Somehow, this book is different

To date, I’ve written and published over 10 books. Poetry, fiction, non-fiction, essays, mythology… you get the idea. Actually, I’ve written more than I’ve published.

Some were more important for me to write, than to put them out into the wider world. It was an exercise for me. It served its purpose. ’nuff said. They moved me along to the next project, the next book, the next poem… whatever was supposed to come next.

I’ve written largely in obscurity, lo these many years. I started writing when I was seven or eight, completed my first collection of short stories when I was eight. Wrote a YA novella when I was 10 (or 11 or 12?). And I’ve lost count of how many hours I’ve devoted to writing on (pretty much) a daily basis. It all blends together. And to be honest, all the publishing has felt like a natural progression from the writing itself.

In the past, I would simply publish as a matter of course. I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. I’d just get it out there…

This time, though, it feels very different. Beloved Distance feels different. This has been a multi-year project, which really got its start over five years ago, when I began to really take notice of our neurology. And while I have read a whole lot of words about how the human neurological system works, the pictures have actually been the most transformational for me.

I mean… look at that! Who wouldn’t be fascinated by it?

Well, okay, so not everybody, but I’m one of those people who is.

And it’s led me down this path that originally was all about our most microscopic neuroanatomy, and ended up in our most macroscopic human considerations.

Funny, how that happens.

I think one of the things that’s raised the stakes of this project is the math. Yes, math. I’m more of a words person, and I’m better at geometry than calculus, but one of the building blocks of this book is the calculations of all the distance we have within us — thousands of miles worth, to be accurate. Freaky, right? To tell the story correctly, I had to get the math right. If it’s not right, the point is lost. So, I’ve checked it countless times, from a bunch of different angles and I’ve consulted with “math people”, getting way outside my comfort zone to be as accurate as possible.

And ironically, the more abstract my conceptions got, the more concrete the applications turned out to be.

Yeah, that’s funny, too.

In one of those grand cosmic ha-ha moments, where you realize — yet again — just how interconnected we all are, and how elegantly we can apply principles from one slice of our lives to others.

Well, I’m losing light. It’s snowed all day, and I need to get out and clear my deck, rake my roof, shovel the stairs, and snow-blow the driveway. Should take me about an hour to do it. And it’s easier to do if it’s light out… So, outside I go. Thick socks and snow pants and boots and coat/hat/gloves on… snow-moving implements in hand… to narrow the distance between me and the fluffy white stuff, to close the gaps between show-covered and snow-cleared.

Off I go… and here we go…

Want to read Beloved Distance?

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Or Download a Free copy of the Beloved Distance eBook (gratis till 31. January 2018)

About Kay Stoner

Inventor, coder, ux designer. Writer and independent publisher.
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