Sangay Glass's Blog - Posts Tagged "eco-thriller"

We often think of hope as loud. As trumpets blaring in the final act, or a grand speech delivered just in time.

But in truth, hope is subtle. It's the flicker before the flame, the breath before the leap. And in fiction, it's the one element that can shift an entire narrative with a single line, a glance, or a remembered scent.

Hope is a strange creature. It doesn’t promise success. It doesn’t guarantee a happy ending. But it tells us to keep going. It says, maybe. And sometimes, maybe is enough.

As writers, we often fixate on the stakes—what's to be lost, who gets hurt, where it all goes wrong. But the inverse is equally powerful: what might still be saved.

Who might still be forgiven. What might grow in scorched ground. That slim possibility keeps characters (and readers) moving forward.

Even in the darkest stories, a single flicker of hope—a small gesture, an unexpected kindness, the feel of sun on your face after days of rain—can recalibrate everything. It gives the pain purpose. It makes the fall matter.

And when we remove hope entirely? The story stagnates. It sinks. Because without hope, there’s no reason to turn the page.

Hope isn’t flashy. It’s the softest tool in the kit. But wielded well, it hits the hardest.

Sometimes it shows up as a half-smile. Sometimes, it’s a woman like my character, Jess Taylor, wrapping herself in an old she-wolf pelt. Remembering who she is, and what she still has left to give.

If there’s one lesson I keep learning as a writer, it’s this: Never underestimate the power of hope. Even the smallest drop can change everything.

We Were Meant to Be Wolves an eco-thriller with bite and a little bit of hope is coming this summer.

The Starling bird is Salem. I found her as a hatchling. I had no hope she'd live. But she just passed this year after twenty years of bring us joy.

Not that long ago—just over a century—these woods were stripped bare. The trees here built cities like New York, Albany, and Buffalo. What’s wilderness now was once cleared to the stone. Only the least accessible places stayed untouched. The rest? Clearcut, churned, and eroded to bedrock.

When the country began waking up to the value of wild spaces—when science and health movements pushed for cleaner air, protected land, and something like ecological harmony—the Adirondacks were a wreck. But people came anyway, drawn by the scars and the silence.

Early hikers followed rock. Trails formed not by design but by necessity—stone ridgelines, logging scars, deer paths. Over time, dirt settled. Trees returned. But with bedrock so close to the surface, their roots had no choice but to grow outward—across trails, over rock, twisted like veins.

That’s why Adirondack trails are brutal. No switchbacks. No smoothing for comfort. Just roots, stone, and mud that shift beneath your boots. Hiking here isn’t easy. But it’s honest.

This place rebuilt itself with time and breath. And if you pay attention, the trails will show you exactly what that kind of recovery looks like.

You're not walking a trail. You're walking through recovery.

- Jess Taylor We Were Meant to be Wolves, an Adirondack eco-thriller coming this summer.

That tree growing out of stone? The fox shivering through a snowstorm?

They don’t need our sympathy.

They’re not suffering. They’re adapting. Thriving, even.

Life out here isn’t a guarantee. It’s a negotiation. A battle. A gift you earn with every breath.

No one out here expects to be saved.

But if you’re lucky, you learn to respect the will it takes to keep going.

The struggle. The silence. The glory of staying alive.
That’s not weakness. That’s the wild.

Jess Taylor, We Were Meant to Be Wolves, an eco-thriller coming this summer.

From Jess’s Journal: Wolves with Bows

People love to slap human emotions onto wild animals.

Wolves get it the worst. One minute they’re soulmates howling at the moon. The next, they’re bloodthirsty demons dragging children into the dark.

Pick a fairy tale. Either way, they’re not allowed to just be wolves.

Here’s the thing; the stories somewhat help.

The cute wolf cub with the tragic eyes gets donations. The noble pack leader who sacrifices himself for the good of the group? He gets a documentary. And maybe, just maybe, someone votes to protect their habitat.

But there’s a cost.

When we make wolves too human, we stop seeing what they are. They don’t live by morals. They don’t have revenge plots. They’re not here to teach us life lessons. They’re just trying to survive, like they’ve always done, through teeth, timing, and terrain.

And when they get too familiar, people start expecting them to behave.

To stay where they’re told.
To not eat the calf someone left unguarded.
To act grateful for being allowed to exist.

Wolves don’t do gratitude. They do balance.
And they’re damn good at it, if we’d just get out of the way.

So yeah, anthropomorphism gets people to care.
But if we’re not careful, it also gets wolves killed.

Let them be wolves.

Want to know what happens when science and story collide in the woods? Read We Were Meant to Be Wolves. Coming July 25th! Follow me for updates and free books.