alluded to the problems of sorting fact from fiction. 

Former Russian foreign minister Andrey Kozyrev suggests that while Russia spent billions on their military, much of that money was embezzled and spent on yachts—but no one dared tell Putin:

The other story Putin wants everyone to believe is that he will stop at nothing—even nuclear war—to win. That story stops most of us in our tracks. We want to help Ukraine… but at what cost?

Kozyrev has an answer to that as well:

This is an important note. If Putin is already threatening nuclear weapons, many analysts suggest, it’s a bluff and it means he knows he cannot win the war and has to resort to fear tactics to try to command the upper hand in negotiations.

Finally, there’s an argument that Putin chose to believe stories that the US under Biden was weak—after all, we couldn’t even get out of Afghanistan gracefully. This story posits that he didn’t expect the US to be able to lead the world in standing up to Putin. In other words, he believed Republicans’ propaganda that Biden was weak. As Kozyrev notes:

Taken as a whole, it appears that Putin failed to take control of the early story of the Ukraine War, and may have been a victim of his own propaganda and that of his allies. 

Meanwhile, the news is flush with stories of Ukrainian heroism. Early on we heard about the Ghost of Kyiv, which is the nickname given to a MiG-29 Fulcrum flying ace who the Security Service of Ukraine claims has shot down 10 Russian jets as of 27 February.

Then there are all the stories and memes about Zelenskyy himself—his bravery and willingness to remain in Kyiv to support his people. Here’s a video that does a great job at demonstrating some of the ways in which Zelenskyy is dominating American storytelling, and how he has become a hero all around the world—a rather critical thing when you’re fighting a war of independence and self-determination and want outside support.

(Oh and while we’re on the subject, even names have power. Use Kyiv (keev,) the Ukrainian name for the city, rather than Kiev (key-ev) the Russian name for the city.)

The Beastmaster of Kyiv

Then there’s this story that hit my inbox today:

The text of the meme reads:

“Reports are coming in from both Russian and Ukrainian soldiers in Kyiv that a male siberian tiger, believed to be loose from the Kyiv Zoo, has been attacking Russian encampments at night. The tiger has been seen accompanied by a lone individual in militia-style gear, believed to be a keeper at the zoo. Ukraniants have dubbed the mystery keeper [phrase in Ukrainian] In English - ‘The Beastmaster of Kyiv’ “

I can’t find anyone analyzing the story yet, but let’s just assume for now that it’s fake. For one thing, there’s a line in Ukrainian that’s translated as “The Beastmaster of Kyiv”— but instead is a crude curse to the Russians that involves degrading language about sucking a part of a woman’s anatomy. With that debunked I think it’s safe to say the story is likely untrue. 

But as propaganda, the story is amazing. How better to spread the tale of Ukrainian heroism than to talk about a Siberian tiger, with its symbolism of cunning and strength, attacking Russians? As the tiger also comes from Russia, it also carries an underlying message of betrayal—even Russia’s own tigers are against them. And the inaccurately translated curse that almost ensures it travels the world unscathed isn’t a bad touch.

Honestly, to me the meme is brilliant. This is how legends are born.

How propaganda works

So what’s going on here? Propaganda is simply storytelling that’s designed to evoke an emotion and either instill pride and hope or fear, depending on which side you’re on. The Ghost and Tiger stories both portray Ukrainians as freedom fighters, as people willing to do dangerous things in the name of their country’s defense, while sending a clear message to Russians that they cannot possibly win in the face of such heroism. Meanwhile, the stories of Russian ineptitude are both to encourage Ukrainians and demoralize Russians, assuming such news ever reaches them.

The magic of propaganda is that anyone can create it, and as such, it can be a wicked tool in the guerilla war against a larger opponent (as well as a way to obfuscate the truth, which is why it is so important to guard against sharing misinformation).

Here’s a silly but instructive example of how a single person and piece of propaganda can have an outsized impact. Over 15 years ago I played an online zombie game called Urban Dead, which was a simple text turn-based game that killed a few minutes every day (not unlike Wordle nowadays). Your goal was to try to fight zombies and stay alive in safehouses with other humans. If you got bitten by a zombie, you would have to play as a zombie until revived. It was pretty boring in itself, but the real game came from participating in a forum set up for the players. 

I didn’t think much about the game until a group of hardcore gamers swarmed the game, became zombies, and then killed as many humans as possible, completely upsetting the balance of the game. Frustrated, I created an organization called the Shearbank Liberation Army and created a series of dispatches that I published anonymously on Blogger. I made it sound like there were a whole bunch of us in the group—matching, more or less, the number of players in the other group and got a handful of players to help me spread the illusion in-game by putting up graffiti in different spots. And in doing so, I completely disrupted the tactics of the other players and changed the trajectory of the game, giving individual players motivation to form their own groups.

The point is, the efforts of a single person changed the dynamics of a powerful enemy, and their fear of an organized resistance made the game a lot more fun for the rest of us.

Ukrainians are good at social media

As we have seen from President Zelenskyy himself, and thousands of others in Ukraine, they know the value of a good meme or joke, as well as how important it is to get their version events out there quickly. 

Over the past few days, this video has been making the rounds of Twitter and Facebook:

The video suggests Putin was faking a public appearance, with the proof being his hand appearing to move right through the microphone, and then Zelenskyy made his own appearance where he made a show of moving the mic, proving he was in fact doing the press appearance live and at that location and therefore subtly trolling Putin. Snopes has so far failed to ascertain if this is in fact what’s going on in the video, but again, does it matter? People believe it. They see a man under siege, and with every reason to fear for his life, still taking the time to make jokes. 

In another example, there’s the Hello, My Russia Mom project that airs Russian confessions about their involvement in the war. There’s no way to verify that these are real Russian soldiers or that their confessions are real, but it does reinforce the story being told in mainstream media that the soldiers didn’t know where they were going and don’t want to be there now.

To the best stories go the spoils?

Wars have always been fought with military might—missiles and bombs and Molotov cocktails—and propaganda has had a role probably since the beginning of time. But as information is easier to get and share, wars may soon be won not with armies and explosives but through storytelling—with the winner being the one that wins the war of information.

On that note, allow me to leave you with a video shared with the company tonight My colleague described as a cover/adaptation of "Bella Ciao" sung by Ukranian singer Khrystyna Soloviy. As he put it,

This protest song is very famous in Italy and it was adopted by the Italian resistance movement (partisans) that opposed to nazi-fascism. Listening to it, literally made me shiver. Like partisans were able to drive away the invaders with this song in the background, I really wish you from my heart to be able to do the same. Slava Ukraini!

It’s well worth the watch—and be sure to follow along with the English in the captions (when she referred to the Russians as “darklings,” as a Leigh Bardugo fan I had a shiver run down my spine.)

Slava Ukraini!

So can stories win a war? Let me know in the comments.

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On the latter topic, on which I may have more to say soon—I heard from one colleague very early this morning. She let me know she was in Kyiv and (at least for the short term) staying put and safe. Things are changing so rapidly that I’m not even sure that’s still the case. The company I work for is doing everything they can to help everyone in a situation that is highly fluid and unpredictable, which is wonderful, but the news tonight (as I’m writing) that a rocket crashed into a civilian building has me worrying for them all. Of course, Kyiv is a city of 2.95 million people, larger than the St. Louis metro area, so the odds are still good that everyone I know is safe. But it’s still scary for them and for the greater geopolitical issues now at play. For now, I can only say that I stand with Ukraine and hope that order and peace are restored soon, with minimal destruction and loss of life.

But for now, a little about my childhood.

Growing up in Ferguson

When I was born back in 1967, my parents were living in a townhouse apartment in Ferguson, MO (yes, that Ferguson—I grew up 2.5 miles away from where Michael Brown was shot in 2014).

This, I believe, was my very first home as an infant:

This apartment complex is on Torii Dr, with two I’s, and still stands, though there were potholes in the streets deep enough to plant trees. (And ‘Torii’? The only reference I could find for that name is to Torii gates, which according to Wikipedia are “traditional Japanese gate at Shinto shrines, symbolically marking the transition from the profane to the sacred.” There are no other Asian-themed streets in the area, though the next street over is Dragonwyck, so who knows? But whatever—a great street name for your first home!)

The property manager at my first home promptly told my parents that no kids were allowed, so they loaded up the truck (MG) and moved to Beverley Wyndhurst, a brand-new complex across the highway, tucked away in a little corner south of Maline Creek and just off Hern Rd.

Wyndhurst was a complex made up of 36 boxy four-family buildings—all two-story, many/all with two bedrooms and a full basement—on 12.4 acres. The complex was built in a U-shape, with lush lawns and shrubbery encircling each building—lots of space to run and play. Next to one side of the complex, and closest to our building, was a massive forest (actually just a small stand of trees between our complex and the next) but to a kid, it felt like it went on forever. There was also a long slope that ran downhill in front of the imposing forest, which was great in the winter. To the east, as the crow flies, beyond the bottom of the U, was Hanley Road (though our road was actually a giant cul-de-sac), and then just past that, Lambert-Field airport.

It wasn’t a fancy complex, but it was a great place for a kid. I spent many hours roaming around the area of my home and the two that were directly to the east and west, meeting a few other kids, riding a metal riding tractor that I think my grandparents gave me (which was a lot like the one in the photo above, but green), picking clover and dandelions, helping my mom plant marigold seeds along the sidewalk in front of our home, and imagining the railroad ties that made up the retaining wall between us and the next building was actually part of a castle.

The woods were my favorite part. I was equally fascinated and terrified by them. They had been left wild and you couldn’t see through to the other side, and I imagined going in and getting lost, so I never ventured very far into them. But to this day, when I picture kids in stories going into the woods, it’s almost always those trees. (In fact, they inspired a scene in my first novel, though much disguised now.)

The apartment itself was pretty standard two-bedroom issue. I had the front bedroom, which faced west, giving me the chance to see many sunsets, and the big window was great to watch thunderstorms at night. Here at Wyndhurst was also where we got my first dog, a Scotty named Heather, and my first cat, an orange tabby with the exceptionally-original name of Morris. Over the years we also had numerous saltwater fish tanks (housing, among other things, an Oscar named George), parakeets, gerbils, and a guinea pig.

One thing I’ll always remember was how close we were to the airport—it was maybe a half-mile away and we were directly in the flight path. So when jets flew over, everything stopped for a moment. In the 30 seconds of jet noise, we couldn't talk to each other in person, we had to freeze our telephone conversations, and we missed whatever was happening on TV. But as loud as it was, it was just part of life, and even being outside it never felt onerous as a kid.

How things changed

In 1978, after dealing with some problematic neighbors and a burglary, my parents moved us away from Wyndhurst and to a house owned by a family friend in south St. Louis (that’s a story for another time!).

It was probably a good decision. From what I could find from a review of newspaper reports, Wyndhurst Apartments fell into decline in the 1980s, with a sharp uptick in crime. Eventually, the complex was torn down in the mid-1990s as part of airport noise abatement. Sadly (though not surprisingly), its passing didn’t merit a mention in the local paper.

After that, from what I could tell, the property then sat vacant for many years. Indeed, below is a photo of how the property looked in 2012. The red “danger” sign warns of construction equipment. Note the old fire hydrant at the far right of the image, which I assume was once at the corner of the entrance, though all signs of the road are long gone.

This photo shows the land after it was graded. When I lived there, there was a huge dip in the middle of the property that required terracing for the buildings, as it was considerably higher at the street and then at the rear of the complex than in the middle. (Of course, as a kid, the hills made it that much more fun!)

This is how the same land looked last weekend:

These warehouses—and there are a number of them—are all part of NorthPoint development. The one that stands where Wyndhurst used to be is the SKF/Lincoln machine lubrication factory and/or distributor. There are also Amazon, Schnucks (a local grocery store chain), and PepsiCo distributors in the immediate area.

Here’s a map that helps place everything:

As you might imagine, what it looks like now has absolutely nothing in common with how it used to look, or how I remember it. It’s so different, in fact, that it’s rather shocking.

How this impacts me and my stories

To be honest, I was a bit shocked to see all of the industrial development where I used to live, especially since all the houses across the street are still there. But I think it’s better than having found buildings in serious disrepair, or as an empty and unkempt field, as has happened in many other places around the city (including the former Crestwood Mall, where my family and I used to shop, which falls squarely into the latter category).

As a writer, I am intrigued by how it felt to drive roads I hadn’t been on in over 40 years and how clearly I remembered everything. Over on S. Florissant, I could still remember the gas stations and the donut shop that we used to go to, and I remembered houses and other landmarks. Remarkably, even as I looked over the parking lots and warehouses, a part of me could still ‘see’ Wyndhurst. Even now I can see it in my head superimposed over what was once there.

Memory, especially from childhood, is a powerful thing, and it’s something that I like to incorporate into my fiction.

In fact, in my current Favor Faeries series, the faerie world maps over our own, with the faeries choosing which bits and pieces of human construction to use or discard. Having these different moments in time overlapping in my head helps me better understand how that works—in my mind, Wyndhurst is still there, just as I remember it. It’s never going to be warehouses to me, even if I stand there and stare at them. The ghosts of the trees still call to me, and I can still see the lightning from my window.

What else?

As an aside, while researching the area (and trying, but failing, to find a photo of the complex), I stumbled across an intriguing—and infuriating—bit of history, something that happened not a quarter-mile away and something that neither my dad nor I knew before. That will be the subject of my next article on my other Substack, Unseen St. Louis, which will be done in a few days. I encourage you to subscribe and check it out.

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As always, thanks for reading. If you’re not a paid member of Story Cauldron, you might be excited to hear that my second novel, The Boy Who Can Taste Color, is now on Kindle Vella as well as here. If you’re new to Vella, you will get free tokens to start reading and see if you like it!

Finally, in the comments, please tell us about a place from your childhood that was magical or mysterious to you.

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In today’s Story Cauldron, let’s hear from you! Tell us about a place in your city that’s gone now—a building, park, or something else. Are you glad it’s gone, or do you miss it? Describe a memory of that place and share it in the comments.

But first… I just published a new piece on my companion Substack, Unseen St. Louis. It’s an article about Pruitt Igoe, why it was built, why it failed, and what's there now. If you’re not a subscriber, I’d love for you to take a look.

Unseen St. Louis

The failed promise of Pruitt-Igoe

There are no monuments or historical plaques, and there aren’t likely to be any. Instead, all that remains is a famous photo or two, random chunks of concrete and rebar, and acres of naturalized forest currently being toppled by bulldozers. Once, 15,000 people lived in Pruitt-Igoe, a housing project touted as the wave of the future by St. Louis City off…

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4 years ago · 2 likes · 1 comment · Jackie Dana

Snow updates!

Well, I’m happy to say that we did indeed get all the snow I could have asked for. I never saw an official total for my area but based on my ruler measurement, I believe about 9 inches or so fell at my house!

Explorations

On Tuesday we still had snow on the ground (it’s all melted now) and Opal and I went out exploring (she loves going in the car and doesn’t care if we seem to be driving around in circles, which sometimes we are!)

One of our stops was Forest Park, where we got out to view the ice at the fountains of the Grand Basin, a large pond/fountain at the base of Art Hill (the building in the back is the St. Louis Art Museum, and the hill is a favorite for sledders).

This specific location is also what I think of as “the scene of the crime,” a reference to something that happened to me many years ago.

Back when I was in grade school, my dad and I went to the park on a big snow day. The snow was deep and covered the ice of the Basin. As you may be able to tell, there are no walls or railings between the area I was standing and the water below. (Cue dramatic music…)

He was taking photos and I was a kid playing in the snow. I was happily going along, pushing snow off the wall, until… I wasn’t. I hadn’t realized that there was an edge and drop-off because the snow obscured it.

And so I went right off the edge, through the snow and ice, right into the freezing water below.

My dad did great. He didn’t panic (much), at least not as much as some fathers might when their kid falls into a frozen pond. He immediately reached down to pull me out. I was so surprised by what had happened that I couldn’t really process it, other than to note that the water wasn’t really that deep. When I saw him reach down, my first thought was that I didn’t want to get his camera wet, but he told me not to worry about that. And with a little effort, he was able to pull me out right away.

We got back to the car right away and he turned the heater on full blast, though as I recall, it didn’t seem necessary at the time—it took a few minutes for the cold to set in. Luckily my mom worked in the ER at Jewish Hospital, which was barely 5 minutes away (the hospital overlooked the park), so we headed straight there. When we got there I had to take off my wet clothes and put on a hospital gown, and they put me in an ER bay and wrapped me in blankets. Of course, they were hospital blankets and were lightweight cotton, and it took forever to get warm.

All in all, it was an exciting winter occurrence that oddly didn’t traumatize me at all. I have no desire to fall into an ice-covered pond ever again, but I still love winter!

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Other sites

In addition to Forest Park, I drove around north St. Louis, looking for a few details that had come up while I was researching my Pruitt-Igoe piece. On the journey, I drove past this old house that is literally crumbling:

When I looked it up on Google Street View, this is how it looked in 2019:

Needless to say, there’s been a lot of further deterioration over the past couple of years. I don’t know the history of this building or its owner, but it could be one of the many homes Paul McKee has purchased and allowed to literally fall apart (which, again, I addressed in the Pruitt-Igoe article). If I can find out more, I’ll be sure to share it over on Unseen St. Louis, so be sure to subscribe to that Substack for updates.

And finally, another photo of my favorite little bridge. Long-time readers of Story Cauldron may be familiar with my obsession with the Sulphur Ave. bridge. Here’s a shot in the winter, with water running in the River Des Peres (snow runoff).

Thanks as always for your support of Story Cauldron. I’ll be in touch again soon!

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My love affair with snow

It probably started when I was about six. One weekend morning I woke up before my parents and realized it had snowed overnight. I was still in my PJs and slippers when I slid the glass sliding door open and stepped out onto the fresh snow on the patio, where I scooped up snow in my bare—and tasted it. It was so cold and clean and squeaked in my teeth. And there was something incredibly thrilling and dangerous about being in the snow without a coat and boots. (And in case you’re wondering—I might have been a little kid, but I wasn’t dumb—I was only outside for a minute or two. Snow is awesome but it’s also damn cold!)

Ever since then, I have loved snow, and every time I’m around it, I make it a point to taste it. Always. (Don’t come at me about toxins and pollution because nya nya I can’t hear you!)

The 1982 blizzard

Forty years ago (almost to the day), St. Louis experienced the third-largest snowstorm in history. Originally the concern was flooding, as it rained heavily before the snow fell, and forecasts called for only four inches of snow. But Mother Nature had other plans. Snow started falling Saturday evening and just kept coming.

Officially, 13.9 inches fell on the city, though some areas saw as much as 22 inches. (According to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the 1982 storm was the third-heaviest snowfall ever recorded here.)

And I’ll never forget it. Around 5 AM Sunday morning, my parents woke me up to tell me what was going on. My mom had to get to work at Jewish Hospital (now Barnes Jewish) less than three miles away, but there was so much snow.

Now you must understand: I’m not a morning person. I’m allergic to being awake at 5 AM. But the snow! It was a total game-changer I got dressed as fast as I could and helped shovel the car out from its parking place on the street. And I loved every second of it. Being outside in snow like that at sunrise? There was something absolutely captivating about the moment. Forty years later and I can remember it clearly.

Once we cleared a path around the car and to the street, my parents set out for the hospital. Somehow in a regular car, not a 4-wheel-drive or anything, my dad was able to get all the way to the hospital and back without getting stuck. It took a while, and he’s often talked about passing the dozens of other cars that weren’t as lucky as him, but somehow, he made it home. (That was sheer Dana-family determination and willpower at work!)

My school, which was literally the very last holdout for snow days, cancelled classes on Monday and Tuesday (two days? It was unheard of!). We went back on Wednesday even though nearly every other school was still closed, but as luck had it, another round of snow was forecast and they let us out early. It took my dad, who was working just a couple of miles away, around two hours to pick me up. Mind you, this was before cell phones, so there was no way for him to tell me where he was, or that he was even safe.

Meanwhile, my mom ended up staying at the hospital for the entire week. For the incredible dedication and sacrifice of the staff who stayed through the worst of it, the hospital rewarded them generously—with a gift of a coffee mug that proudly displayed, “I survived the 1982 blizzard.” Needless to say, she was not impressed.

Leaving the snow belt

I left St. Louis for Columbia, MO for college, and we got some decent snowfalls in my time there, though thankfully nothing as big as 1982. In those days I frequently rode my mountain bike through the snow, following car tracks or people’s footprints, and it was kind of fun as long as it wasn’t too deep.

Then I moved to Austin, TX, where it rarely drops below freezing for more than a few days for the entire winter. In nearly three decades, there were only a few dicey weather moments where ice stopped everything in its tracks.

In the mid-1990s an ice storm shut things down for a couple of days, and my boyfriend and I walked to the convenience store just to get out of the house. We watched cars sledding down the main road near our duplex, unable to control their vehicles as they hit ice while going 30MPH. We were glad to be on foot. And there was a spectacular ice storm in the early 2000s that coated every tree, pole, and blade of grass with a thick diamond glaze. For that storm, I was living in the country just outside of the city, and we didn’t even try to get into Austin for a few days.

And then there was Feb 4, 2011. After the previous day when freezing temperatures made for some interesting sights (such as the ice coating the Littlefield Fountain at UT Austin, above), overnight a foot about an inch and a half of snow blanketed Austin.

Everything was silent when I woke up that morning—again, around 5 AM. That’s the thing about snow, it deadens sound, and also reduces traffic, and weirdly, the silence wakes me up. I hopped out of bed and threw on clothes and ran outside with my dog Orion. It was pristine and there wasn’t a car in sight. We wandered around for a few minutes and then I went back to bed, thinking it would be gone later.

But I couldn’t sleep. There was snow! In Austin! As my photo timestamps remind me, I went outside again at 7:30 AM, and then once more at 9:30 when the snow hadn’t melted yet. I was dumbfounded. Thrilled to get more time in the snow, Orion and I walked the neighborhood. The major road by my house was churned-up snow but only a bus dared drive down it. Snow clung to palm trees and prickly pear cactus, and as I reveled in the weather, I made a great happy face on my car. Sadly, all of that beautiful fluffy stuff had melted into nothing by noon—but we all had a full snow day off work and made the best of it!

Other than a trip to Seattle that brought me face to face with snow (in June!) and a little ice from time to time, that was most of the snow I experienced in 27 years of living in the south.

The pending blizzard of 2022

I moved back to St. Louis in 2019. I joked earlier today that snow wasn’t the main reason I moved back to my hometown, but it’s definitely in the top 5. Maybe even the top 3. That’s how much I love snow.

My timing meant that I missed out on the Winter Apocalypse that befell Austin and much of Texas last year (I know some of my friends down there are not okay with ice in their own forecast this week).

But as Austin was crippled with thick ice, snow, and widespread power outages and natural gas shortages, we enjoyed 4-6 inches of snow—the most I had seen since college. I won’t lie—it was amazing! I have a steep driveway and even though it was hard as hell, I discovered that I still enjoy shoveling snow. I just wish I still had the strength and the back I had when I was 15!

Last year’s snow stopped the city for a heartbeat, but the salt trucks and plows had roads cleared the same day.

But this time, things could be different.

First, it’s been raining for a few hours, and because of that, I don’t think they are laying down any snowmelt this time around. (And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t checking outside every couple of hours to see if it’s freezing yet.) The snow isn’t supposed to start until sometime overnight or into the morning, and we’re supposed to get two rounds, one on Wednesday morning and another later Wednesday into Thursday.

If online conversations are to be believed, a lot of people think it’s going to be a bust. But I’m hoping for a big one. As I write this on early Wednesday morning, it’s 29°F and this is what the National Weather Service is predicting for us:

According to the NWS, the St. Louis area can expect 7-12 inches of snow, with even more just to the north of us.

Will the little kid in me get my wish this year? Will my dog Opal get to run around like a crazy dog in the snow again? Only time will tell! ☃️

Share your snow stories!

I’ve been reading Reddit posts about the pending snow and people’s recollections of past snow days over on the Metabook. (When I was a kid, they announced school closures on the radio and you had to listen through a massive list for a good 20 minutes to see if yours was named—and if you missed it, you were screwed.)

If you live in an area where it snows, I’d love to hear from you. What was it like for you as a kid? Did you build snow forts or snowmen? Did you go sledding or ice skating? What was the biggest snowfall you remember?

If you didn’t grow up with snow but encountered it as an adult (either because of a relocation or on vacation), what was it like for you the first time?

Because I’m obsessed with snow, I would love to hear from you in the comments. Tell me all your snow stories! (And if you don’t get to enjoy snow where you live, maybe you can live vicariously through the rest of us!)

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As always, thanks for reading. I’ll have more fiction—and my musings on why history, especially local history, matters—coming your way in a future Story Cauldron, so stay tuned!

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How did we get here?

As writers, we usually work in a bit of a bubble. While there are some folks who are lucky enough to have a writing partner, most of us put words together without much input from others, at least until we’re done.

That can make the writing process, and the results of our writing, somewhat of a guessing game. Are the things we’re writing any good? Will they resonate with an audience? Is there any point to doing the thing, or are we just stringing together words like strands of popcorn, with our projects seeming like a good idea at the time only to become stale and fall apart? And most of all, if things aren’t working, will we ever be able to recognize it?

Enter Story Cauldron.

Initially, I think I had a pretty good concept for a newsletter, but it evolved into something a bit different, and lately, I’ve struggled to define what I’m doing. Things just felt off. In my brain, everything’s connected, but my gut told me that my lack of a clear focus has been holding me back.

The plan

After talking things through with a couple of fellow writers, I’ve decided to make a couple of changes around here. Here’s the plan:

1. On Story Cauldron, I’m going to focus on fiction and my writing journey (and occasionally related topics). And paid members will still receive the latest chapter of my Favor Faeries novel on Fridays. Honestly, it’s not a huge change other than I intend to reduce the frequency of public posts to twice a month (give or take).

2. I’m going to start sharing my local history on a new “sister” Substack called Unseen St. Louis. This will be where I’ll explore my passion for my hometown and dig into its history. I’ll be able to write about all the cool stuff I’m discovering without having to worry about getting too off-topic over here.

   Unseen St. Louis

   Surprising history about one of America's greatest cities

   By Jackie Dana

So it’s not that I’m putting the brakes on Story Cauldron. I’m really just splitting one newsletter into two in order to keep things tidy and make it easier for people to choose what they find most interesting to read. It’s all connected, but different.

Another way to think of it is to imagine Unseen St. Louis as a spinoff—but it’s not so much Joanie Loves Chachie as it is Better Call Saul. (And if you’re too young for the reference, just recognize the genius of Bob Odenkirk and leave it at that.)

Anyway, regardless of where you live, I hope you’ll join me over on Unseen St. Louis, because I have plans, baby!

What else is happening?

• An article I wrote entitled “Substack for Authors” was just published in the January issue of Indie Author Magazine. If you’ve been considering joining the Substack bandwagon, I encourage you to check it out for lots of reasons why a bunch of us have made this platform our home. (And check out IAM, the brainchild of my friend Chelle Honiker and a great print and digital publication.)

• Fellow writer Geoffrey Golden (who writes Adventure Snack, a choose-your-own-adventure Substack) and I have also started a new group for Substack fiction writers called Fictionistas. And we have our own Fictionistas Substack (because of course we do). If you’re interested in finding some great new things to read, I’d encourage you to visit our listing of other fiction Substacks.

• I was recently featured on Shepherd, a site that allows authors to curate their favorite books, with my listing of The Best YA Faerie Novels.

As always, thank you for being part of Story Cauldron. I love each and every one of you that takes the time to read this newsletter, and I hope that between this and Unseen St. Louis, I’ll be able to continue to deliver interesting and valuable content. Please share both with your friends and always feel free to leave a comment or shoot me an email if you have any feedback or ideas.

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Today I want to stop and catch my breath because the world feels insane, and the weight of it is so heavy that it’s hard to be thoughtful and creative right now. And if I’m feeling that way, I’m sure a lot of other people are feeling that way too.

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The problem

First off, I want to state that I am not trying to be an alarmist or downer here. I don’t want to add more negativity to your inbox. But I think it’s important to state what’s going on and how it makes us feel, because ignoring it doesn’t make the problems go away and it doesn’t help us solve them.

So here we are. If you’re like me, many of your friends and family members have COVID right now, or are recovering from a recent bout of it, or you had it yourself. Almost no one wants to call January 6th what it really was, and now you feel like voting rights and democracy are suddenly a pipe dream. You’re worried that crazy climate issues will bring tornadoes or wildfires to your door, or cause the power grid to fail again. (And let’s not even talk about Betty White, Sidney Poitier, and Michael Nesmith.)

Throughout it all, certain people continue with what I call “predictive victimhood,” claiming that everything from masks and vaccines to mail-in voting to the latest Substack content guidelines will take away their freedom.

Throughout it all, people are exhausted, stressed out, and again, if you’re like me, you might be feeling like society is gaslighting you for daring to suggest that things aren’t okay (because of course, everything is fine. Right?)

Recently, the author (and generally hilarious and perceptive human being) Chuck Wendig wrote about this gaslighting, as it pertains to COVID, saying:

I feel like someone just told me 2 + 2 now equals 22, and a lot of people seem to agree with that, even though we all know math doesn’t work that fucking way.

I feel like I’m seeing and hearing how bad the pandemic is presently, how the systems are straining, how teachers and healthcare workers are quitting in droves and are pushed to their limits, how friends and family are seeing workplaces and schools hamstrung by all this shit, and then, at the same time… I’m seeing nobody do anything about it. Like, not a fucking thing. In fact, less is being done.

Do you feel this way? I know I do. Omicron is more contagious than anything we’ve seen so far, and cases are skyrocketing to the highest levels since the start of the pandemic, but lots of people are pretending it’s not a big deal. Yet our hospital system and our supply chain are both on the brink of collapse. Teachers and parents are losing it, and based on this account from a student in a NYC public school, schools are in free fall.

Sometimes it feels like we as a society are akin to a massive freight train racing down a track, with the bridge out just ahead, and the conductor isn’t listening to warnings about it. (I think this is the general plot of Don’t Look Up on Netflix but I haven’t had the courage to watch it yet.)

We’re all screaming right now but the train just keeps going.

What can we do?

I think the first thing we have to do is recognize that the world is crazy and it’s not just you. If you share any of the feelings I have expressed above, recognize that you’re not alone. If you have people in your world telling you things that fly in the face of reason—whether it’s your spouse, your boss, your child’s school, or a government official—understand that they’re gaslighting you and you don’t have to listen.

It’s a tough time for everyone, and I think all of the anger and nastiness we’re witnessing both in real life and online is a consequence of it. We’re all so stressed out that many of us act in ways that aren’t always productive.

So if you’re at all like me, you might hang out on the couch all weekend and binge Netflix rather than clean the house, work on your novel, or whatever else is pressing.

(Speaking of which, I really enjoyed the latest Harlan Coben Netflix limited series Stay Close (which has Richard Armitage, just saying), as well as the new Dexter: New Blood on Showtime (avoid all spoilers!). Okay, so I’m not sure what it says about me when the shows I recommend are about serial killers but maybe that’s the best medicine for an ailing society? )

If you want something a bit more constructive, journalist Anne Helen Peterson has a nice, thoughtful piece on “How to Build a Rugged, Resilient Society” in which she enumerates some of the brokenness and how we must address the problems facing our world if we want to climb out of the hole we’ve dug for ourselves. She suggests,

…we need to cut nostalgia, and look clearly at the present. You can’t build a structure that stands unless you acknowledge the composition of the ground on which you’re building. That’s what ruggedization allows: a framework for action in face of constant upheaval and disruption.

I love how she identifies the larger problems and offers a systemic solution. It makes so much sense. Maybe if a bunch of people have a shift in their mindset and recognize that our broken society doesn’t have to be this way, and we can make changes, maybe we will. And repairing what is broken could make us stronger and the world more beautiful, like a piece of kintsugi pottery.

Updates on my own writing and creative world

So this whole newsletter was me saying, look, I just haven’t felt like doing the work lately. I do what I have to do for my paying job, and I’m trying to get my writing done, but it’s hard for me right now (and I’m so far relatively unscathed by the whole COVID experience compared to most).

I wanted to speak my truth in case it helps you feel less alone and frustrated that you know the emperor has no clothes but no one around you will admit it.

However, I am making slow progress on my writing all the same. I am exactly two chapters ahead of my weekly publication schedule here on Substack for The Boy Who Can Taste Color, which is a terrible place to be but it’s at least better than having to write the next chapter for this week’s newsletter, which is where I thought I was until I did some revising. (Yes, the novel is technically complete, but I’m revising by the seat of my pants.)

If you haven’t yet joined the teeming throngs who have purchased a paid subscription to Story Cauldron to follow along with the novel, now’s your chance. And if it doesn’t fit your budget, just shoot me an email and I’ll comp you a year.

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What to read

If you’re looking for a new book you’ve likely never heard of, I’ve started one that I immediately found entertaining. It’s a historical novel called A Tip for the Hangman, written by Allison Epstein. It features a young Christopher Marlowe who has been recruited as a spy by Francis Walsingham during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I.

I’m only about four chapters in, but I’m enjoying it so far—which is unsurprising since Allison’s Substack is one of my favorites and something I always look forward to reading. She investigates “dirtbag” historical characters through an unapologetically modern lens, and it’s always both educational and hilarious. And as a historian of early modern England myself, I can’t help loving both the Substack and her novel. As an antidote to current events, I recommend it highly.

Dirtbags Through the Ages

Weird, wild, and dirtbaggy stories from history, handcrafted and delivered biweekly.

By Allison Epstein

Let me know what you think!

I always love hearing from my readers, and I appreciate each and every one of you that takes the time to like my posts or share your thoughts.

On this topic in particular, I’d love to know where you stand, and if you feel like you’re about to shatter into a million pieces or you’re holding up pretty well. And if it’s the latter, please let me (and my other readers!) know how you’re accomplishing it.

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Have you heard of bagna cauda? Chances are, unless you’re Italian or a major foodie, you have no idea what it is.

Apparently it’s not very common in the US, but it’s an important dish for holidays and other special occasions among the Bellovich clan (my father’s mother’s family). This Christmas I had to ask,

Why are a bunch of descendants of Croatian immigrants all making this odd—but delicious—Italian dip?

As usual, my random curiosity led me down an interesting path.

What is bagna cauda?

The name is Italian for ‘hot bath’ or ‘hot dip,’ and it’s essentially a fondue made up of butter, garlic, cream, and anchovies. (It’s pronounced bon-ya caw-da.)

And it’s absolutely delicious.

I vaguely remember my grandmother and other members of her family serving it at family gatherings when I was a kid, but it wouldn’t have been something that 10-year-old Jackie would have enjoyed. But adult Jackie loves it.

Just so I’m not accused of burying it below a bunch of mumbo-jumbo, here’s our family recipe, as documented by my cousin CarolAnn Reader Cole. (Charlie, as in Uncle Charlie, was my grandmother Katherine Bellovich Dana’s brother.)

Uncle Charlie’s Bagna Cauda

Use electric skillet to cook
1 stick unsalted butter
1 head fresh garlic
1 2oz can anchovies—do not drain
1/2 pint whipping cream

Simmer garlic and butter on low; add anchovies and stir until they disappear. Mix in cream and blend. Do not cook long as separation will occur. If it does, add a few spoons of milk and stir again.

Dippers: bok choi, lettuce, celery, cabbage, green onion, green pepper, French/Italian bread.

When my dad (Charles Dana) makes it, he doubles the cream and anchovies. Good for him!

A little family history as background

Since moving back to St. Louis almost three years ago, I noticed how bagna cauda appeared at holidays and other family gatherings.

A quick family history lesson: my maternal grandmother’s family were Croatian immigrants. My dad’s grandfather, John Yanko Belavic (the surname would later be Anglicized to Bellovich by some of his children), immigrated to the US from the small village of Brig, Istria, in what is now Croatia but was at the time part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire (listed as “Hungary” on his immigration records). He arrived in the US in 1912.

Fun fact because I like digging—Brig appears to be agricultural with a bit of tourism (Google street view showed me a vineyard) but given its location, I imagine the surrounding countryside is gorgeous. It’s about two miles to the Adriatic Sea. And note how close it is to Venice!

Not feeling it yet? Here’s a photo from an area just to the southeast, the Mreznica river and Belavici village (and I have to wonder if the Belavici village has anything to do with the Belavic family.)

After arriving in the US, Yanko and his wife Anna Rose lived for a short time in Michigan before moving to Benld, IL, where he became a coal miner and raised a family of nine children. And that’s where bagna cauda enters the story.

What’s the story with Benld?

Benld is a small town (currently around 1500 people) in Illinois, about 49 miles from St. Louis and considered part of the metro area.

The odd name Benld derives from founder Benjamin L. Dorsey, who built the town and acquired coal mining rights in 1904. He named the town after himself, using his first name and his middle and last initial. According to Wikipedia, “Benld was declared the "most difficult to pronounce" place name in the state of Illinois by Reader's Digest.” Here’s a tip: it’s pronounced Ben-eld.

Benld was first and foremost a coal mining town, and most of its early residents were recent immigrants drawn to the job opportunities in the first half of the 20th century.

The Belavic/Bellovich clan settled there in 1918 or 1919, and many of the children lived there until they married and moved, often to St. Louis proper. That eventually included my grandmother Kay, her sister Rose (CarolAnn’s mom), and several others. My dad lived in Benld as a kid but his parents ultimately relocated to Thayer, MO, and then to St. Louis.

Yes, I’m getting to the bagna cauda connection

Have you ever heard the song Alice’s Restaurant, where after several verses, Arlo Guthrie says, “remember Alice?” This story is kind of like that.

I asked my dad how the Bellovich family—a Croatian family—ended up making this Italian dish. What we figured out was that it (probably) didn’t come from the ancestral home’s proximity to Italy, but their landing in Benld.

You see, Benld attracted a lot of immigrants, primarily Italians, though also a sizeable number of Croatians. And it was this intertwining of cultures that must have introduced someone in my family to bagna cauda in the first half of the 20th century.

As evidence, I present this tidbit that I discovered when I looked up bagna cauda on Wikipedia:

It is also a popular winter dish in central Argentina and prevalent in Clinton, Indiana, Rock Springs, Wyoming, and Benld, Illinois, United States, as there were many northern Italian immigrants to those places. Bagna càuda was also prepared in the coal mining community of Madison County, Illinois (including Collinsville, Edwardsville, and Maryville, Illinois), due to the numerous Italian immigrants that came there to work in the mines.

According to a blog highlighting cultures around the Mississippi, Benld’s history is tied closely to “the immigration story of its miners,” including Italians, Croats, and Russians who moved to Benld for mining jobs. The blog mentions that Italian immigrant culture was so strong that you could hear Italian spoken there into the 1950s, and that most of the Italians were from northern Italy—the same region where bagna cauda comes from.

So it doesn’t seem like a stretch that one of my grandparents or my grand-uncle Charlie discovered bagna cauda, maybe from a friend, and said, “this stuff is GOOD. I’m getting the recipe!”

And the rest is history and part of every Christmas and family reunion.

One last bit about Benld

This has nothing to do with food or coal mining, but tonight my dad talked about how Benld was quite a hot spot—an “open town,” he called it, because it was much more permissive than St. Louis or other towns. And that checks out: apparently during Prohibition Al Capone hid a distillery under a fake mine in the town, and through the 1950s big musical acts would play at the music and dance venue called the Coliseum Ballroom (which succumbed to a fire in 2011 and the remaining structure was turned into shops; it may be gone now). Some of the big names that played in Benld included Chuck Berry, Ike and Tina Turner, the Everly Brothers, Fats Domino, Ray Charles, Duke Ellington, and Lawrence Welk. They even almost had the Beatles but the organizers thought a $10 ticket was too pricey.

Here’s a short documentary about the Coliseum.

Ironic Christmas gift

To wrap up this story, here’s just one more tidbit. After having bagna cauda, prepared by my dad, on Christmas Eve, we did our usual gift exchange. One of the things I gave my dad as a bit of a gag gift was a bar of Duke Cannon’s Big Ass Lump of Coal soap. At the time, I had no idea what the history of the dish was, and how it came into our family thanks to coal mining. Pretty ironic and appropriate, don’t you think?

Update 1/4/22: My dad has an art show in Jacksonville IL this month so he and I drove up there today to drop off his photos. Along the way, he told me how there used to be a bunch of brothels and organized crime in Benld, which was seen as a place for St. Louisans to raise a bit of hell back in the day. That plus the Coliseum kept the place hopping in the 50s-70s, but that's all gone now.

On our drive, he told me how a lot of people eventually moved away from Benld and since they couldn't sell their homes, some ended up torching them for insurance. And in a great story that I'll probably turn into fiction, he described one house they had found in the woods that had been burned down and all that was left was the chimney. When he and his friends went to investigate, a guy holding a long gun climbed out of a trap door in the floor and my dad and his friends took off!

On our way back we went through Springfield and then down 55. We decided, since we had been talking about it all day, to detour for a quick drive through Benld even though it was after dark. And wouldn't you know it, there was a house (or maybe a trailer, based on what I saw on Twitter) on fire one street over from his old house (which is still there, and had a guy standing on the porch watching the fire). I don't know exactly what was going on because there were emergency vehicles, but I did see flames shooting out of a window. I hope everyone was okay, but what a weird coincidence!

Anyway, there's not a whole lot there these days. A few neighborhoods of mostly tiny houses, probably built for the coal miners, a handful of businesses, lots of empty lots. A few larger homes. I didn't see the whole town but I expect the rest was much of the same.

This was a fun piece to write, and it took me in directions I didn’t see coming. I think that’s probably the best thing about asking questions and being curious! Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment if you enjoyed it.