Making Room for the Child’s Knowing: Mercy

Over the years, the characters of my forthcoming novel, Distorted Is The View, have become companions to me—sometimes mirrors, sometimes teachers. In my newsletter, I’ve been sharing a little of what they have taught me. Today, I’m bringing that series here to the blog.

A character, briefly introduced: Sam

Sam, the nine-year-old daughter at the heart of the story, is a witness. She notices but cannot safely say what she sees. What she wants is steadiness, a home that doesn’t crack.

She taught me that a child’s heart can hold far more than adults realise. Confusion, fear, disappointment, love and hope; all of it can live together there, without neat answers.

What moves me most about Sam is not innocence, but the quiet strength of her tenderness. She does not yet know how to harden herself in the way grown people do. She reminds me that love can remain present even where disappointment and hurt have entered the room.

We live in a culture that often has little patience or no room for human frailty. A culture that is quick to judge, cut off, cancel, decide who deserves mercy and who doesn’t. But children often reveal something else: an instinctive tenderness, a grace that feels close to mercy. Even when the adults around her falter, Sam keeps reaching toward love.

Mercy, forgiveness and grace are some values this novel kept asking me to consider. They are the very reason it took me years to finish writing this book. I was steeped in judgement and having a hard time forgiving a wrongness in my real life. That’s why now I plan to bring these values into every room I speak about this book.

A line from her (or what she might say): I only knew I was happy he had come, and for a little while that felt bigger than everything else.

A small beauty I noticed along the way: The sound of a child’s laughter arriving before the child herself, reminds me that joy can sometimes enter a room ahead of us and make space.

A question for you: What part of you still knows how to love without keeping score?

Thanks for reading. May your heart remain child-like, make space for love, even when it doesn’t feel earned.

P.S. If you’ve already read this in the newsletter, thank you for meeting it again here.

Revealing the Cover: Distorted Is The View

There are many ways a book meets its readers. Sometimes it begins with a question, a sentence, or an image that quietly gathers and holds the emotional world of the story.

For me, the book cover acts as clothing, but not in the fashion sense. But because each time I put my work out into the world feels like an act of undressing in public.

And so, today, I share the cover of my debut novel, Distorted Is The View.

What This Novel Holds

Set in 1980s South Africa, this is a family drama about silence, distance, and the fragile ways love survives what is not said. At its heart is a family living inside the strain of partial knowledge, each person seeing only a portion of the truth, each trying in their own way to live with what remains hidden.

The book keeps circling this question: if truth came wrapped in silence, would you still call it love? It holds betrayal, yes, but also care. It invites the reader into a private emotional space rather than warning them away.

Why This Cover Feels True

The title speaks to that inward tension: what is visible, what is obscured, and what becomes distorted when people stand too far from one another to see clearly. I love how the designer captured the feeling at the heart of this novel: the distortion created by silence, distance, and partial perspective. With its layers, folds, creases, and quiet shadows, the cover does not try to tell the whole story, but invites one to look twice.

So much went into the making of this book: tears, laughter, and years. To say I’m scited that it is almost here is an understatement. That is why finally sharing the cover feels so tender and significant.

And now, at last, here it is.

Credit: Siiri Hirsiaho

More soon…

P.S. “Scited” (scared + excited) is a made-up word popularized by author and podcaster Glennon Doyle.

Clarity Comes in the Morning

On my walk this morning
around the lake that’s heard me
cry, laugh, mourn, and celebrate

I fell
legs in a front-and-back gymnastic pose
and breathed out a small white cloud

I rose
back on my feet like a long jumper
and avoided leaving a trail mark on the snow

I walked
and a man dusting snow off the windshield
pretended he didn’t notice

I looked
to my watch for distance—proof
I didn’t hole up all day wrestling a character

On my way back this morning
from the lake that’s heard me
talk and sing to myself

I stopped
responding to the chattering calls
magpies perched up high, refusing my camera

I listened
to the light wind tossing snow into dance
its song so clear it shattered the ice in my gut

I praised
a soft landing, deep snow beneath
sky above a colour of glory

I wrote
the message down:
This is the year I stop ghosting my dreams.