The Future of Struggle by T.K. Thorne

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“Struggle” is not a word I naturally embrace. I recently posted this:

My housekeeping style can be summed up in 7 words:

“There appears to have been a struggle.”

Okay, I stole that from a dish towel in a gift shop somewhere.

I like order around me, but housekeeping is, indeed, a struggle. The effort involved in making order happen seems like a waste of time. Why make the beds when we’re just going to get in them in a few hours? Why clean the floor we are constantly walking on?

Cleaning the house is a process on a spectrum. If you are too far on one end, you can eat off the floor, but you are a neurotic mess or a zombie. Too far on the other end, and the mice are eating off the floor. But the more interesting question is, why do we need order?

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People Are a Lot More

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“People are a lot more than their political inclination.”

I read that statement today in a Washington Post article about an older man who found happiness in a wildly diverse group of coffee drinkers at a local café. People came there every day to sit and talk about everything, including politics, bringing pointedly different views. But they were respectful of each other, and they cared about each other.

I belong to a group sort of like that. We worked as policewomen in the same department…umm…decades ago. We’ve discussed enough politics to know we have differing perspectives. Our backgrounds are different. Our lives have taken us down different paths, but we find a way to meet about once a month, and we’re important to each other.

To keep the peace….

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Who Are We, Again? by T.K. Thorne

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Yes, I’ve been obsessed with this question. I totally understand if you are rolling your eyes. But I think it is the key to unlocking a door that has been locked for a long time, maybe since humanity’s first glimmers of consciousness stirred. The story we tell ourselves is that we are the same from moment to moment, but that only feels true because we are the weavers of the story, just as we are the weavers of the tale about reality outside ourselves. The world we perceive is just a fiction.

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When Truths Collide — by T.K. Thorne

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At times, the need arises to hold two concepts in opposition as true. This is discombobulating.

My mind craves order and simplicity. I blame that on evolutionary biology. Our most basic level of brain development is reptilian—edible/not edible; fight/flight, sleep/wake, the red team/the blue team. It doesn’t get simpler than that. So, the brain fights the notion of something as difficult to resolve as contradictory truths.

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Do Anti-Zionists Hate Jews?

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I never do this. But I am doing it.

Rabbi Jonathan Miller wrote a piece titled “Do Anti-Zionists Hate Jews.” It was not a statement or position about Israeli policy but rather about an important principle. I found it made a lot of sense and helped clarify my own thoughts, so I am sharing it, with his permission, precisely as he penned it in his own newsletter.

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Slash & Burn: Or Just Rearrange a Few Words?

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I stared at it, bracing myself.

It was a headline. It was subtle and chilling, and I couldn’t help wondering if I was complicit.

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“The 72” by T.K. Thorne

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How Concerned White Citizens Marched in Selma Before Bloody Sunday

A small thing made all of human civilization possible. It is often overlooked and undervalued, but it is so much a part of our lives that we don’t pay much attention to it. We did it even before we developed language, and we still do it. It is a deep part of who we are as a species, and it is so powerful that it can change everything.

What is it? What made human civilization possible?

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Sisterhood of the Traveling Book featured image

Sisterhood of the Traveling Book

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Today we’re traveling to meet T.K. Thorne!

 

T.K. Thorne wanted to make first contact with aliens. When that didn’t work out, she became a police officer. Although most people she met were human, some were quite strange…. Retiring as a precinct captain, she writes full-time. Her books include two award-winning historical novels (Noah’s Wife and Angels at the Gate); two nonfiction civil rights era works (Last Chance for Justice and Behind the Magic Curtain: Secrets, Spies, and Unsung White Allies of Birmingham’s Civil Rights Days); and then she turned to crime with murder and magic in the Magic City Stories trilogy (House of Rose, House of Stone, and House of Iron). Read below to find out where her books have traveled.

 

Belize or Bust!

A reader sent this picture from Belize! It was special to me because my husband had picked Belize as a place he wanted to go for our 20th anniversary. We stayed in a grass cottage in the heart of a tropical jungle. Howler monkeys woke us the first night at 3 a.m. We thought the world was ending! If you have never heard howler monkeys, horror movies used the sound for zombies!

One day, we climbed a steep Mayan temple for a breathtaking view over the jungle canopy. My husband had gotten a breathtaking view of my butt climbing ahead of him and thought it would be funny to take a picture. No, they never grow up, and no, I am not posting it!

The resort staff surprised us with a romantic anniversary dinner for us on board a pontoon boat and left us to float on the deserted lagoon by ourselves. Above, stars gleamed against a deep black sky like crystal dust. More than I have ever seen. I felt I could reach up and grab a handful. Then, our boat (which we had no way to steer) bumped into the shore and a mass of thick vegetation. Remembering the crocodiles we had seen on a previous night’s tour, we called for extraction.

How Deep Did You Say?

A few days later, we transferred to Ambergris Caye. At home, before the trip, my husband and I had gotten certified in scuba diving, planning to dive into the Belize Barrier Reef. It’s the largest reef in the Northern Hemisphere, but it’s accessible with only about a 40-50-foot dive. However, before our trip to the reef, an opportunity arose to dive the famous Blue Hole, which would mean going down 150 feet, way deeper than we’d ever been.

The Hole is over 400 feet deep and wide enough to be seen by satellite! I had cold feet, but by the following morning, I decided this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I would regret it if we didn’t go. We had to scramble to get headlights (it’s dark that deep down!) and make the group cast off.

 

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At the Hole, we donned our gear and started down. I could feel the pulse beating in my temples as we went deeper and deeper. Strangely, there was no sensation of increasing pressure, but we were accompanied by a circling escort of sharks I only later learned were harmless nurse sharks. However, I also later learned that hundreds of divers have died in the Blue Hole, something I guess the sharks were aware of. . . .

Stone Teeth

At about 150 feet, we encountered the top of the underwater caves and swam around a three-foot-wide stalactite that plunged below us like a gigantic stone tooth, disappearing into the darkness. Not only had we descended into the water’s depths, but we had traveled through time. During the last Ice Age (about 10 – 19,000 years ago), the sea was below the cave floor, meaning  400 feet below the current sea level!

Though there was a tense moment regarding air supply, we made it back to the surface without becoming shark food. The next dive was the Reef, which was, in a different way, as dramatic as the Blue Hole. To my left, every square foot was crammed with diverse, colorful coral and marine life. I was mesmerized and could have stayed in one spot the whole time! To my right, the deep, almost black blue vanished into infinity.

We had other adventures, but too much to tell. So, when a reader sent the picture of my book as her beach read in Belize, it was a treat to learn Rose (the heroine of House of Rose) had also traveled there. I doubt her trip was similar to mine, but Rose had stuff to deal with:

When rookie patrol officer Rose Brighton chases a suspect down an alley, she finds herself in the middle of every cop’s nightmare—staring down at a dead body with two bullet holes from her gun . . . in his back.

He’s dead and now she has to explain it, which is going to be a problem because what happened was so strange, she doesn’t understand it herself. Rose must unravel the mystery of what happened and who she really is—a witch of the House of Rose. If she doesn’t figure it out fast, there will be more bodies, including her own.

House of Rose, set in the Deep South city of Birmingham, Alabama, is the first book of the Magic City Stories.

Also available as Audio Books on Amazon or Audible.com

What Folks Are Saying:

“Thorne delivers a spellbinding thriller, an enthralling blend of real-world policing and other-world magic.—Barbara Kyle, author of The Traitor’s Daughter

“A deftly crafted and riveting read.”—Midwest Reviews

“Thorne, a retired captain in the Birmingham PD, grounds the fantasy with authentic procedural details and loving descriptions of the city and its lore. Readers will look forward to Rose’s further adventures.”—Publishers Weekly

“T.K. Thorne is an authentic, new voice in the world of fantasy and mystery. An explosive story that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Pick up this story—you’ll thank yourself over and over again.” —Carolyn Haines, USA Today bestselling author of the Sarah Booth Delaney, Pluto’s Snitch, and Trouble the black cat detective mystery series

 “Although House of Rose is speculative fiction, a kind of fantasy, T.K. Thorne is so knowledgeable about Birmingham and law enforcement that it is also, truly, a police procedural and a thriller—something for everyone. “House of Rose” is the first of a series which should be a hit.”—Don Nobles, reviewer for Alabama Public Radio

 

Go Slow—Adults Playing! by T.K. Thorne

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I just read an article about the importance of connecting or reconnecting with our playful selves. “It offers a reprieve from the chaos.”

That sounded intriguing. There is certainly a lot of chaos going on at the moment. I could use a reprieve.

When we were children, we didn’t play to accomplish anything. We just played. Explored. Play = fun. Fun was an end goal. We didn’t post stuff we did to social media or analyze what we learned. We just played. Learning was the byproduct of curiosity.

If I may borrow a biblical phrase—And it was good.

But who knew there were personality play traits?

One study broke preferences down into four categories:

  1. other-directed (enjoy playing with others),
  2. lighthearted (nothing too serious, please; let’s improvise!),
  3. intellectual (ideas, thoughts, wordplay, and problem-solving), and
  4. whimsical (doing odd or unusual things in everyday life).

Our play as adults adapted from what we naturally enjoyed (our play preference) as children. Some adults, for example, “seek fun through novelty, whether it’s traveling to new places, exploring new hobbies, or buying new gadgets.”

“List the activities you enjoyed as a kid,” the article suggested, “then brainstorm the grown-up version.”

So, here goes:

I liked to climb trees. I had a special tree in the front yard, a young live oak with inviting arms that was my special place to go when things got tough, or I wanted a different perspective, or a steady, quiet friend. There was also the top shelf in the tiny linen closet that had an antique oval glass window where I could look out at the world, but no one could see me.

I rode many amazing chimera horses that were my legs, jumping over logs, chairs, bushes, and anything in my path. And if there weren’t enough things in my path, I would put them there to jump over. (Would you believe that is a sports competition now with adult people? It’s called “hobby horsing!” ) I currently have three real horses in my yard, but they think they are living at the Horse Retirement Riviera, and I doubt “jumping” anything is on their play list.

I did have a Barbie doll, but she was in reality a prop for my plastic Breyer horses. To my annoyance, she could only ride sidesaddle with her legs sticking out straight. I draped my horses in my mother’s costume jewelry and had them interact in elaborate storylines, often without the interference of people characters. Who needed them?

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Lest you think me a hermit, in the first decade of my life, I did interact with others in play. I remember games of Red Rosie, tag, touch football and kickball, but when we didn’t have enough people for that or were too young to join in, I participated in impromptu gatherings where we acted out scenarios. I was usually the bossy “director.”

“You are the prince. And you are the princess. And you are the merchant. And you are secretly in love with the queen and, oh yeah, I am the queen….”

Hmm.

At least in part, intellectual play seems to have appealed to me. That sparked this idea:

Maybe I need to look at writing, not as a chore TO DO, but as a chance to play.

I like that.

So, hang on. We’re just playing here.

When I write, I often use two of the most powerful words that I know of. They open doors into imagination, exploration, and . . . play.

They are (cue drum roll)—

“What if . . . ?”

  • What if I were a rookie police detective . . . and a witch?*
  • What if Noah’s wife was an amazing young girl on the spectrum?*
  • What if the story of the church bombing that killed four young girls was told by the investigators who chased down the evidence and pieced it together to bring justice decades later?*
  • What if a young desert girl posing as a boy was able to travel with her caravan merchant father and had a little problem with obedience?*
  • What if the story about civil rights in Birmingham was far more nuanced and complex than anyone realized?*
  • What if a young musical genius has an alien BFF?*

What if I just thought I was a serious writer, but I am actually just playing?

[Laugh of delight!]

How did you play? Is there a way to replicate that now, to permit yourself to do something just for the joy of it?

*The results of my adult play:

  • *The results of my adult play:

    • House of Rose/House of Stone/House of Iron
    • Noah’s Wife
    • Last Chance for Justice
    • Angels at the Gate
    • Behind the Magic Curtain: Secrets, Spies, and Unsung White Allies of Birmingham’s Civil Rights Days
    • Snow Dancers

I write about what moves me,
following a flight path of curiosity, reflection, and imagination.
Check out my (fiction and nonfiction) books at TKThorne.com

A Virus Changed Us—T.K. Thorne

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Covid-19 changed us.

 Our grandchildren, or those who were very young during it, might forget all about it by the time they are grown, as most of my generation has little knowledge of the 1918 flu pandemic and the fact that President Woodrow Wilson tried to suppress news of that devastating because he thought it might lower moral during war time (WWI). Spain, being neutral in the war, reported their cases, hence, the pandemic was misleadingly dubbed the “Spanish” flu.

We, who lived (and are living) through Covid, have memories of the terrible stress of those early months—watching freezer trucks lined up in NYC to hold bodies, disinfecting our groceries, not being able to see or touch a newborn grandchild or elderly loved ones, and dealing with the seclusion of our home santuaries/prisons. Grocery stores had a strict limit on how many people could be in the store at a time. We tried to stay six feet away from other humans. Those who worked from home had to learn new technology and simultaneously deal with children who would normally be at day care or in school. People were dying by the thousands; jobs and housing were often hanging by a thread. It felt like the end of the world.

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I dealt with the stress by learning to swing a mattock (a pick/hoe combo tool) and attacking the wisteria invasion in my back yard, then pulling tiny plants from the moss along my brick walkway, rescuing two horses, and creating a small pond in my yard. I learned Tai Chi from Internet videos, started watercolor painting, and growing vegetables with my flowers. Fortunately, I was working on a non-fiction writing project (Behind the Magic Curtain: Secrets, Spies, and Unsung White Allies of Birmingham’s Civil Rights Days) and had a lot of research and editing to do—because my creative writing muse was on ice.

During the hay days of Covid, people relished the opportunity to get outside, to breath the healing air exhaled by forest or gardens. Passing someone on a path or sidewalk (even at a distance), we felt an instant connection, happy to see a person of any sort, perhaps the same way those who lived in isolated villages throughout the world have always eagerly welcomed visitors.

Friends who live on their boat in the Caribbean during non-hurricane months told us that during Covid, they were “stuck” near a small island with five other boaters with whom they developed close relationships. The island was closed, but the owner of a small restaurant on land snuck them groceries and took in laundry.

My cousins in the suburbs north of Atlanta began gathering weekly in someone’s yard with their neighbors for a drink and conversation, a ritual they continue.

Today, tending my garden (and two fish—meet “Blue” and “Golda Meir”) and horses, practicing martial arts, and painting give me joy and peace. I look at the land around us with a different eye, thinking about whether and how we could supplement our food if needed. My writing Muse woke up after throwing water in her face and shaking her, and I finished a new novel.

 

The changes are internal and external. The downtown of our nearest major city has transmuted. More people live there; less people work there. Working from home has left commercial buildings across the country empty but given millions of people options about where they live and how they work. We are still adjusting. I hope we are also remembering.

  • Remembering that people are precious, regardless of their politics.
  • Remembering that nature is precious and powerful.
  • Remembering that we can adjust; we can change; we can meet challenges.

Today, despite all the scary stuff going on, I have more faith that people will adjust. What a strange gift from a pandemic. If you think about it, nature regularly reminds us what we are capable of.

“Dear Autumn . . .

[you are] a Master of self-preservation.

Entering this world to teach us

not to fear change.

It is necessary.

Inevitable.

Trust

That growth will follow. . . .”

—Amanda Davis

I write about what moves me, following a flight path of curiosity, reflection, and imagination.
Check out my (fiction and nonfiction) books at TKThorne.com