![]() |
| link to original |
Carve a face into one, put a little light inside, and
suddenly it looks like something that’s been waiting by the garden gate to tell
you a secret. Possibly a complaint. It’s difficult to be certain with turnips.
I’d known for years about the tradition of carving turnip
lanterns that came before the familiar pumpkin jack-o-lantern. Apparently, that
little piece of knowledge was waiting for its moment.
When I asked myself, “How did Gideon die?” it popped into my
head like a little lantern light.
An unfortunate moment for Gideon. A promising one for the
story.
I loved the handmade charm of Sam carving lanterns for her
neighbors, choosing each expression and delivering something meant to brighten
an autumn evening. But what made the story click was imagining how she would
feel if someone used her art to cause harm.
Something she’d made with care had become part of someone
else’s cruelty. Finding out what happened would matter to her in a deeply
personal way. I could feel why she would need the truth, even when looking for
it became uncomfortable.
That gave me the heart of A Turnip for the Worse: an
artist with questions she can’t leave alone, a coastal town full of peculiar
people, and friendship and warmth amid the secrets.
All from a vegetable with a face.
Six handmade gifts. One dead neighbor. An unfortunate
turnip.
You can find A Turnip
for the Worse on Amazon.
What’s an unusual fact that has stayed tucked away in
your mind for years?


No comments:
Post a Comment