Lily Writes

The end of July slowed my writing input as we hopped on a plane and came west for a We’re back on the West Coast for a few weeks.

This trip has become something of a tradition: family, mountains, beaches, little coastal towns, and enough scenic overlooks to make me stop the car every twenty minutes because, “Wait! I need a picture.”

Or a painting.

Or both.

Fifty years ago, my oldest brother moved to Seattle for work. Since then, we’ve visited off and on, but one trip stands out above all the others.

The pandemic.

Nobody knew exactly how COVID spread yet, so everything felt like a science experiment wrapped in anxiety. We flew west, changed clothes the minute we landed “just in case,” drove to my brother’s house, and then climbed aboard his boat—the J-Pod.

For the next ten days we isolated on the water.

Fishing.

Crabbing.

Island hopping through the San Juans.

Watching seals, eagles, and sunsets that seemed almost too perfect to be real.

Like every good trip, pieces of it eventually found their way into a book.

Readers of Wolf’s Call might recognize the inspiration. Wolf’s boat, Storm Rider, isn’t an exact copy of the J-Pod—it lives on the Great Lakes instead of Puget Sound—but the spirit of that adventure absolutely came from those ten unforgettable days.

Which brings me to a recent conversation with my brother.

He asked how the writing was going.

We chatted about the new Pink Matchmakers books, my latest drafts, and all the fictional chaos currently occupying my brain.

Then, after we left…

He texted.

“Which one of your books should I read first?”

A perfectly reasonable question.

I thought about it.

And because he’d lived the boating adventure that inspired it, I recommended Wolf’s Call.

Then, about thirty seconds later…

It hit me.

Wolf’s Call is spicy.

Very spicy.

Significantly spicier than the Pink Matchmakers books I’ve been writing lately.

Well…

This should be interesting.

Not even my sisters have read that one.

Family is funny.

They’re wonderfully supportive.

They love that I write.

They’re proud that I publish.

They just aren’t always sure they want a guided tour through the inside of my imagination.

Honestly?

Fair.

Out here, though, it’s been easy to quiet the noise for a while.

Our days have been filled with beach walks, mountain switchbacks, wineries, breweries, photography, painting, and long conversations with people we’ll probably never see again.

Travel has a way of reminding me how kind most people actually are.

One afternoon on a wine tour we met a lovely couple from Texas.

During the conversation she admitted she’d never heard of the No Kings movement.

Life is like that.

People are busy.

She has three children under the age of four.

Just surviving each day is probably a full-time job.

It reminded me how easy it is to assume everyone is paying attention to the same things we are.

Most aren’t.

They’re simply trying to raise families, build careers, care for parents, pay mortgages, and find a little joy wherever they can.

Maybe that’s another reason I love road trips.

They pull me out of my own bubble.

They remind me that the world is far bigger—and often kinder—than whatever happens to be trending on my news feed.

Now if you’ll excuse me…

I have another beach to walk.

And apparently a brother who’s about to discover exactly what his little sister writes behind closed doors.

Wish him luck.