(I’ll tell you about the ginger in another post … 😉)

For weeks, it looked exactly the same. Kind of boring. And more than a little disappointing. I mean, if Instagram makes growing sacks of sweet potatoes look so easy, what was I doing wrong?

Waiting is the Hardest Part (… 🙌 Tom Petty & the 💔ers)

It sat there on my windowsill like a fourth grade science project.

I checked every morning.

I changed the water every couple of days.

I inspected it.

But I didn’t know what was supposed to happen.

So I sent Chat a couple of pictures.

The results weren’t encouraging. Chat told me to Keep. Being. Patient. 😒

Eh, maybe it was just a bad potato 🥔.

We live in a world that rewards visible progress. Nature rarely works that way.

The Hidden Work

It happened on a Tuesday morning. I’d given up on my bum potato. But whoa …

A root.

Actually, more than one.

They were just … there.

When did that happen?

Those roots kept growing, and growing, and growing.

But nothing else happened…

Sweet potatoes aren’t planted whole. First they grow slips (supposed to come next). Those slips eventually grow roots of their own, and only then are they ready for soil.

Which meant...

More waiting.

By then it was warm enough to move it outside, and supposedly the steady warmth helps slips grow.

Well, days passed.

Weeks passed.

Early June became early July.

I changed the water a few times in there and the roots grew like mad.

Everything I could see was happening below the waterline.

Horror or beauty? 😱

And then yesterday, now early July, my potato looked strange.

Upon closer inspection …

Slips!

Not just one.

Several.

Each with pretty burgundy leaves.

One slip was ready for its next stage, already sending out roots to become its own independent sweet potato plant.

Why This Fascinates Me

When I think about water, I usually think about its power. Floods. Storms. Oceans. Destruction.

But that’s only part of its story.

Water also nourishes. It dissolves what no longer belongs. It quietly reshapes landscapes. It reveals what’s hidden.

Most of all, it patiently creates conditions for life to emerge. Water doesn’t force change. It makes change possible.

It’s probably one reason I’m drawn to writing about water. Sometimes it’s fierce, in hurricanes and floods. Sometimes it’s absent, in droughts and dust bowls. And sometimes it’s quiet, but woven into every human story.

Water shapes where civilizations take root, how people travel, what they grow, what they fight over, and sometimes whether they survive at all. Most of the time, we barely notice it.

Until we do.

Water doesn’t force change.

It makes change possible.

Stay Tuned: Separating the slips, planting them into grow bags, and seeing whether one grocery store sweet potato can become an entire harvest this fall… 🍁

There is a line:

That runs through my head as I go through this process. Revision is painstaking and tedious. Some people love revision; I am always astounded by how many ways there are to tweak something to make it better, or another typo to catch in the net. Oh, that errant period!

But then the last lines of this poem are what stop my complaints:

We are the lucky ones 🙏🏻 who are here today and who can make these adjustments and refinements.

In college, a poetry professor of mine commented that I was “very sympathetic to Bishop”. In fact, I very much am.

North Haven

Elizabeth Bishop

In Memoriam: Robert Lowell

I can make out the rigging of a schooner
a mile off; I can count
the new cones on the spruce. It is so still
the pale bay wears a milky skin; the sky
no clouds except for one long, carded horse¹s tail.

The islands haven’t shifted since last summer,
even if I like to pretend they have--
drifting, in a dreamy sort of way,
a little north, a little south, or sidewise--
and that they¹re free within the blue frontiers of bay.

This month our favorite one is full of flowers:
buttercups, red clover, purple vetch,
hackweed still burning, daisies pied, eyebright,
the fragrant bedstraw’s incandescent stars,
and more, returned, to paint the meadows with delight.

The goldfinches are back, or others like them,
and the white-throated sparrow’s five-note song,
pleading and pleading, brings tears to the eyes.
Nature repeats herself, or almost does:
repeat, repeat, repeat; revise, revise, revise.

Years ago, you told me it was here
(in 1932?) you first “discovered girls”
and learned to sail, and learned to kiss.
You had “such fun,” you said, that classic summer.
(”Fun”--it always seemed to leave you at a loss...)

You left North Haven, anchored in its rock,
afloat in mystic blue...And now--you’ve left
for good. You can’t derange, or rearrange,
your poems again. (But the sparrows can their song.)
The words won’t change again. Sad friend, you cannot change.

Karin Slaughter’s latest book, We Are All Guilty Here, started off a new series - all new characters and in a new, fictional place called North Falls. Like most of her books, this one was also set in the south. But We Are All Guilty Here came out 10 years after the 2015 publication of Pretty Girls. Ten years is a milestone, and for this review, I considered the two books against each other. Both were read back-to-back to create as “fair” a comparison as possible, but it’s important to note that Pretty Girls was a stand alone while We Are All Guilty Here is the first book in a new series.

5 Craft Lessons

1. plot, pacing — is this unputdownable? 👣

Pretty Girls was super tight and fast paced, despite a ton of graphic imagery. Rapid-fire dialogue and close POVs on family members made the entire story very intimate. Read this in two days…We Are All Guilty Here was structured as a police procedural, and because of the slower burn, it was an easy decision not to take it on a cross country flight. Nonetheless, both were remarkable stories.

2. characters — do I care about them? 🧡

The characters in Pretty Girls were memorable and distinct in both dialogue and action, leaving a very strong sense of who each is as their own person. Stakes for the characters — good and evil — were visceral and deeply personal. We Are All Guilty Here was populated with a much wider net of people with less room for depth; as a result, the emotional punch of what the characters experience felt diluted. Worthy to note that this is the first book of a new series, and there will be room for a lot more character development. But even a single book in a series should read as a compelling standalone, agreed? And given Karin Slaughter’s writing talent and experience, it seemed fair to have that expectation.

3. tension, atmosphere — how do I feel while reading? 🤔

I could not put down Pretty Girls even though this book is ten years old. I was so drawn into them and their story (in that order). I needed to know what happened next. The atmosphere was heavy and tense throughout. I could see the places, the farm… But setting did not serve as its own character here as it did in We Are All Guilty Here. The small-town where everyone knows everyone, and guilt and secrets are shared, lent a persistent level of claustrophobia. Both books were incredibly atmospheric, but Pretty Girls could have been in any town/place; whereas We Are All Guilty Here could only be in North Falls, where everyone was hiding something.

4. writing style - what authorial choices shaped the ride for me? 🎡

Pretty Girls was written with sharp, tight prose and fast, brutal, graphic detail that shocked and matched the pace of the story itself. We Are All Guilty Here was a more complex story landscape with layered twists and shock, but at times the procedural details seemed to overwhelm the story. We Are All Guilty Here felt like a more “grown-up” author writing, triggering deeper rooted fears as compared to the blatant violence of Pretty Girls.

5. payoff - did the ending land? 💰

Which story will stick with me longer? The ending for Pretty Girls contained extraordinary family revelations and twists that led to a devastating conclusion. We Are All Guilty Here was so different with the concept of collective guilt for a broader moral punch, and a much bigger societal takeaway. At their hearts, both are stories about violence against women/girls and both are ridiculously well-written. Both will be memorable for very different reasons.

Closing Takeaway ✍️

I hold Karin Slaughter to a very high standard because of her talent and experience. As such, I go into her stories with great expectations. In addition to the notes above, what also I took away as a writer from reading both books was the crisp, authentic dialogue and how the dialogue served to reinforce the setting and the character relationships, both interior and exterior. Truly gifted writing in both books.

P.S. Karin Slaughter is quick-witted and darkly funny; she charmingly shares her observations like she’s sharing a secret with you (or her cat)…. 😂 Fortunate to have heard the author speak at a book launch event earlier this year.