Finding North: February 2024

Inner-tubing my way through this month. 🛟

Note: The recording above is a reading of this newsletter — there’s no different content, and it’s not produced, so you’ll hear the occasional stumble, or sounds of daily life in the background. If you’re someone who needs or prefers to hear their news, then I hope it’s helpful.

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Hi there! I’m Amie Kaufman, NYT and internationally bestselling author of The Isles of the Gods, Illuminae, Aurora Rising, These Broken Stars, and many more books besides. This newsletter is the place to learn about my latest releases or events, and to follow along behind the scenes as I find my way through writing, and through life.

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Hi, my friends.

I was so touched by the response to my last newsletter — I wondered how I’d go, sharing the story I did. I wondered if such a personal experience would translate, or whether it would just sound silly. But it turns out that just as when I’m writing books, the more specific one is in sharing something personal, the more universal the idea somehow becomes.

Many of you left beautiful comments about play, many of you emailed, and a spectacularly talented poet I know wrote and recorded a poem for me in response. I recommend numbering a poet among your friends, if you can.

This month I’m talking about something that’s been very much on my mind lately — but before I dive into the philosophical bit, I want to let readers in the US know that The Isles of the Gods hardcover is currently on sale for $9.99. What a good time to grab a copy, or set one aside for a gift later this year. All things being equal, I always encourage readers to support their local independent bookshop — but it’s also fine to buy wherever you can, especially if budget is an issue.

A picture of the author, who was halfway through taking a selfie (if the light’s that good, you must) when someone made her laugh. I think it’s always nice to share your face with the people you chat to, so here I am.

What I’ve Been Up To

I’m writing to you from my garden again, where I’m sitting in the shade as the temperature climbs.

Later it’ll be quiet out here, but just now there are butterflies zipping around the place, bees are investigating our crop of sunflowers (seven feet tall and counting — the sunflowers, not the bees) and various insects singing and clicking away.

Much of the last month has been spent outdoors — I spent the better part of January in our campervan at the beach, finding my foothold with new stories — and I’ve been thinking a lot about being present in the moment. Nature’s a good tutor, when it comes to that. Nature doesn’t hurry herself — she follows her path at just the pace she’s meant to.

Here’s the beach I walk along each evening, when I’m camping at my favourite spot. The water turns silver at sunset, like the whole sea is made of mercury.

I’ve been thinking about being present, because this is one of those seasons in life when everything is up in the air. I feel as if I’ve taken so much of life in my hands, and tossed it as high as I can — and now I’m watching it, suspended for a moment at the top of its arc — before it starts to fall, and I find out where it will land.

I’m in a period of waiting to find out on many fronts. I’m waiting to find out which books I’ll write next. I’m waiting to find out the answers to health questions. And the thing about waiting is that although there’s a natural impatience to get on to the next thing, the waiting time is also time. And if there’s one thing in our lives that’s precious and irreplaceable, it’s time.

I don’t want to rush through this time I have, on my way to find out what’s next. So I’m treating this season of my life like a river I’m lucky enough to be rafting along. Or inner-tubing, perhaps, as that’s a little lazier, with even more time to admire the scenery.

Here’s a picture I took a year ago of my favourite river, with a friend’s dog sneaking into frame.

Here’s a picture of my favourite river, and one of my favourite places in the world. When I’m floating along a river like this one, I don’t want to be so focused on the rapids around the corner that I miss the chance to take in the magnificent eucalypts on either side, the fallen trees, the vines that hang from them, the drifting clouds overhead. I’ll keep an ear out for the rapids, certainly — I want to know what’s ahead that I might need to navigate — but I don’t want to miss out on this moment I’m in now. This moment is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Soon enough I’ll reach the bend in the river, and be on to the next thing, but I don’t want to miss any sights along the way. There’s my question for you today, I suppose: what’s happening today — and I mean anything, from the beauty of the sun or the snow to the taste of a delicious snack, to the chance to call or text a friend and ask them how they are — that you might be missing, because you have your eyes set too far ahead, straining to see around the river bend? What can you see from your inner tube, if you stop and look around at this place that is exactly where you’re meant to be?

What I’m Writing

Last month I told you I was playing with my new projects, which I’m calling RSR and NOAM, for now. They’re both coming on beautifully, and some of the rapids I can hear just around the river’s bend sound very exciting for these stories. But for now, I’m spending my time with the one that’s in front of me.

My pass pages have arrived for The Heart of the World. Pass pages are the first time you see a book typeset, and they’re a chance for both the publishing team and the author to read through, and look for any last changes, or things to smooth out — errors that crept in during typesetting, or continuity issues we’re only spotting with some distance under our belts, little word echoes where the same one’s used twice in a row, and so on. By the time I write next, this will all be done, and the book will be one step closer to the printing press! And of course here’s your reminder that you can preorder The Heart of the World right now — it’s out on July 2nd.

Here’s the first look at the title page. It’s such a thrill to see it looking like a real book, instead of a Word document!

What I’ve Loved Lately

I absolutely love a webcam — it’s like a quick trip somewhere else, and also a lovely reminder that (in the best way possible) the world is big and you are small, and so much is carrying on without you. Your problems probably aren’t as big as they seem — and if they are, then it’s a pretty good distraction.

This one in the Namib Desert is one of my favourites. You’ll see all kinds of animals at the waterhole, including oryx, zebras, hyenas, and warthogs. Their FAQ says leopards have been spotted as well, but I’m yet to see one! One day.

News and Events

If you’re a writer aged 13 - 18 (or you know someone who is) then you should check out the State Library of Victoria’s Online Teen Writing Boot Camp. There are five different camps run throughout the year — mine is on writing sci fi and fantasy, and starts in February. All the camps are run online, and are completely free. Info sessions are starting in a few days — mine is on Feb 22nd, and bookings are required.

If you’re a fan of the

Pub Dates Newsletter

podcast, then good news — Kate and I have recorded our first episode of season two, and it’ll be out later in Feb. Now’s a good time to make sure you’re subscribed, as our theme for the episode is The Story So Far — it’s a chance to remember what we’ve talked about so far in season one, or jump aboard if you’re a new listener.

And finally, I want to share the news that my friend and critique partner, Nicole Hayes, is opening up her books to editorial clients once again. This is not an advertisement — I just think Nicole’s a genius, and want to recommend her to anyone who’s looking for feedback or editing from someone with extensive teaching experience both one-on-one, and at a university level. She’s kind, thoughtful, thorough and very clever.

And that’s it for this month — remember that if you’re in the US, you can buy the hardcover of The Isles of the Gods for $9.99 right now — I’ll see you in March!

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