L.P. Hartley opened his novel The Go-Between with this famous phrase: "The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there." Philodemus's stories bring a town to life, its daily round of activities, the things and places that were important to the people living there, the stories they told, the laughter they shared.

The first colonists didn't see their land-grab as merely taking what they wanted; they too had a dream, and wanted it to come to fruition here.

So: imagine it. Imagine that night before, the butterflies in your stomach, the false bravado you put on for your friends, the last thoughts and memories and regrets that will all be swept up into apparent uselessness when you set out the next morning.

And yet in the midst of all this fear, all this cynicism, all this despair, I am still reaching to find hope. Hope that small, distant voices can be heard. Hope that kindness and generosity of spirit are not only possible, but on the rise. Hope that the good of the community will prevail over the greed of individuals. Hope that violence will not forever engender more violence. I have to reach for hope, because without hope, there is only despair. And to despair is to die.

And I know some people think that everything happens for a reason, that there are no coincidences, that destiny won’t be denied. Once fate has you in its sights, it’s all over.

 As women, we understand what it feels like to live with fear humming constantly in the background of our lives.

Sometimes the characters we create are able to carry off a part of us we don’t generally share with others.

Clearing the clutter helps us understand what is and isn't important, whether it's objects in our homes or components of our stories.