Updates! From Lytton to New York, my little book, and new writing͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ ͏‌ 

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Listening to each other

EDITION #02

Far from my relics

Broken glass and a determined weed at the ruins of Klowa Art Cafe in Lytton

Hi, it’s Meghan.

Last month, I was packing our suitcases and I felt the urge to pack these two little pieces. A burned doorknob. What I think is a cupboard knob. Artifacts, heirlooms of life before the fire.

At home, there’s always the constant reminder of what we lost; there are always relics on the bookshelf. I guess when we get used to something—even difficulty—it’s hard to imagine life without it.

We’re far from home. And the distance isn’t destabilizing, as I feared it would be. Absence means room to breathe.

From Lytton to New York

Little Helen in Central Park with the Manhattan skyline

Helen and I are in New York. A year ago, dreading another winter in a burned-up town, I bought plane tickets for us. Three months. A rental apartment, restaurants, grocery stores. Unfamiliar luxuries.

The first few weeks were difficult: a new place, sudden stillness, a reluctant seven-year-old. Cabin fever, I think, in Brooklyn of all places.

Now, halfway through our trip, this city almost feels like home.

My dear little book

Burning Sage Poems from the Lytton fire by Meghan Fandrich brown background burned doorknob

There is a lot to tell you about.

I hardly know how to put words to it, how to express my gratitude. You have welcomed my little book with incredible warmth and support, and I am deeply grateful.

Burning Sage was released on September 1. It sold out of its first print run within weeks. It’s in libraries and bookstores across the country. It’s been featured in end-of-year book lists and has heart-filling reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. It is loved.

I was so worried that no one would connect with my book, and I feel moved by every single milestone. Day after day, I’m crying in the kitchen. Thank you.

In September and October, Helen and I took Burning Sage on book tour. At each event, I felt your love and support: thank you for that, too.

The media has also been generous. I appreciate how they take their time, producing works of art in their own right, in contrast to the hasty sensationalism we experienced after the fire. I think these pieces are the most beautifully done:

  • This radio interview with Tom Power (CBC’s Q)

  • This long-form article by Tyler Olsen (Fraser Valley Current)

  • This book review by Tom Sandborn (Vancouver Sun)

And, most of all, most meaningful and healing, is your response to my little book. I’ve received so many messages from readers, strangers and friends, each one sharing their emotional reaction to my words. Every message feels like a gift. Thank you.

Writing reflections

In these quiet days in New York, I’ve been working on a few email interviews (like this one, just released). Unexpectedly, answering the interviews turned into inspiration. I’ve hardly written anything since I wrote Burning Sage, but now, here in New York, I’m writing.

I’m working on a series of little vignettes, poetry and prose, thoughts, fragments. Reflections. Things that are tied together by story, emotion, and heartache.

You can read them (I’d love if you would) in a secret corner of my website that will be going public sometime in the new year. The button’s below, and here are two recently written pieces that are reflective of sadness and dear to my heart:

Fallen leaf

I’m at a coffeeshop in Brooklyn, crying.

 Read More 

Broken glass

Look down at the subway floor. I don’t know what to do.

 Read More 

And here’s the button. Thanks for spending time with my writing; it feels vulnerable to share, but also good. Like community.

 Click here for exclusive early access 
Meghan Fandrich and daughter beside smoky confluence of two rivers at Lytton BC

I keep forgetting it’s the holiday season.

Here in New York, there are flowers blooming. We’re a long way from home. And some days, I can’t see beyond the overwhelming pain and sorrow in this world.

Then I look at little Helen, and I remember. I don’t have the words for it exactly, but it’s something about peace. Safety. And love.

With my warmest wishes,
Meghan

 

meghanfandrich.com >

Listening to each other

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Meghan Fandrich
127 Kent Road
Lytton, BC
Nlaka’pamux Territory

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