Debbie Russell's Blog

As I write this newsletter, the winds are howling, but it’s already 60 degrees, and headed to a high of 67. This Minnesota fall has been warm and dry, which most people tend to favor, but the trees are stressed and the colors are muted. Sort of like many of us feel in this moment.

But I digress…

I want to share some exciting news with you all!

I’ve been awarded an artist career development grant through the Central Minnesota Arts Board, with funding from the McKnight Foundation! Woo-hoo! I don’t know about you, but I’ve felt so discouraged by the news of federal funds being slashed for public radio and television, as well as the elimination of the creative writing fellowship through the National Endowment for the Arts, and the proposed revamping of our national museums to erase parts of history the administration doesn’t want us to see.

That’s why—especially now—I’m deeply grateful to live in a state (and in a region within this state) that supports artists through private funding. The McKnight Foundation states: We envision a world that recognizes the dignity of every human being, a world where we celebrate the creativity of the arts and sciences and come together to protect our one and only Earth.

Now who can’t get behind that?

I spent most of July working on my grant application, and the most challenging part was describing myself as an artist and how I make my art. Creative writing is not like the visual arts, and so much of my writing is not based in any sort of “process.” It’s more like thoughts and concepts escaping the confines of my brain!

Thankfully, I was able to take advantage of an opportunity to receive feedback on my application so that I was able to better understand what the prospective panel would find most compelling. I am transitioning from a hybrid-published non-fiction author to a traditionally published fiction author, and the funds from this grant will help me hire an editor for my novel, as well as continue to promote and market Crossing Fifty-One.

One of the biggest and least expensive ways to promote a book is through ratings and reviews! If you haven’t yet left a rating, you can do so right here. I only need two more to reach 100 ratings!

Rate Crossing Fifty-One!

Most importantly, having some funding to support my writing gives me an enhanced sense of purpose. My old job was very good for that, and I was honored to serve the public as an assistant county attorney. These days, I believe that art serves an equally important function as it has the capacity to lift us up, touch our souls and provide a little respite from the darkness that can hover around us.

This weekend, I took Billy the Travel Trailer to his winter storage place, conveniently right across the street! While chatting with Brenda, who was checking me in, I mentioned our epic trip to Texas, which included talking about my book presentation and she said “how can I get your book?”

I was thrilled. After I dropped off Billy, I zipped back home and returned with a copy for Brenda! Not only did I make a sale, I gained another reader! She’ll be taking her copy with her on a plane trip next week, and, when she’s finished, will lend it to her daughter. They trade books, like so many readers do.

What a fun, serendipitous experience!

Until next month,

~ Debbie

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NONFICTION: Unmapped: Solo Women Travelers on Bold Journeys of Healing, Resilience, and Self-Discovery Anthology Collected by Lizbeth Meredith

October is Domestic Violence Awareness month, and I was honored to have my essay included in this lovely anthology. Half the profits from royalties will go to the YWCA, whose programs provide housing and crisis support for survivors of domestic violence, as well as youth and family development activities, after-school care, and opportunities for education, health, and leadership.

FICTION: Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson

I continue to read family saga fiction as research for my novel. So much of it is secret based and this fine book is no exception. So many good themes of survival, resilience and perseverance. And regret.

Do you have a favorite family saga book? Reply to this email, or let me know in the comments!

Leave a comment

I’d originally titled this edition “Reaching the Pinnacle” because that’s exactly how I felt at the time I began writing to you all. Since “meeting” fellow author and University of Oklahoma professor Holly Karibo online in early 2021, I dreamed of a joint presentation in Fort Worth: Holly talking about her research into the Fort Worth Narcotic Farm and addiction treatment in the 1940s and 1950s, and me sharing Papa’s experience in that very facility.

When that dream became a reality, waaaay back in March, I was flying higher than a kite! After figuring out expenses for the trip, I decided that taking the dogs and the camper would cost me about the same as flying, staying in a hotel, and boarding. I love planning road trips, almost more than anything else in this world, so that part was super fun - choosing campgrounds and meticulously calculating drive times.

As the date for the trip approached, something popped onto one of my feeds informing me that Covid infections for Texas had reached the “very high” level. No worries, I thought. I’ll just get a booster before I go. No such luck. Because of the timing of my request, I was not eligible for the '24-25 version, and the '25-26 version had not yet been released. However, the pharmacist confidently told me to call him after Labor Day to schedule an appointment, as he expected to have the new batch in by then.

We all know how that turned out.

I’m not yet 65 and have no eligible qualifying conditions, so no vaccine for me prior to the trip.

About a week prior to departure, I developed a significant twitch in my right eye, in direct response, it would appear, to all the things that seemed to be going sideways. Significantly, I learned that a well known dog trainer had lost one of her dogs to a tragic accident involving excessive heat in a vehicle. While my superpowers include planning and problem solving, they can easily be negated by my tendency to catastrophize. I quickly purchased a camper monitor and made arrangements for the boys to be looked after during my presentation. Belt and suspenders, you know.

I also leaned on my study of stoicism as I watched the hummingbirds fattening themselves up before my very eyes. They have no time or bandwidth to worry, they just need to accumulate sufficient fuel for their trip south which is, by the way, a zillion times more challenging than my road trip to the “scary” state of Texas.

* * * * * * * * * *

UPDATE

Success!!!

My only real regret is that there’s not more photo evidence. But I didn’t get sick, my car didn’t break down, I didn’t blow out any tires, the dogs managed beautifully and the camper AC handled the brutal heat like a champ.

Additionally, I spent time with one of my favorite law school friends, enjoyed the Texas flora and fauna and, most significantly, my beloved eighty-eight year old aunt (“Precescious” in the book), flew in from San Diego. I was able to share the presentation with her, as well as spend special one-on-one time.

Unfortunately, Holly didn’t make it. Interestingly, she’d been scheduled to present on her book in February, but got sick and cancelled. That opened up the option for us to do a joint presentation, but alas, it was not to be. Lucky for me, I always have lots and lots to say about my book and I was able to fill the time. I met some wonderful, interesting people, who had their own experiences inside the facility! One of them sent me an article he’d published in 1982. It captured a study he and his co-author did on a sample of former inmates at the facility in the 1970s. Fascinating stuff.

I continue to be overwhelmed at the treasure trove of experiences I’ve accumulated since this book came out two years ago. Next month, I’ll have some more good news to share, so be sure to tune in!

Until next month,

~ Debbie

NONFICTION: Rehab on the Range: A History of Addiction and Incarceration in the American West by Holly Karibo

This is the book Holly was working on when I first contacted her in January of 2021! Her research is meticulous and I’m deferring to the Texas Observer for this nugget: “Fundamentally, this book reveals how the United States--and Texas--has long struggled to understand its own attitudes about drug addiction...These questions were already being asked 100 years ago, and we're still waiting for answers.” --Texas Observer

FICTION: Anxious People by Fredrik Backman

Full disclosure: I started this book and felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the characters’ thoughts and feelings throwing themselves all over the pages! But that’s actually the point of it… Backman creates complicated and very human characters, and this is ultimately a wonderful read!

CONSCIOUSNESS OF GUILT

Chapter Three: When Things First Started Going Sideways

By late September 2011, so much of my job was tedious and predictable. I know that may be hard to believe, but—as a cog in the vast Hennepin County criminal justice system—I spent a lot of time in my head incensed about all the things that were not within my control. Like judge assignments. In that time frame, the leadership of the bench had divided all the judges who were to handle criminal matters into three teams. My office followed suit and divided us violent crimes prosecutors into three teams. My team was dubbed the “serious traffic” team, to match the name of the six or so judges that were our counterparts.

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Have you ever met someone for the first time and, after chatting with them, thought to yourself: that person’s really interesting! I enjoyed the conversation!

I’ve now lived in the country for seven years. I’ve met a lot of nice people. Most of them ask: “aren’t you glad you got out of the city?” I always answer honestly. There are some things I don’t miss, but overall, I loved my time as a Minneapolis resident. The vibrancy and diversity of experience living in an urban environment stimulated me and made me feel good about my community.

But I digress.

A couple weeks ago, I met Mark (not his real name) when he came over to give me a quote to refresh my gravel driveway, which is almost a quarter mile long and full of potholes. I’d guess Mark’s in his early sixties. He grew up on a farm near Sartell and was one of eight children. Or maybe it was ten, I don’t remember. His was a Catholic family and his father seemed harsh, and probably abusive. Their living conditions stunned me. When Mark graduated from high school and asked if he’d have a place on the farm, his dad pointed him down the driveway and told him to take a right or a left.

Mark’s done a lot of interesting things in his life, but he eventually came back to farming. He’s also responsible for the maintenance of a township’s road system. Out here, many township roads are gravel. Unlike Minneapolis, there are no bike lanes and no parking issues.

It’s hard for me to understand why anyone would voluntarily return to the farming life. These days, smaller farmers are struggling with catastrophic losses and profound depression (see my nonfiction book pick below). However, Mark would not be one of them. He was gregarious and cheerful. As our conversation stretched on, he teased me by calling me a “tree-hugger,” a label I readily accepted without taking offense. In that moment, I’m sure we both understood that we are not at all aligned politically. He probably voted for Trump.

I’m sorry, I can’t hate him and I really enjoyed our conversation. Sometime, if I get the chance, I’ll ask him if he believes the 2020 election was stolen. And I still won’t hate him if he says yes. Instead, I’ll take the opportunity to find out why he thinks that.

It’s the absolute least I can do.

To quote George W. Bush: “Too often, we judge other groups by their worst examples - while judging ourselves by our best intentions…To renew our unity, we only need to remember our values. We have never been held together by blood or background. We are bound by things of the spirit – by shared commitments to common ideals.”

We can easily unearth those “things of the spirit” simply by getting out of our bubbles and asking others about themselves. It’s also the art of a good conversation!

If you haven’t yet downloaded the workbook I created to encourage meaningful conversations, you can get it right here!

Get the workbook

In other news, Crossing Fifty-One is the little book that keeps on chugging along - closing in on 100 Amazon ratings and 60 Goodreads Ratings! I’m so grateful! If you haven’t yet rated it, you can do so right here!

Leave a rating!

THIS WRITER’S LIFE

As far as the new project goes, I’m getting close to finishing the first chapter for my agent to provide feedback. I’ve set a goal for myself to finish a first draft by March, 2026. I’ll be looking for beta readers, so if you’re interested, leave a comment or reply to this email!

Leave a comment

Until next month,

~ Debbie

FICTION: Someone Else's Shoes by Jojo Meyes

During a rough summer (weather and otherwise), books can provide a wonderful escape and I’ve decided that Jojo Meyes has become one of my go-to authors. This is a fun read with a lot of action and humor that kept me turning the pages. It’s like an ice cream cone - devoured quickly!

NONFICTION: Dodge County, Incorporated: Big Ag and the Undoing of Rural America by Trom Eayrs

This book is on hold at the library, but in light of my story about Mark, I wanted to recommend it this month, even though I haven’t yet read it. It was a 2025 Midwest Book Award winner and 2025 Minnesota Book Award finalist, so I think those are good endorsements.

From Bookshop: “In a compelling firsthand account of one family’s efforts to stand against corporate takeover, Dodge County, Incorporated tells a story of corporate malfeasance. Starting with the late 1800s, when her Norwegian great-grandfather immigrated to Dodge County, Trom Eayrs tracks the changes to farming over the years that ultimately gave rise to the disembodied corporate control of today’s food system. Trom Eayrs argues that far from being an essential or inextricable part of American life, corporatism can and should be fought and curbed, not only for the sake of land, labor, and water but for democracy itself.”

Chapter Two: There will be media attention

I need to start this story by letting you know right from the jump: I’m not, nor have I ever been, a workaholic. Instead, I embraced the “work to live” philosophy, and by the time I entered my twentieth year in the Hennepin County Attorney’s office, I’d mastered the important skill of compartmentalization, which meant leaving the work at the office and leaving the office exactly at the end of business hours. I stuck to a fairly rigid schedule—catching the 7:36 bus that stopped at my corner, arriving to work by 8:00, and leaving by 4:30 to catch the bus back home.

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Not gonna lie: this is shaping up to be the Worst. Summer. Ever.

I wish you could have seen my garden yesterday morning. All the prior week’s rain had turned it into a giant weed patch. Before the humidity forced an early retreat through the excess of sweat dripping down my face and stinging my eyes, I managed to pull the weeds around my cucumbers, tomatoes and Minnesota midget melons.

You guys, it looked so good! Even though my body was sulking in resentment, I basked in the pride of a job well done.

Fast forward 24 hours. Entering the garden again early this morning to conquer the remaining weeds, I was shocked to see mere remnants where, just twenty-four hours prior, there’d been hope for a decent harvest.

You’ll notice all the repellant granules I rage-dumped over the poor wounded cucumbers, but focus, please, on all the decapitation. #sorrynotsorry

I’ll stop here for all of you who were hoping for some light, inspirational reading and direct you back to my newsletter from a year ago when I was able to capture simple joy from a summer morning.

Sorry, I’m just not feeling it at the moment.

I know all the things I could say:

The obstacle is the way.

This too shall pass.

Everything for a reason.

For some reason, those little words of inspiration feel trite and not at all helpful. I’m also not interested in practicing toxic positivity, which I wrote about here:

It doesn’t help that the world at large feels cruel and quite hopeless. I once read that hope and fear are the same thing, because they are feelings about that which is yet to come. I also read that thinking about the past can make us depressed and thinking about the future can make us anxious, so what’s a person to do?

In my case…take another look the next morning:

🙂

One of my favorite songs is Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield, because it’s such a reminder that we can’t get ahead of our skis, especially when we’re feeling pessimistic.

It’s hard for me to imagine that I’ll get a repeat of my pickle abundance from last year, but maybe I won’t be completely wiped out, either. An added perspective: this is something my farmer neighbors deal with every single summer. And unlike them, my livelihood doesn’t depend on producing gobs of vegetables.

I’ll be okay…I hope you’re okay, too.

Until next month,

~ Debbie

A couple of weeks ago, I participated in an author event up in Park Rapids, MN. Despite the storm the night before, the wind and obscene heat during the event, I made some new delightful author friends and sold EIGHT books!

I also enjoyed a lovely three-month marketing campaign and engaged with new readers. Here’s a link to a radio show I did on KAXE, called “What We’re Reading.”

As I work on my next book, I’m sketching out scenes and am excited to see where this story goes…

If the weather continues in its current abominable iteration (torrential rain followed by heat warnings), I’ll have no choice but to spend most of my days writing. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing!

I know many of you, like me, are Gen Xers. I stumbled upon this podcast on Instagram - kudos to them for good marketing! I’ve listened to a couple of episodes and really like this couple.

NONFICTION: On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons From the Twentieth Century by Timothy Snyder.

I’m always looking for lessons…perhaps it’s why I’m feeling as uneasy as I am right now. This is an important read for our time, regardless of your political leanings. Consolidation of power is never a good thing. Anywhere.

FICTION (HISTORICAL): Mockingbird Summer by Lynda Rutledge

For those of you OG subscribers, you may recall, I recommended West With Giraffes early on. Lynda Rutledge is a great writer, and this book is quite good. It’s a coming-of-age story set in a small, segregated town in TX in the 1960s. As we endure the turmoil of the present day, a look back is sometimes helpful.

Chapter One: Twenty-three days to circle the wagons

Day Zero: Tuesday, August 23, 2011

It was one of those lovely late-summer days in Minnesota that would ease into a pretty tolerable evening: seventy-six degrees, with a light breeze out of the south-southeast. As Katy Perry wrapped up her highly anticipated concert at the X-Cel Energy Center in St. Paul, across the river in Minneapolis, several motorists were calling 911, after unexpectedly encountering the lifeless body of Anousone Phanthavong in the middle of the Riverside Avenue ramp off I-94.

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Cooking bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs on a charcoal grill is no easy feat. Yet my dad did it at least once every summer, even well into his seventies. Here you can see how he’d mastered the art of relaxation while managing the sometimes unpredictability of the charcoal-induced flames. If not turned frequently at the beginning of the cooking process, there was a significant risk of charred skin. Which most people don’t like and, more importantly, isn’t good for you.

The marinade was very 1970s: Wishbone Italian salad dressing and Lawry’s Salt with cracked black pepper. Not mixed together, mind you. He poured the salad dressing over the chicken and then shook the spices on top. I’ve followed this recipe since about 1988, when I got my own apartment in Alexandria, VA and splurged on a little grill that I could take outside and fire up in a permitted space.

There is something about this very specific taste that will always keep Dad close in my heart. When I was young and my grandmother came for dinner, we’d all hold our breath as she took her first bite. The thing with grilled chicken is that very fine line between underdone, done perfectly, and overdone and dried out. Charcoal cooking can be risky and, if I’m honest, I think Dad might have missed the mark a couple of times.

He missed the mark in other ways, too, but most importantly, he never stopped trying. That was one of his superpowers.

I tried my best to capture these superpowers in my book. In the very last chapter, I wrote about Father’s Day 2018. Dad was pretty weak and spent much of his day in a hospital bed provided by the hospice organization we’d been working with. Dad and I had a great visit that day, and I tried my best to let him know that he’d done alright by me. I’d just moved out to my new property and was on the cusp of a new chapter of my own life.

I let him know that I owed all my successes—more specifically, my perseverance—to him. From my perspective, a good father provides guidance and then knows when to let go. A good father keeps judgment close to the vest. A good father celebrates his child’s accomplishments and comforts the failures. My dad did all those things, and I know he’d be proud of me now.

As research for my new WIP (Work In Progress), I’ve been reading Pat Conroy, famous author of Beach Music, The Great Santini, Prince of Tides. and others. I was horrified to learn of the extent of his own father’s abuse, which he exposed in many of his books, and revealed in his biography, My Exaggerated Life.

All the things a father shouldn’t be.

It’s hard to believe Dad’s been gone almost seven years. In a little over a week, Crossing Fifty-One will celebrate its second birthday while currently on a virtual book tour! I’m always grateful to find new readers and opportunities to talk about it. And I’m sending. a huge thanks to all of you who have left a review, requested it from your local bookstore or library, or recommended it to a friend or your book club!

Until next month,

~ Debbie

Next week, the dogs and I are headed with the camper to Park Rapids, MN for the 3rd Street Festival, hosted by Beagle and Wolf Books. After that, we’ll be visiting Itasca State Park! I’m excited to start this year’s camping season!

FICTION: The Borrowed Life of Frederick Fife by Anna Johnston

I loved this book about a down-and-out man who substitutes in for another who lived in a nice assisted living facility, before his unfortunate tumble into a river. In the end, it’s about finding family and mending fences.

NONFICTION: The Reading Promise by Alice Ozma

Confession: it’s on request from my library, so I can’t personally vouch for it, but I wanted to recommend a non-fiction book about fathers and daughters, and if the reviews are any indication, this hits home on lessons learned through reading and how one father created a special ritual for his daughter through books.

A couple of weeks ago, I met with my agent, and we agreed that it wouldn’t behoove either of us to invest any additional time or energy in the project that’s been out on submission for almost nine months and received over twenty rejections. While she expressed surprise that it didn’t sell, I felt relief for reasons I’ll share later.

I’ve also submitted several pieces to the local paper that weren’t published.

While it could be easy to fall into a funk, I like to return to one of my favorite Ryan Holiday quotes:

It’s the effort, not the outcome.

To that end, I’ve decided to share the rejects with my paid subscribers. I’d love your feedback! The first is an essay I submitted to the Minnesota Star Tribune in February, entitled: When Up is Down.

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Last week I had lunch with a former colleague who I’d not seen in several years. Or was it seven years??? Thanks to social media, we’ve maintained that kind of contact where I at least know she’s had a third child and changed jobs. Major milestones for sure.

But how was she really doing? This is what I cared about most­—it’s what I care most about with anyone in my life. I’m constantly reminded of how hard it is to parent and work full time and I appreciated her willingness to be candid with me. Especially since I have zero practical experience with human parenting.

I do, however, have all sorts of experience being the kid of an unhappy mother.

My friend has withstood immense professional pressure over the past few years, and her youngest was born into that stress. At lunch, I was reminded of how much she embodies many of the personality traits of a type A overachieving lawyer. But she also has a really useful feature that many don’t: self awareness. She’s almost singularly focused on what her children might be thinking of her.

My response: “they’ll know if you’re not happy.”

Recently, I’ve attempted some sort of reconciliation with my mother. She’s angry about the book, for which I can’t say I blame her, except her only frame of reference is the assortment of passages my brother decided to read to her. And I’ve made clear that I can’t apologize for writing my truth. I’d like to say that, as a parent, I’d try to understand my child’s point of view, but having not gone through that parenting experience, perhaps it’s something that just isn’t possible.

A couple weeks ago, I played her a recording from the Easter when I was two and a half. She’d sent it to her parents and—as with most of the old family stuff—this little reel-to-reel tape ended up with me. Her voice is almost unrecognizable: high-pitched and, IMHO, obsequious. It reminded me of Jackie Kennedy or maybe Marilyn Monroe. Maybe it’s just the way women spoke in the 1960s. On this recording, I’m playing the role of typical toddler: not always cooperative.

I hit play and watch her face. There’s nothing to watch, as she barely reacts to any of it. What’s clear to me is the lack of connection that she’s commented on for the entire course of my life. I’ve tried to understand it in the context of her efforts to connect with her own mother. In one part of the tape, she tells my grandmother in a very child-like voice, “I think you’d be proud of me.”

She was thirty-two years old when she spoke those words to her own mother.

In the end, I feel like we are both sitting in a fog that has settled over a vast chasm. My heart aches for that little child who was asked to recite what she had for breakfast and what she had for lunch the day before and—most importantly—to thank her grandparents repeatedly for all the goodies in the Easter box.

I’ve learned over the past five years or so, that part of filling that chasm and finding my own peace is to practice the kind of mother love I never received. So I perform a version of parenting with the dogs. And with myself. When I find myself getting aggravated, I actually speak to the dogs and let them know that I’m feeling aggravated and that I’m sorry if I raised my voice at them. I forgive myself for my impatience, my irritability, my excessive noisiness.

I also praise myself for my dependability, loyalty, and kindness. It’s something my dad always did with me, that I now must continue to do for myself.

I’m planning a wonderful Mother’s Day with my inner child and the dogs. The weather looks to be spectacular, so I hope to spend much of the day outside, working in the garden. When the heat becomes intolerable, I’ll make my way to the screened porch with one of my library books. If I’m lucky, there will be a light breeze. The dogs will keep an eye out for intruders.

If you’re lucky enough to have a stable, happy relationship with your mother or your own children, CHERISH IT! I wish you a very happy Mothers Day! If you’re like me, take the day to be your own best mother.

Until next month,

~ Debbie

FICTION: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

I’m sharing my mother’s copy that she handed down to me, including putting the name I didn’t like in the inside. I loved this book, as I could totally relate to Jo! Marmee was the kind mother I think we’d all adore.

NONFICTION: The Emotionally Absent Mother: How to Recognize and Heal the Invisible Effects of Childhood Emotional Neglect by Jasmin Lee Cori, MS, LPG

I picked up this book last month and found much that I could relate to. “Emotionally absent” is a difficult phenomenon to describe and, unlike physical abuse, can be challenging to understand, because of its nuance. For anyone who has struggled to feel understood by their mother, this book is for you!

Monica Lewinsky has spent decades recovering from the Clinton scandal and building herself back up in the aftermath. Her latest project, this podcast, is inspiring. I’ve now listened to her interviews with Kara Swisher and Chelsea Handler and found them to be interesting and revealing!