The Butterfly Forest

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As an author, one of the questions I get the most is this: where do you get your ideas? Most of the time, the answer is I really don’t know. Stories seem to sprout from scattered seeds buried somewhere in my subconscious when a current event helps spawn some sort of germination.

Not with The Butterfly Forest.

This novel got its start from a walk in the park with my youngest daughter, Ashley. She and I were in San Diego’s Balboa Park and entered a sunken stone grotto built in 1915. It is now a butterfly garden, a place filled with dappled sunlight and shadows, cool stones, milkweed, sunflower, passion vine and other flowers that attract the attention of butterflies. The butterflies attracted our attention. Some of the butterflies alighted near or on us. Ashley was fascinated by the intimacy, reaching out to give a butterfly a rest on her hand. I imagined a young, college-aged woman doing something to help protect rare and endangered butterflies. Where would a trail in the woods lead her? What if that trail led her to a place where the innocence and nobility of the journey and mission intersected with a horrifying destination? The literary result of time slowed and spent with my daughter and the butterflies that surrounded us is The Butterfly Forest.

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