Memories in the Drift

A few years ago I was combing the internet both bored and looking for inspiration when I stumbled across a documentary on a small town in Alaska. Whittier. A piece of land carved from the shores of Prince William Sound that had been a Cold War army base until the military withdrew. Sometime later, it transformed into a place that catered to cruise ships, fishing boats, recreation seekers and anyone interested in the forgotten history of a crumbling building on a hill. A town where nearly all of the two hundred or so residents live in a fourteen-story high-rise that overlooks a harbor abounding with seals and orcas and all manner of wildlife.

 

I was immediately drawn to this town, not because of the unrelenting rain and snow and heavy clouds that cling to the mountains for much of the year. And not because of the two-and-a-half-mile single lane tunnel that closes every night and is the only way in and out of town, unless you come by boat. Not even because of the abandoned military building that has since morphed into the earth itself, but that once housed nearly a thousand military personnel and was known as a city under one roof. The mammoth building was left to the punishment of the harsh Alaskan elements where it sits today, an ever-present reminder of the past.

 

There is something mystical and mysterious about Whittier that can draw the imaginative and the creative. And all of that might have drawn me in at first.

 

But it was the people who live in Whittier that sparked a deep interest in me. The folks who call this slice of wild beauty home. And it was the image of nearly an entire town that, depending on the weather, was fully contained within the kind of building I associated more with urban living, not set against a backdrop of glaciers and waterfalls and craggy mountain peaks. I was struck by a comment from one of the town's residents:

 

“We don’t always love each other, we don’t always get along, but when something awful happens, everyone is going to be there to help you.”

 I was hooked. Because to me, that's the essence of neighborhoods, communities, cities, small towns, states, a country, our world. We don't always get along. But when things get tough, when bad things happen, we help each other. Or we should.

 

It's an imperfect system, but to me it's a beautiful statement of hope that, even and especially now, we can reach out to the people around us and do something to help others.

 

After watching the documentary, I kept going, discovering articles and videos and pictures and I absorbed as much as I could about this town. What kind of a story could I set there? I wanted one that would highlight the warmth of its community even amidst the cold and the dark of its long, snowy winters, the incessant light and frequent rain of its summers. What kind of story would lay bare the kindness and sacrifice and hardship and love that emerges in communities like Whittier?

 And that's how the idea for my next novel, Memories in the Drift, started. It is a story about survival. A story about love and sacrifice. A story about community and what happens when tragedy rips apart the lives of people we may know well or hardly at all. It releases December 1, 2020 and I hope that while the characters and the story are fictional, it tells a tale of what makes a town like Whittier unique and what makes all of our communities places of healing and hope.

 

Even if we don't always love each other or get along.

 

If you'd like to preorder Memories in the Drift, click here or visit my website here. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed researching and writing it. And if you find yourself in Whittier one day, book a room at June's Whittier Condo Suites and enjoy the stunning views, and after one of any number of beautiful hikes around Whittier, or a boat tour or some glacier kayaking, make sure you grab a drink and a fantastic meal at The Anchor Inn. For more information, visit The City of Whittier.