novel may have never been written had I not heard the haunting song “Blackberry Winter” on the radio by the gifted singer and pianist Hilary Kole (see Author’s Note for the full story). And I may have never heard the song had it not been aired on the truly fantastic Sirius Satellite Radio station Siriusly Sinatra, which always makes me want to write a novel about Frank Sinatra.
Thank you to the friends who have cheered me on—especially those who are mothers. Big hugs to you, Sally Farhat Kassab, Camille Noe Pagán, the lovely PEPS gals, and so many others. I also want to mention two very special friends who have rebounded from disappointment and loss in recent years—both have been a tremendous inspiration to me as women and mothers: Lisa Bach, your great strength and resilience amazes and inspires me. And Wendi Parriera, you have taught me so much about faith and hope in the face of the unthinkable.
To my parents, for too many reasons to list here, but especially to my mom, Karen Mitchell, for her blackberry pies and making life lovely for her children and her grandchildren; and to my dad, Terry Mitchell, for his dedication to his children, for our jogs together, and for all those long walks to that old cemetery where childhood curiosity blossomed into literary inspiration. To my brothers Josh and Josiah, and my sister, Jessica, my dearest friend who is a profound inspiration to me in motherhood and life—love to you all.
I am continuously grateful to my husband, Jason, for being the type of supportive spouse who encourages me in my writing and who loves to celebrates all the little (and big) things in life with me. J, I love traveling on this journey with you. And, my beloved sons—Carson, Russell, and Colby—this book is for you.
Finally, to my readers: Thank you for welcoming my stories into your lives, for reading them with your book clubs, and for telling your friends and families about them. I have many more to come—some in progress, others just little glimmers in my mind—and I can hardly wait for you to read them.
Author’s Note
One morning, while in the car with my husband and our young sons, an intriguing song came on the radio. I had never heard it before, but I was instantly transfixed by the melody, and the singer’s haunting voice. I turned to my husband, who was driving: “This is a beautiful song!” I exclaimed. “Do you know it?” He shook his head. I glanced at the radio, and the screen read, “Blackberry Winter by Hilary Kole.” The title made my heart flutter. As a lifelong Northwesterner, blackberries are special to me. I get nostalgic when I think about the after-dinner walks I took with my parents and siblings during the summers of my childhood. We’d all take bowls and tromp through the woods near our home, scouting for blackberries. My sister and I would eat the majority of them, and the rest would find their way into one of mom’s famous pies or cobblers. Summer just wasn’t summer without berry-stained fingers.
That day in the car, I pulled out my phone (which, ahem, happens to be a BlackBerry) and e-mailed myself the name of the song and its artist. I wanted to read the lyrics, but mostly, I wanted to know the origins of the title. What is a blackberry winter? Later, at home, I sat down at my desk to do some research. I learned that the term is old-fashioned weather jargon for a late-season cold snap—think of plunging temperatures and snowfall in May, just when the delicate white flowers are beginning to appear on the blackberry vines.
I couldn’t get the words “blackberry winter” out of my head, and that night, I began to sketch out the concept for this novel. The story came to me quickly and vividly: Vera and Daniel and the little apartment they shared in the 1930s; his beloved teddy bear lying face-down in the cold snow; Claire and her curious reporter’s mind and her own deep pain and grief; snowflakes falling on the spring cherry blossoms.
For the next many months, I lived and breathed Blackberry Winter. At the heart of this story, for me, were the raw emotions of motherhood. I began writing the novel when I was pregnant with my third son, and I channeled Vera and Claire’s pain and often heartbreaking experiences. I thought a lot about how it would feel to lose a child, and what