I’m in the process of moving—one of life’s top stressors, ranked just below death, illness, and divorce. Good times.
I’ve reached the stage where all the hard questions have been asked. No, the old sheets with the disintegrated elastic don’t spark joy anymore. Yes, I’m living in the same pants and a unicorn t-shirt that says I’m Magical because everything else is packed and I refuse to open a suitcase. That would be going backward.
The only thing that will bring me true joy now is a clean, empty house where my tears of exhaustion will echo in triumph. Just kidding… mostly.
That point's not too far off, though. Nothing fits neatly into categorized storage bins anymore. The toilet plunger is sharing space with a collapsible car shovel and a foam muscle roller in a garbage can I don’t love, but can’t bring myself to replace. Practicality always wins, even in purgatory.
So why am I telling you this, and what does any of it have to do with cozy mysteries?
Well, transitions make me introspective. And since this month’s newsletter is filled with adorable critters, I figured you could handle something a little deeper.
At the heart of all my transitions—and the root of why I write cozy mysteries—is a word the Welsh have nailed: hiraeth. It means a nostalgic longing for home, but it’s slipperier than that. It’s a yearning for a time, place, or person that feels like home… even if it no longer exists. Or maybe never did.
I first heard the word in a Craig Ferguson comedy special, which brings up the second theme of this post—comedy and humor.
As long as I can remember, I’ve carried this sense of hiraeth. The search for home has inspired multiple (more than four but less than eight) cross-country road trips and a lot of travel abroad. There are places that hold pieces of my heart—New Orleans, parts of Washington and Oregon, the East Gallery in D.C., Luang Prabang in Laos. But I’ve never quite found the place. The one that says, “Welcome, we’ve been waiting for you.”
I crave roots. I want belonging. But I’m also wired for motion, for searching. Which means I’ve spent a lot of my life in transition—and whether I choose it or not, transition is just hard on a person, y’all.
That’s where comedy comes in.
When my brain starts spinning at lights-out o’clock, I turn to The Tiny Chef, or Graham Norton clips, or comedians who are funny without being cruel. The kind who make room for everyone at the table.
The interweaving of hiraeth and humor are what drive my love of cozy mysteries. I love building quirky little towns filled with misfit characters who probably shouldn’t work together, but somehow do. They muddle through the hard stuff together, come out victorious, and make us laugh even when the going gets tough.
And in all this searching, here’s what I’ve discovered: there is no one perfect place. It’s us—showing up, putting in the work, forging connections, appreciating people for who they are (not who we wish they’d be)—and letting them do the same for us. That’s what builds community. That’s what makes a home.
Well, I better put down the laptop and start packing again so I can get back to writing about Claryce Falls.
Happy Reading!
Eve