Trish St. Hill was born in the vibrant and culturally rich nation of St. Vincent and the Grenadines in the West Indies. As an English-speaking West Indian immigrant, she experienced firsthand the lack of literature representing the struggles of Caribbean immigrants in the United States.
I have always said that my main love is not as a writer, but rather as a storyteller. It is my most effective form of communication. So please indulge me to tell this simple tale of love. Last night was a special night for our family, a night filled with love, laughter, and cherished memories. We got to celebrate our oldest sibling’s 70th birthday, a remarkable milestone that reflects a lifetime of experiences and wisdom. My brother Len had a birthday to remember, one that showcased how deeply he is loved and appreciated by his family. His wife and children went to extraordinary lengths to put on an epic event for his 70th, leaving no detail overlooked, ensuring that everything was perfect. His daughters, Maurica and Dia, along with his wife Sylvina, did a phenomenal job decorating the space. The vibrant colors and thoughtful touches created an atmosphere of joy, while the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen hinted at some of the most scrumptious foods we could anticipate. Each dish was a labor of love, crafted with care and creativity, showcasing their culinary talents. My brother Junie and I had the crucial task of picking him up early for breakfast, a delightful opportunity to spend some quality time with him. The event was a surprise, so our job was to keep him occupied while the preparations were in full swing. It was heartwarming to share stories and laughter, reminiscing about the past and discussing what the future holds for him. Through careful coordination, we arrived at the event to a waiting crowd, their faces echoing waves of nostalgia and excitement as they eagerly anticipated his arrival. The music was beautiful, selecting his favorite tunes that transported us back in time, and the ambiance was mesmerizing, enveloping us in a warm, familial embrace. But my favorite part of the evening was undoubtedly the tributes. Tears were flowing, each word spoken a testament to the impact he has had on our lives. I imagined our dear mother was fluttering overhead, smiling down on the gathering with pride as we celebrated not just his birthday, but the incredible man he has become.
As I stood looking at the event, I looked back at our days in Camden Park, St. Vincent and the Grenadines when our mother was running late from early morning shopping, how he would fill in by twisting me and my sister’s hair into hysterically looking pigtails, preparing us breakfast and taking us down the steep slope of Eddy Hill, before walking us up to Lowmans School. Before the age of 10, he could cook, clean, and wash like any adult, no doubt a weight put on him as the oldest child. But he did it with grace, always making us feel special and safe that he had our backs. So it was special to look back on the last 70 years of his life. But yesterday was special not only because he turned 70 years, marking a significant chapter in his life, but also because less than a year ago he faced a serious car accident that almost cost him his life. To see him return to good health and celebrating this milestone is a beautiful thing that fills our hearts with gratitude. Most people get those tributes only when they are dead and can’t hear them, but my big brother got his roses while he is alive and strong, surrounded by those who love him most.
As the patriarch of the family, he is special to us, a guiding light who has always been there in times of need. We truly appreciate his contributions to his family and us, his younger siblings, who look up to him with admiration. He is a man of few words packed with wisdom, a quiet strength that shepherds his flock with firm but loving hands. His presence grounds us, and his guidance helps us navigate life’s challenges. Happy birthday, big brother. We love and appreciate you more than words can express, and we look forward to creating many more beautiful memories together in the years to come.
Unfortunately, in life, we all go through some type of grief. But the most painful grief is over the loss of a loved one, and this kind of sorrow often feels like an insurmountable burden that weighs heavily on our hearts and minds. No matter how hard we try, we can never be fully prepared for how to deal with it, as the heartache can strike when we least expect it, often catching us off guard. There is no playbook or guidelines on how to navigate the tumultuous waters of grief or a specific timeframe on when to get over it; it is a deeply personal journey that differs for everyone. We can only leave it to God and time, allowing ourselves to heal at our own pace, even if that means taking one small step forward and several steps back. But having a support system around you could be immensely helpful during this difficult time. Having people reach out with a text, a phone call, or a card can go a long way in reminding you that you are not alone in your pain, reinforcing the notion that connection and community can provide solace in moments of despair. Equally important is giving yourself grace to feel sad; it’s a vital part of the healing process that should not be rushed. The important thing is that you try every day to accept the support offered to you and take tiny steps to avoid isolating yourself from those who care, opening up yourself to the love and compassion that surrounds you. Simple gestures like chatting with someone, taking a walk, listening to music, or indulging in a luxurious bath that may help soothe your spirit can be profoundly healing. It’s essential to recognize that with time, the frequency and intensity of the sadness do become more bearable, transitioning from a sharp pang to a more dull ache, which is a sign of healing.
For those on the supporting end, be conscious of the fact that the person you are supporting may not always seem warm or eager to communicate, and it’s crucial not to take it personally; their emotional state often isn’t a reflection of your care. Let them know, in your words or actions, that you are there anytime they need you, and ensure that you truly mean it with sincerity and patience. If they seem overwhelmed and don’t want to talk or answer the phone, send a gentle text letting them know you are praying for them and that you’re here whenever they need you, reminding them that your support is unwavering. If they appear to be in the mood for companionship, consider taking them out or visiting them with something you know they would enjoy to eat; a small act of kindness can lighten a heavy heart. But remember to let them express themselves and talk about whatever they wish to discuss, permitting the conversation to follow their lead. Perhaps they want to share their feelings, recount cherished memories, or even switch topics entirely to politics or the weather—whatever brings them comfort in that moment, let them lead the conversation. Being there, listening, and validating their emotions can significantly contribute to their healing journey, as the act of being present can remind them of the love that surrounds them, even amidst their grief. Sometimes, simply knowing that someone cares enough to sit quietly with them during their pain can be the most profound form of support.
On August 16th, 2025, my daughter and I attended the yearly Vincy Day celebration at Heckscher State Park on Long Island, New York. This event has become an essential part of our annual calendar, a time dedicated to reconnecting with our roots and celebrating the vibrant culture of St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Because we regrettably missed last year’s festivities due to a family wedding, this year felt particularly significant. The anticipation was palpable as we woke early that morning, the warmth of the summer sun peeking through the windows, motivating us to prepare our favorite dishes. The tantalizing aromas filled our home, creating an atmosphere of excitement and joy, making the day even more special.
After cooking, we packed our SUV with not just food, but also a tent, tables, and chairs, ensuring we had everything we needed to enjoy a full day of mingling and feasting with our brothers and sisters from our beautiful island nation. The drive to the park was filled with chatter; my daughter and I reminisced about previous Vincy Days, recalling the laughter and joy we shared, fostering a sense of adventure as we looked forward to creating new memories.
Over the years, one of the most remarkable aspects I have come to admire about this event is how thousands of Vincentians gather without incident. It is heartwarming to see people from the Caribbean, Canada, and various cities across the United States converge on Heckscher State Park, all sharing a common bond rooted in our heritage. The moment we arrived, laughter and cheerful greetings filled the air, making it quickly apparent that this gathering transcends mere festivities—it is a reunion of old friends and families. Neighbors and colleagues, who may not have seen each other in years, embrace and reconnect, celebrating the enduring bonds that tie us to our homeland. The atmosphere buzzes with an undeniable camaraderie, where there is no room for politics, violence, or old grudges—just a peaceful celebration under the warm summer breeze of Long Island.
Every participant celebrates our unique culture in his or her own way, each contribution enriching the rich tapestry of the day by sharing meals and stories of life back home. It is an incredible experience to witness: nothing is sold here. Instead, every dish is a generous gift, an offering woven with memories and nostalgia, each bite echoing the flavors and warmth of our island life. As we partake in the diverse array of dishes, from familiar homemade favorites to delightful surprises brought by others, we find joy in sharing and reminiscing, reliving precious moments from the past. The tantalizing aromas waft through the air, mingling with laughter and shouts of delight from children playing nearby, creating a vibrant symphony of joy and togetherness.
Music also plays a pivotal role in setting the atmosphere for this gathering. The enchanting sounds of calypso, reggae, and gospel echo throughout the park, forming a vibrant backdrop that captures the very essence of Vincy culture. The rhythmic tempo beckons many to dance; both young and old moving together, swaying to the beats, each step a testament to our history and identity. Whether dancing or simply enjoying the music, there is a collective revelry in the joyous atmosphere, where smiles are abundant and connections are deepened, reinforcing the bonds we share as a community.
To say I am proud of the spirit of this event is an understatement. I am immensely grateful to those who diligently plan and organize this gathering year after year, working tirelessly to ensure it remains a vibrant part of our community. Their unwavering commitment to preserving our cultural heritage fills me with admiration. I am also thankful for the unbreakable spirit of our people, for our profound love for our blessed homeland, and for our shared ability to come together peacefully. This event serves as a vital cultural tool in the diaspora, a reminder of our roots and a way to keep our heritage alive with dignity and love.
As we dance and share stories, I often reflect on the importance of this celebration. It extends beyond simple festivities; it signifies resilience and unity. My heartfelt hope is that we never let this event die; that it will continue to flourish and adapt through the years, enriching the lives of generations to come. May we always find strength in each other, keeping the essence of our homeland close to our hearts as we build connections, celebrate culture, and pass on the legacy of our beautiful island to future generations. This gathering not only strengthens our current ties but also lays a foundation for our children and grandchildren, ensuring they too can partake in the beauty and memories of our shared heritage.
While it is interesting to discuss my literary journey, one of my greatest passions is to cover real societal issues that affect our lives in profound ways. I’ve been told that my novels are spellbinding and historically informative, weaving intricate narratives that resonate with readers on a deeper level. However, covering real-life issues is even more satisfying to me, as it allows me to directly engage with the complexities of human experience. When I started my blog, it was with the intention of covering a mixture of topics – the writing process and experience, nostalgic moments, and coping with real-life issues that many individuals face daily. I strive to focus on the fact that, whatever the topic, someone in society can garner some insight or coping strategies to navigate their unique challenges. By sharing personal anecdotes, research, and thoughtful reflections, I aim to create a safe space for dialogue and understanding. Some of the topics covered so far include the following:
Navigating the Avenues of Change
Identifying your ride or die
Embracing the stages of Life – Menopause
Living a cleaner lifestyle – Part 1 and II
The emotions of writing – Part 1 & II
When or what do I name my book
Dissecting my writing style within a cultural framework
Making a book a page turner
Start writing and keep the momentum going
From writing to publishing: My journey as an author
In keeping with my original intention, I created a comprehensive list of topics I would like to cover for upcoming blog posts. Some topics may overlap somewhat; however, each topic is designed to bring new insight into our world and, hopefully, offer valuable coping skills along with a fresh perspective on societal views. As we navigate through these complex times, it’s essential to explore various themes, including mental health awareness, the impact of social stress, and the importance of community support. Additionally, I aim to delve into the significance of self-care practices, the role of resilience in facing adversity, and how cultural diversity enriches our understanding of different viewpoints. Some of the topics I plan to cover include, but are not limited to, the following:
Dealing with trauma – death, divorce, job loss
Showing support during a loss
Destigmatizing mental challenges
Managing Anxiety levels
What are scary thoughts trying to tell us?
Can hypochondriasis be managed?
Dealing with challenges to avoid depression
Discarding destructive secrets
Restarting life after a big change
Creating healthy circles to remove toxicity
Anger is different from moving on
Removing the filters that hold you back
Creating healthy support outlets
Maintaining healthy relationships realistically
Stop the search for perfection
Harnessing the power within you
Strategies to de-stress
Practicing the serenity prayer
Policing your health
Secrets to everlasting fidelity
Karma – myth or reality
Importance of Cultural identity
Cultural assimilation vs conversion
Is escapism healthy?
Differentiating between dreams and goals
You can stay in touch with me on several platforms – my blog, website, YouTube, email, or social media. Each of these channels offers a unique way for us to connect, engage, and share ideas that matter to us both. For instance, my blog is a treasure trove of insights where I explore various topics in depth, delving into intricate details that stimulate thoughtful discussions. In addition to articles, I often include personal anecdotes and practical tips that can benefit readers in their everyday lives. Meanwhile, I intend to grow my YouTube channel to feature engaging videos that hopefully complement the written content, providing visual storytelling and tutorials that will hopefully enhance your understanding of the subjects we tackle together. You can also reach out to me via email for more personal discussions or inquiries, where I love to dive deeper into the subjects that pique your interest. Don’t forget to check out my Linktree account below, where you can seamlessly navigate to all my platforms in a streamlined fashion. I truly encourage and appreciate your feedback, as I relish hearing your thoughts about my articles and content; your insights help me grow and create even more valuable material for you and our community. I have also been considering a Vlog, which I believe would add a more intimate element to my interaction with viewers, allowing us to share experiences and conversations in a more relatable manner. Your participation in this journey is incredibly important to me, so stay tuned for more updates as we continue to explore these exciting avenues together!
Like most people, my ability to embrace change is very difficult. As someone who just went through some serious changes, I am very mindful of the importance of letting go. In 2024, I retired from my job after almost 30 years, a milestone that felt surreal and momentous. One month after I retired, I lost my beloved mother, a profound loss that left an indelible mark on my heart. Six months later, my only son informed me he wanted to join the military, a decision that both filled me with pride and anxiety. It was a tumultuous time, to say the least, a whirlwind of emotions that made daily life feel like navigating through a storm. But my motto of making lemonade when life threw you lemons prevailed, and I found myself diving deeper into self-reflection.
I hatched a grand plan: I was going to get into my writing career full-time and spend time in the Caribbean, an escape that represented both a fresh start and a healing journey. It was a vision that felt vibrant and invigorating, one that promised adventure and exploration beyond the familiar rhythm of my everyday life. However, there is a saying that when man/woman makes plans, God has other ideas, and soon I found myself at a crossroads. The decision loomed over me like a gray cloud, as I debated whether to sell my house, a space filled with years of memories and cherished moments. My daughter was in the market for a home, and after much deliberation, the decision was made to sell her my house, allowing me to stay with her while still spending my winters in the Caribbean.
I am a typical Caribbean woman of a certain age, deeply connected to my roots and heritage, which shape my identity and perspectives profoundly. I love antique furniture—the large china cabinet, credenza, antique chairs, and Queen Anne center table; they are more than just items to me; they are treasures that tell stories of the past. I always believed that they were the epitome of elegance, embodying a rich sense of character and history. Out of respect, my daughter decided to create my own living room and put her own touch in the rest of the house, which I appreciated, yet I couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, a longing for the way things had always been.
The china cabinet was too big for my newly configured living room, so I decided to see if anyone wanted it, thinking it deserved a good home. My antique credenza was priceless, or so I thought, brimming with memories and stories only I could appreciate. So, I placed an ad on Facebook Marketplace as well as in my community WhatsApp chat, hoping to find someone who shared my appreciation for these items. However, the response was underwhelming. One lady showed up for the China cabinet and immediately declared that it was too big for the space she had, leaving me momentarily deflated. No one even showed interest in the credenza, and I scratched my head in wonderment, grappling with the perplexing thought of how everyone could not see the beauty in my priceless antiques.
Days turned into weeks, and with a heavy heart, I eventually decided to call sanitation for a special pickup truck, a decision that felt like a final farewell to a significant chapter in my life. I stood on my patio as the truck crushed my beautiful pieces of furniture, screaming “noooo” the whole time, a visceral reaction that echoed my heartbreak. My heart was breaking with each piece destroyed, and I felt that I would never get the image of those beautiful furniture being crushed out of my head, a haunting memory that lingered like a painful shadow over my spirit. It felt like a symbolic severing of ties to the past, marking the end of an era, and with it a spectrum of emotions that were hard to process.
Winter rolled around, and my thirst for the tropics took over; the allure of sun-soaked beaches and vibrant sunsets became impossible to resist. So, off to the homeland I went to mend my broken heart, seeking solace in the familiar warmth of the Caribbean sun, where I hoped to find healing amidst the gentle waves and fragrant breezes that had once brought me joy. The days there were painted with hues of tranquility, allowing me to reflect on the life I had lived and the significant transitions that had sculpted my journey thus far.
About a month and a half into my trip, I received an email. Someone wanted to interview me. I felt it strange because I did not apply for the job, it turned out they must have gotten my resume from a job board I had posted my resume on years ago. I did the interview and never expected to get called. About six weeks later I got a call that they wanted to check my references. At this point, a part of me was hoping they wouldn’t give me the job, because I had my retirement all planned. I returned to New York torn between staying retired and getting back in the job market. My apprehension grew as I reflected on my previous work experience in corporate America and the private sector; this job was a government position with a union, presenting a different environment from what I was used to.
My daughter did not think I should accept the job. “Ma, why would you want to come out of retirement?” she asked, her voice laced with concern for my well-being. “Try being locked up in a house all day talking to a dog who can’t answer you back?” I chuckled at her with humor, realizing that her concern was rooted in love. So, with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, I decided to give it a try. I went through my training and finally made it to my post. The first day, I fully expected to hate it. But surprisingly, to my delight, I loved the job and the team more than I could have ever anticipated. As days went by, my admiration and enjoyment for the work grew deeper.
Through this new chapter, I discovered a few enlightening truths about myself. I am quite adaptable; change, I realized, is necessary and healthy. We just have to let go of old stuff and ways of doing things and embrace the change that life presents us. The fear of change can often paralyze us, holding us back and bringing unnecessary pain. However, if we can release our baggage and face the changes in our lives, it could lead to beautiful new beginnings. Today, I don’t dwell on that furniture I lost; instead, I cherish the memories and lessons learned. I still have my chairs, side table, and Queen Anne table, remnants of my past that now feel like beacons of what I have overcome.
It dawned on me that I didn’t need to clutter up my space simply because I was afraid to let go of the old. My daughter eventually added a fireplace, did the floors, and bought new furniture that brought warmth and modernity into the home. And although I wouldn’t say it out loud, I recognized she has great taste, and I am growing to love her modern style. As for the pieces I once thought were to die for, I must admit they weren’t that cute at all in hindsight. One day, my daughter asked if I needed her help decorating my living room space. I was tempted to say no, wanting to hold on to what I thought was my vision. But I decided to accept her help this time. Surprising to me, with just some decorative cushions here and a few other thoughtful decorations there, my space transformed into something remarkably beautiful, while still maintaining it’s antique essence.
This experience reinforced a powerful lesson: Change is a healthy thing. Letting go can be liberating; it allows us to embrace new opportunities, expand our horizons, and revitalize our lives. When we hold onto the past, we often stifle our potential and limit our growth. By choosing to release old habits, fears, or even relationships that no longer serve us, we create space for fresh beginnings. Take a deep breath, step into the unknown, and embrace a healthy change, for it is through these transformations that we cultivate resilience, innovation, and a renewed sense of purpose. Each change brings with it a chance to learn and adapt, encouraging us to explore paths we may never have considered before, ultimately leading to a more fulfilling existence.
Starting this blog was something I dreamt of doing for years. It was born of years of changes (good and bad), of inspiration and challenges. Being a creative person whose brain is always churning with ideas or issues, this blog offered me a creative outlet as well as an opportunity to share my stories laced with life’s challenges. I often thought of what a better world we would have if each of us tried in our own way to encourage and motivate each other. You never know what someone is going through and how one kind word or encouragement can brighten their day. Sometimes people feel stuck in moving forward with a plan or idea, and perhaps a perspective from someone motivated them to finally move forward. And so, I started this blog discussing the writing process mixed with life’s stories and challenges. Sometimes my ideas come from something I was reminded of, something I observed, or a challenge I had to overcome. This weekend I attended a yearly Vincentian picnic at Heckscher State Park. It is a lively, fun-filled family event where people from St. Vincent and the Grenadines come together to celebrate our culture. I will write an article on my experience at the picnic in a future blog post. But in this article, I want to cover something I heard mentioned several times while at the picnic – menopause.
This topic of menopause could be overwhelming to many, but I want to discuss it, not as an expert, but in terms of breaking it down and encouraging women to give themselves grace when they are going through this state in life, and, in general, to give another perspective. If we live long enough, all of us will go through menopause. It’s not an illness; it doesn’t have to be scary if we educate ourselves about it and make some adjustments to get more comfortable with it. Discussing menopause is not just for women; it is also for men who have women in their lives. All women past a certain age will have their menses cease. If you are like me, you wave a flag. I was glad to part ways with that part of my life. The cramps, bleeding, and other monthly disruptions to life were not pleasant. Some women fear menopause and lament about hot flashes, getting older, dryness, and all the peskiness that comes with this new stage of life. But I was happy to say goodbye to my monthly visitor.
But then I had to deal with the hot and cold flashes, excessive sweating, my voice sounded deeper, and my mood swings were off the charts. I started to ask myself: how did my mother deal with this? I realized that growing up in the Caribbean, I never heard the word menopause. In speaking with my mother, she told me that her monthly periods simply stopped. She didn’t seem to understand this whole thing that was spoken of as an illness where people need hormone replacement and medication to make them better. As someone with a curious mind, I started to question what the difference was between cultures where a woman simply went through this stage and embraced it, and other cultures where it is treated as a scary illness that needs to be managed with drugs. I spoke with some women from the African continent, and their mothers’ experiences were similar to that of my mother.
To put this in some context, I am a woman of a certain age who grew up in my home country in the sixties and seventies. We ate differently, consuming a lot of naturally grown foods that were even fertilized by natural fertilizer. Our diet was rich in root vegetables like yams, potatoes, tanias, edoes, dasheens, etc. These root vegetables are said to have a lot of plant estrogen, which is depleted in a woman’s body as she ages, and even our eggs, meat, and fish were organic. Both women from the Caribbean and those from the continent had a similar diet of natural foods grown organically. In my day, there were no barrels coming from America with processed foods, hormones, and all the foods laced with unhealthy substances that helped to mess us up. Today, almost everyone in the Caribbean is eating American foods from well-intended relatives who are trying to help their loved ones economically. The businesses are also importing this food to the detriment of the population.
Could our diet in the old days be the reason we never heard of menopause or saw our mothers going through hot flashes? I can only say that in my case, I made a concerted effort to eat as naturally as America would allow you. Because even when you try to go organic, the fertilizers are not the best, and even the seeds we use are not the best. But I remember cleaning up my diet the best I could. I consumed more root vegetables, less rice, and stayed away from bleached flour, sugar, and rice. I still had some hot flashes, but they were less and milder; my voice sounded less masculine, and my body felt better overall. I no longer heard people refer to me as “sir” on a phone call, and people began to be surprised at my age, in a good way. Was that the fix-it-all for my menopause journey? No, because I live in a country where not only is bad health profitable, but you also have to pay more to eat healthy.
So, menopause is coming for any woman who lives long enough. Don’t be scared of it. It could be a beautiful time for a host of reasons:
no monthly visit from your bloody visitor. Your husbands would love that one.
no pregnancy
no contraceptives necessary
hopefully, the kids are likely grown and off on their own
you know your mature self much better than you ever did your younger self
Enjoy this phase of life. You are lucky to experience it, as many people overlook the beauty of transformation. You are not sick; it’s not something weird happening to you but rather a natural transition that many undergo. Your menses stopped; good riddance to the discomfort that can accompany those cycles. Instead, focus on the freedom that comes with getting to the phase of post menopause. Eat healthy, think positive, and embrace this new phase of your life. Take advantage of these opportunities to explore new hobbies and passions that may have once felt sidelined. Surround yourself with supportive friends and engage in uplifting conversations that enrich your spirit. This is a time for growth, reflection, and new beginnings, so cherish every moment of it.
In life, we all go through something at some point – the loss of a loved one, a job, illness, or some type of tragedy. During any crisis, it is only human to feel overwhelmed. But someone once said, 10 percent of life is what happens to us; 90 percent is how we handle what happens to us. Do we stress endlessly, becoming bitter, or do we reach for the positives? Ask yourself this question: Who or what is my lifeline when I have a problem? Do I have ride-or-die people around me? If you can identify your lifelines and utilize them appreciatively, then most of your issues would be manageable.
Let me share a personal story and how I was able to persevere through one of the toughest times in my life. Ten years ago, I experienced an unexpected fire at my home just months after going through a divorce. The divorce was a decision I made, yet it brought its own set of stresses and emotions that were difficult to navigate. Compounding this with the aftermath of a fire that left me instantly homeless was nothing short of traumatizing. That feeling of uncertainty and fear invaded my life, but I knew I had to find a way forward. My kids were counting on me to be that Mama Bear they expect to pull us through this episode.
Our insurance company wanted to put us up at a hotel while they located temporary housing. However, having just suffered a tragedy, I thought it might be more comforting to stay with one of my siblings for a few days while we searched for a suitable house. I felt that staying at a hotel, relying on takeout food and living out of a suitcase would be far more stressful than being in a familiar environment, even if things were complicated.
This sibling was someone I brought to this country and who lived with us for years. We expected them to show kindness and support during this brief moment of transition. However, the experience turned out to be quite awkward. My kids were placed in a dark basement, which felt isolating and unwelcoming. While we couldn’t say she was overtly rude or cruel, there was a subtle sense of not being entirely wanted there, and it weighed on us. On the second day, one of my children looked at me and said, “Ma, we are clearly not wanted here.” I found this particularly painful because the house had six bedrooms, and we had seen her welcome non-relatives with open arms. Yet, here we were, relegated to a dark basement on couches.
Understanding the message behind our uncomfortable situation propelled me into action. I was out of there like a bat out of hell, determined to find us a place to live. With the help of another sibling, we were able to locate a new house within three days and moved in on the fourth day. During this tumultuous period, our neighbors and school community back home proved to be incredible sources of support. The principal and teachers were nothing short of fantastic, and our neighbors constantly checked in on us to see how we were doing. It filled my heart with gratitude to live in a community with such a big heart, and I will never forget the warmth and love that surrounded us.
The experience of adjusting to our new rental home was surprisingly beautiful. We met wonderful neighbors who had children my kids’ age, and we quickly learned what it meant to have supportive neighbors. Additionally, we were fortunate to have an excellent landlord who became a friend over time. My children, through it all, never once complained. They handled the upheaval with resilience that left me in awe.
We spent a year and a half in the rental, but eventually, our insurance reached its limit in covering the rental costs. Due to contractual issues, our original house was not completed, and we found ourselves in a tough situation without a fully functional kitchen and with no gas turned on. Our landlord, however, arranged for her contractor, whom she regularly employed for her rental properties, to complete our house. This turned out to be a true blessing.
Faced with the decision to either move in with relatives again or to occupy our unfinished house, my children surprised me with their response. They looked at me and said, “Ma, we don’t care how cold our house is or if we have to bathe out of a bucket, let’s go home.” Those words carried so much weight. When we arrived at our home, we were met with cheers from neighbors who slowed down to welcome us back. It was a heartwarming moment that reminded me we were never truly alone during this journey.
While the contractor did not specialize in kitchens, by the grace of God, my brother Junior, who is a cabinet maker and another one of my unwavering supports, worked tirelessly to install our kitchen. It took us a few months of buying takeout food and taking bucket baths until the construction was completed, but eventually, everything came together perfectly.
Looking back, that ordeal allowed me to clearly identify my ride-or-die crew—the support base that stood by me through thick and thin. Thankfully, I didn’t have to look far; they were all around me, ready to lend a hand whenever I needed it. I will never forget that experience. It not only showed me the strength and character of my kids but also highlighted the deep sense of community and the type of neighborhood I reside in. I wouldn’t trade it for any other place in the world.
Moreover, I had a true support system in my friends, who continually checked in on us and made an effort to take me out, helping to lift my spirits during such a trying time. I did have one sibling who stayed with us and helped us settle back in upon our return. However, the sibling who made us feel unwelcome she eventually went through her own traumatic situation. While it would have been easy to repay her unkindness in kind, I chose to show her grace instead. That experience taught me invaluable lessons about ingratitude, resilience, and the beauty of having a solid support system. The most beautiful thing is that they are right beside me, reminding me every day of the importance of love, compassion, and community in overcoming life’s challenges.
After weeks of writing, swapping names, and eliciting feedback from others, the name of my book is finally picked. Although I won’t reveal it here, it is quite fitting to the story, encapsulating its essence in a way that feels both profound and impactful. Like any literary work, publishing a book is akin to giving birth—a process that is both exhilarating and exhausting. You write, edit, and choose a name for your book, and eventually publish it, similar to going through a pregnancy, experiencing the labor of love, and then naming your baby, followed by the moment of baptism that seals its identity. Feelings of relief flood through my very being, filling me with a sense of satisfaction that is difficult to explain, a mixture of pride and vulnerability.
I remember when I first thought of this book; it had been a part of my mind for so many years that the characters all have faces and personalities I could see and feel figuratively. They live in my mind, go to sleep in my head, and wake up in my heart daily, each with their own dreams and desires, waiting for the moment they can share their stories with the world. The journey of bringing them to life has been both a challenge and a joy, filled with countless moments of doubt and confusion, yet also bursts of inspiration and clarity that have driven me forward on this creative path.
I remember the writer’s block, the revival, and the contradictions that necessitated corrections and edits that ultimately changed the entire course of my writing journey. Each shift and adjustment revealed a new layer to the narrative, shaping the storyline which evoked such real emotions in me. There were countless sleepless nights when I desperately struggled to tie the various threads of my plot together, feeling the weight of the narrative pressing down on me. Yet, there was also pure elation when a breakthrough struck, illuminating the path forward and allowing everything to click into place.
Visions of my protagonists danced in my head as I relished in their moments of joy, endured their heartaches, and journeyed alongside them through their trials and triumphs. Each character’s development echoed many elements of my own personal experiences, giving depth to their arcs. Finally, after much toil and dedication, the book has been written, it has a name, and I now step onto the next phase: editing. This will be my opportunity to refine the prose, enhance the narrative flow, and ensure that every sentence resonates. Next, I will prepare for the final stage of publishing, where my creation will find its way into the hands of readers eager for new worlds to explore.
SYNOPSIS OF THE BOOK
For eight-year-olds Hawk and Melvina, a harmless encounter sparked the fires of friendship that took them on a journey of fierce loyalty, dedication, and innocence. As the tide of their friendship bloomed against a backdrop of life’s seemingly incorruptible charm and love, the gentle breeze of reality illuminated a tender reminder of life’s turmoil awaiting them just around the corner. As they navigate the path of love set innocently before them, filled with laughter and memories, they come to the sobering realization that their naïve emotions, once a source of pure joy, set them up for disappointment, pain, and deception. As they traverse the alleyway of a footpath paved by secrets, lies, and betrayal, the weight of their unspoken fears looms heavily over them, as they find themselves questioning their bond. Will Hawk and Melvina find their way back to the solid ground of renewal of friendship and love, or will they plummet to the depths of anger, disappointment, and hatred, forever altering the course of their once unbreakable connection? In this delicate dance of childhood innocence and the harsh realities of growing up, each step they take could lead them toward healing or a chasm of emotional despair.
My last week was spent trying to find a name for my fourth novel. The name of a book is always the last thing I worry about, as it is often something about the book that sparks the name – something the main characters said or did, or even how the book ended. This time, however, I dedicated a significant portion of my week to brainstorming and refining potential titles that might encapsulate the essence of my narrative. I embarked on a strategy to list about 25 names, carefully checking each one to ensure there are no existing books by the same name to avoid confusion among readers and to carve out a unique identity for my work. Each title I considered had to resonate deeply with the themes and emotions woven throughout the story; thus, I spent hours reflecting on key moments, character arcs, and the overall message I wanted to convey. The process was both exciting and daunting, as I wrestled with the weight of choosing a title that not only captured the heart of my story but also intrigued potential readers. Day after day, I explored the nuances of language, diving into synonyms and phrases that could evoke the right feelings in my audience. I wondered whether I should lean toward something more abstract or opt for a straightforward title that clearly hinted at the plot’s direction. I found myself scribbling ideas in various notebooks and even typing titles into a Word file, hoping to stumble upon a spark of inspiration that would lead me to the perfect fit. Along the way, I reached out to relatives and friends, sharing my shortlist and eagerly soliciting their opinions in the hopes of gaining fresh perspectives. Their feedback was invaluable, revealing angles I hadn’t considered and pushing me to rethink some of my initial ideas. As the week progressed, I began to feel a mix of frustration and exhilaration, knowing that a title could be the gateway for readers to connect with my narrative in a profound way. It felt as if I was on the brink of discovery, balancing the thrill of creativity with the pressure of expectation, all in pursuit of that elusive title that would do justice to the world I had created.
After dwindling it down to 6 names, I asked relatives and friends which name got their attention after giving them a blurb of the book, without giving spoilers. Their reactions were fascinating and varied, as each person seemed to connect with different elements of the story, highlighting how subjective the naming process can be. I was intrigued by the breadth of interpretations and personal connections that emerged during our discussions, with each individual offering insights that I had not considered, which made the entire process incredibly enriching. In some cases, I later found out that while no book had the name I listed, there are books with similar titles that could potentially overshadow my work in a search engine. So back to the drawing board I go – removing names, adding new ones, and checking name availability, which has become a meticulous yet necessary part of the journey.
The process sounds simple, but it is often a strenuous task because of the need to have the title evoke curiosity, capturing the essence of the story in just a few words. It feels as though the title must not only reflect the heart of the story but also resonate deeply with potential readers’ emotions and interests, almost like a well-crafted hook that can grab their attention at first glance. The challenge lies in finding that perfect balance, ensuring that the title encapsulates the themes and tone of the narrative while still igniting a spark of intrigue. Readers must not only ask what the story is about but also whether it beckons them to find out, making the title a crucial first impression that can significantly influence their decision to explore the pages within.
As I ponder over options, I continue to remind myself that the right title can act as a beacon, drawing readers toward the adventure I’ve crafted, inviting them to delve into the world I’ve painstakingly built. It serves as the gateway to myriad experiences, emotions, and characters, compelling them to imagine the journey that lies ahead. Whatever name I settle on, it will signal the end of the most crucial part of the writing process and signal the next step to publishing this work, a transition that also brings with it a mixture of excitement and anxiety, as the final choice will forever embody the essence of everything I have created.
My trip back to the Caribbean was not only peaceful, it was productive. It allowed me to get away from the hustle and bustle of New York and afforded me some time for reflection. It was a time to balance resting and creativity, enabling me to complete the initial draft of my fourth novel. I embarked on a journey to take my readers through the writing process without giving away the story – my mindset, struggles to stay focused, and strategies used to take me to the finish line. Some days were filled with jubilation, some lacked drive, but giving up was never an option. I learned that writing encompasses many skills that are not necessarily related to a pen or typewriter, but rather a combination of lifestyle habits that ignite creative juices that gently guide you to completion.
My day started with the need to ignite my creative energy after a restful night. The small dose of news I digested on my smartphone, before climbing out of bed, allowed me to keep in touch with the outside world. A breakfast of corn porridge with fresh fruits or a smoothie was the perfect nutritional start to my day. Before embarking on my writing, I first opened my windows, being reminded of how times had changed. Each window greeted me with burglar bars, reminding me that the days of living carefree in St. Vincent were gone. Today, these structures are a common accessory in Vincentian homes, and so are security systems. It was a reflection of innocence lost.
As I opened my windows, I could see my neighbor’s dogs waiting dutifully on my front porch, wagging their tails, eagerly awaiting their morning treats. Since I arrived in the village, this family of dogs befriended me – mother dog Little Bit, father dog Brownie, and their two lookalike pups. I start my day feeding them treats on my front porch and end it by saying goodnight to them as they take up post at my front door at night. Their staunch defense of me was admirable – causing me to reflect on the converse of man’s ingratitude versus the loyalty of man’s best friend. The two pups each looked like their parents, causing me to name them Little Bit 2 and Brownie 2. Playing catch with them as I feed them treats was the highlight of my day as they moved closer for my generous belly rubs. Sitting on my porch admiring the lush mountains surrounding the village was calming as I observed the sounds of nature – the butterflies buzzing around the flowers, the hummingbirds drinking nectar from the colorful flowers, the sound of birds perched on my window sills, and the sound of the gentle stream gliding slowly towards the ocean.
With my energy charged and my fill of nature’s tranquility, I was ready to write, stopping only to aid my circulation or grab a snack. Writing came easy on some days, but difficult on others. I constantly reminded myself to give myself grace and know that the dry spells would pass. As I got closer to the end of my book, I started reflecting on the book’s name, engaging in reflection on the story and trying to see what pops at me. Writing each title, I would resort to intermixing pieces of various titles. When no title seemed to fit, I reflected on the essence of the story for guidance. If nothing fits, I sounded each title out while envisioning the morale of the story. Eventually, a title would fit as snugly as a glove.
Next, I must create a subtitle that clues us into the spirit of the story without giving away the narrative. For example, my third novel was titled “Tears of Exile” with the subtitle “A story of Suffering, Resilience, and Survival.” This process required me to delve deeply into the themes and underlying messages of my novel, ensuring that every word resonates with the journey I’ve crafted. Each title reflects a crucial element of the tale, urging me to encapsulate the essence of my characters and their experiences in just a few compelling phrases. The complexity of this task is partially why I’ve come to cherish this part of the writing journey; it allows me to reexamine the story I’ve meticulously woven together.
Once the subtitle is created and the epilogue is written, the book will go through a rigorous round of proofreading and formatting before heading to the printer. This stage feels monumental; it’s not just an end but also a new beginning. The anticipation of sharing my work with the world fills me with excitement and dedication. The thought of launching this book, engaging with readers, and receiving their insights and reactions brings an electric energy to my creative process. I am elated to be at this stage in the writing of this novel and look forward to launching it with you. My time in the Caribbean has not just inspired my creativity, but reinvigorated my spirit and reminded me of the beauty of blending reflection with productivity.
Trish St.Hill 