Skulls, Kayaks, and Listening When a Story Changes Course

On traveling, spending time alone, and listening to your intuition

Over the last couple of years, I have begun a new tradition — an annual adventure where I head out on my own to explore, rejuvenate, and generally take stock of where I’m at, both with my writing and in my life. This summer on my annual ‘walkabout’ I found myself inside one of my novels!

Finding Ferndale

In July my daughter was attending a summer program at Stanford University, so with a little time to myself, I decided to finally check something off my bucket list: a slow drive north through the redwood forests to the tiny Victorian town of Ferndale, California.

If you’ve read Rachel’s Butterflies, you may remember Ferndale. In the first book, Chrissy escapes her unraveling life in Pasadena by spending time with her in-laws in this beautifully preserved town by the sea.

Here’s the confession part:

When I wrote those scenes, I’d never actually been to Ferndale!

Ferndale had lived in my imagination — built from photographs, research, and intuition. And yet, from the moment I arrived, it felt… familiar. As though the place had been quietly waiting for me to catch up to it.

Kairos: The Meaningful One

Walrus Skulls and Alaskan Kayaks

Ferndale is a place that doesn’t try to impress you — which somehow makes it unforgettable.

One afternoon, I wandered into The Mind’s Eye, a small coffee shop that felt like an artist’s mind made physical; walrus skulls, old books on ice fishing, eclectic artwork, and a workshop in the back where the owner builds Alaskan kayaks by hand.

It was strange and wonderful, and the people were both welcoming and full of warmth and character.

I was only there for a couple of days, but the town worked its way under my skin.

The cool sea air drifting in from the coast just ten minutes away.The dense, shadowed forests climbing the mountainside above town, heavy with the scent of pine.The hush of the streets, broken now and then by a logging truck, or the low, haunting cry of the fire siren echoing across the rooftops.

Ferndale wasn’t just a place. It was a mood, a rhythm, and a reminder.

When a Story Starts Whispering

As restorative as the trip was, it also stirred something more unsettling in me.

For months, I’d been working on my Davis Crest series — a series of small-town stories set in the mountains of Southern California in a town not unlike Ferndale in spirit if not geography. I loved parts of it deeply. And yet… something had been tugging at me from the very beginning.

It was a thread I kept trying not to pull, because pulling it would mean complexity, and risk, and letting go of ideas I’d already invested months in.

But standing there — coffee in hand, watching the waves roll onto the beach on that misty morning — I finally admitted what I’d been circling for a long time:

This story wanted to be more than I’d allowed it to be.

A Change of Direction

Since returning home, I’ve been doing the hard, necessary work of re-imagining Davis Crest.

That means letting go of some original plans and allowing the story to reshape itself, trusting that the discomfort of change is often the doorway to something truer.

As a writer, this can be uncomfortable. There’s a real temptation to cling to what’s safe, familiar, already built. But I’ve learned — again and again — that the stories worth telling rarely behave politely.

They pull. They insist. And they ask you to be brave.

So I’m stepping into this new vision of Davis Crest with equal parts excitement and humility, and I’m asking for your patience as I do the work of letting the story become what it was always meant to be.

One Last Thing

If my reflections on Ferndale stirred something in you — or if the idea of a quiet Victorian town by the sea sounds like the perfect escape — then you might enjoy spending some time with Chrissy, Liz, and Emily in the Rachel’s Butterflies trilogy.

Those books were born from places like Ferndale — where the air is cooler, the pace is slower, and it’s easier to hear yourself think.

For now, though, I’ll leave you with this:

Sometimes the most important progress we make isn’t forward —it’s inward.

And sometimes, the bravest thing a writer can do is listen.

If you’d like to follow along as Davis Crest continues to evolve, you can join my newsletter for behind-the-scenes updates and early sneak peeks.

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