Some stories never leave you, no matter how hard you try to ignore them or how many years go by. They have a voice that is already perceptible. Their cadence and shape are like footprints in the snow on a path you have not yet traveled. From the start, you can see these footprints, but not where they will lead you. You might not even know you have begun to follow them until you stop and look back.
Women. Love. Virginity. The 70s. The things they told girls and all they didn’t say. The moments that made some hide under blankets with their noses buried in books, who later ran wild at night. The reasons that some girls grew up to find themselves having no place and how they found “a someplace.” The innate divinity that gave them the will to continue to fight and carve new paths that were not easy but were their own. The Salt God’s Daughter is a story about the ties between mothers and daughters. It’s a story about those who have passed on, and those who have not yet been born, grandmothers and daughters, sisters and aunts, as indelible as shadows, as invisible ink written on your skin, always with you, each one, waiting for the right light and the right time to be seen. Each one, appearing at times as if a tissue thin flower petal, delicate and tremulous, and then suddenly stunning you with the knowledge that within each flower petal lies a strong drumming beat of a pulse.