Many years ago, when I was living far from home, I wrote a story set in New Zealand. It held a strong sense of place, filled with rocks and pieces of my upbringing, and it carried my homesickness within it. The land I missed. My family, my friends. My home.
After fifteen years away, I returned. At first, it felt foreign. It was only once I was back that I realised just how much I had missed it. But I also felt displaced, my roots neither here nor there, and it took time before I felt them begin to grow again.
That feeling shifted slowly. It deepened on walks along Waikanae Beach on the Kapiti Coast, and in conversations with my husband about story ideas.
I began to feel a connection to the land again, one that filtered through me into story. Emotions, life, love, laughter, sadness, grief, joy. The sea especially stayed with me, this vast body of water holding so much feeling, so many stories. Wake began with glimpses of those emotions. From the beginning, I knew the story would move like a wave.
From there, inspiration was everywhere.
The beach I visited nearly every day.
The horses using the bike paths and leaving their presents behind.
The little hill across the street where I shortcut to pick up my kid—that’s where Trent’s house is.
The chicken that roamed freely there (RIP), who became a key character.
The familiar, vivid personalities I pass every day—the bike with the kids and the rainbow flag, the one blasting National Radio, the lively regulars at John’s café.
Everywhere I looked, there was story. There was personality. And I found myself asking, again and again, what if?
I had the setting. I had the emotional current, something both deep and light at the same time. I knew the story would circle around water and waves and wakes. And I knew there had to be an actual wake at its heart.
The characters came alive from there. I wanted a romance that felt deeply lived-in. Messy and real. I wanted tension and mystery, and ultimately, I wanted the feeling of release—the quiet exhale of letting go of the past and moving forward. Forgiveness, and forging on.
Writing this book felt like an act of slowing down. Of taking time to think and feel and connect. At one point, I set it aside halfway through and let it settle. It was only after thoughtful conversations with my editor, and working through what I truly wanted from the story, that I returned to it. And when I did, I could finally carry it through.
Thank you, Lynda, for your encouragement, guidance, and brilliant editing. You see my vision and help me refine it, giving it the emotional weight it needs.
Thank you to Robin, who shared so much about the theatre—the joy of the stage and the work behind it.
Jane, for all our walks and all our conversations. You brought so much inspiration. I’m not saying any of the oldies is a reflection of you, but I did come up with some wonderfully outrageous scenes after our Tuesday mornings. You have a way of being remembered, and I wanted that same presence in Grandpa.
Heiko, my lovely husband, thank you for making romance writing so easy. Wake marks twenty years of us, and my love for you grows with each passing day.
And to everyone who read and loved Rock, thank you. I hope this story carries the same heart you connected with there.
wake is out now – in paperback and KDP/KU.
