The Bell in the Woods
At my parents’ cabin, deep in the woods of Northern Minnesota, a cast iron bell was rung every evening to call us in for dinner. The distant sound came resonant and clear to us across the lake, or back in the raspberry patch, promising a gathering of cousins and the rote muttering of grace over hot food. We knew it was also my mother’s chance to count heads and account for everyone, so we would hurry back to keep her from growing anxious. A special bell figures in Prized.
The Prized blog tour takes me today to Eve’s Fan Garden, where Georgia asks me about how writing the first two books in the series was different. The third book was different yet again. I must learn things from book to book, but it feels like I’m always inventing.
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