Cheryl Grey Bostrom (’80 MA English) independently published her best-selling award-winner Sugar Birds in 2021. Tyndale House re-released it in 2023 and has now published Leaning on Air, a standalone sequel set on the Palouse.
Here, Washington State Magazine catches up with Bostrom about prairie restoration, her writing process, and more.
Talk about seeing the Palouse for the first time.
A Port Angeles girl, I rarely ventured farther than the Olympic Peninsula before college. But in September 1975 I set off cross-state in my 1966 Impala to visit my boyfriend, newly enrolled in WSU’s Veterinary College. Two things happened that weekend: the boyfriend asked me to marry him, and the Palouse captured me. The first—Blake’s proposal—caught me happily by surprise. But, the second—the Palouse’s effect on me—flat-out stunned me. The play of light on those tiered, grassy hills? The shadows on pines in those wildflower draws? The dizzying canyons along the Snake? I’d never met features like these. Vast and magnificent, intimate and winsome, the Palouse drew me like a suitor. As a photographer, nature-lover, and avid birder, I was astounded, captivated—and I fell headlong into love.
What brought you to the Palouse?
Since Blake was in vet school, we moved to Colfax after we married in 1976. I taught English and drama at Colfax High School to kids only a few years younger than I. Farmers’ kids, mostly. Friendships with them and their parents attached us all the more deeply to the area. Once we had WSU graduate degrees under our belts and moved to the west side for jobs, the Palouse continued to sing to us. We’ve returned annually to see those now lifelong friends, to visit the church we attended as newlyweds, and to hunt the fields and canyons—my husband with dogs, I with my camera.
Palouse prairie restoration is a sub-theme in your newest book. What inspired that plotline?
From the rotation of seasons to the lifespan of a cell, nature follows macro and micro arcs of life, death, and renewal. Since that pattern plays out in my novels as well, it made sense for me to pair the unusual love story of University of Idaho hawk-researcher Celia and WSU equine surgeon Burnaby with the fecundity, destruction, and restoration of both farmland and wild Palouse prairie. I’ve been told that the characters and Palouse setting in Leaning on Air illustrate one another, and that, together, they create a synergy of emotion and insight about both. Stewardship of the land is also very important to me. Through decades of pickup rides and hikes with farmers and conservationists, I’ve observed firsthand the restoration of Palouse land and wildlife in response to human intervention and/or protection. Thrilled and inspired by that healing, I wanted to introduce the theme to readers at an equally visceral level, one that would engage them with the wonder and abundance, as well as the fragility and responsiveness, of this remarkable landscape—both tilled and wild. Farmland and native prairie coexist and thrive in Leaning on Air, but not without courageous attention from those charged with their care. As readers finish this story, I hope they find themselves welling with similar love for the land.
Which professors stand out to you from your time at Washington State University?
Geoff Gamble quickly comes to mind. His memorable linguistics course opened new pathways of thinking about culture and language for me and, as a member of my thesis committee, he propelled me with his observations and encouragement.
What kinds of writing have you done besides your two recent novels?
I’ve written poetry since childhood and short-form essays, devotionals, and columns for a variety of publications since my twenties. In my forties, I wrote two non-fiction books published by Thomas Nelson and Jossey-Bass. I was in my sixties before I decided to quit dancing around the edges of fiction-writing and dive in, learning all I could. One early sketch led to my first two novels: Sugar Birds, then Leaning on Air. Tyndale has slated novel number three—working title: River Hoarder—for a May 2025 release, and I’m beginning to shape number four. Currently, I also submit a quarterly photo-essay for my column in the American Scientific Affiliation’s God and Nature Magazine.
What can you say about your next book?
Another upmarket nature novel and love story, River Hoarder is set in the Elwha Valley on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. The narrative follows fisheries biologist Hildy through her enslavement to, and eventual freedom from, a generational stronghold illustrated by two century-old dams that block salmon passage on the Elwha River. As the dams fall and the river finds it course again, so does Hildy.
Talk about your genre of fiction.
Literary. Women’s. Upmarket. Book club. Cross-market. Contemporary. Nature. My fiction’s been tagged with all of those labels. I think upmarket fiction—a synthesis of literary and general fiction—best describes my books. When readers say they loved the plot and couldn’t put it down, that’s the stuff of general fiction. When they say they re-read the story to savor the language, layers, and characterization, they’re talking about literary elements. And when spiritual themes propel Christians and non-Christians alike into lively, thought-provoking discussions about faith and the nature of God, you know they’re engaging my cross-market work.
Talk more about Leaning on Air.
Ornithologist Celia Burke is passionate and adrift, and she yearns for affection. Veterinary surgeon Burnaby Hayes is autistic and principled, and Celia’s touch makes his skin crawl. Even so, they elope on a whim and plunge into an unusual love story that carries them for years. Then tragedy strikes while Celia hunts for the nest of a research hawk near the Snake River. Reeling with grief, she’s certain Burnaby won’t understand her anguish or forgive the choice that initiated it. She flees to kindness at a remote Palouse farm, where a wild prairie and an alluring neighbor convince her to start over. But when unexplained accidents, cryptic sketches, and the endangered lives of those she loves make her doubt her decision, only a red-tailed hawk, a mute little boy, and the husband she can’t touch can compel her to examine her past and reconsider her future. I think of it as a soaring tale of wonder, loss, and restoration.
What takeaways do you hope readers will extract from the story?
There’s a few: new thoughts on loving well through difficult circumstances, the immeasurable value of community, the capability of hearts and land to heal—and how we can facilitate both, and the way the natural world reveals correlations between science, faith, and human relationships.
What is your writing process?
I’m an early riser, so I start at the crack of dawn and write every day of the week, though I only set word count goals for six of them. That daily goal can range from 300 words (when we’re camping) to 1,500, but my sweet spot is right around 600. When I begin a novel, I first choose my setting, which has to be a rural or wild Pacific Northwest location I’ll enjoy inhabiting for the next year or so. Then I plant flawed protagonists I’ve just met in that landscape, ask them what they want or need most, and have them tell me what reaching those destinations will look like when they arrive. Once they head off in their chosen directions, I up the ante with physical, emotional, and spiritual hurdles that each responds to in different and often unexpected ways. Before long, those characters take charge. When they do, I write everything down—and I get to know them really, really well. I write everywhere. In the car or hammock, at the kitchen counter, my desk, or tables. I’m usually on my laptop, but sometimes I scribble on a legal pad. If I’m hunting emotional resonance, I may write to music matching the mood I’m hoping for. I edit as I go, sometimes after a line or two, sometimes after a paragraph or an entire scene. To tune nuance and pacing and dialogue, I read everything aloud multiple times. If my process were drawn in a line, it would resemble a very long Slinky.
Why focus on Celia in Leaning on Air? And do you see yourself in her?
I believe Celia is the book’s most accessible character to my readers, most of whom are women with a measure of life experience. Though her marriage to autistic Burnaby is certainly unique, much about her search for identity, meaning, and love will resonate with readers, especially those in long-term relationships. As she strives to make sense of her heartbreaks, she fumbles often, hurting others as she learns both to give and receive the love that will heal her. The choices she makes along the way define her path. While Celia’s a composite drawn from my life and imagination and from those I’ve known, she and I share personality traits and a love of birds. Her changing perspective and growth track resembles mine, too. And for both of us, love is the catalyst to growth.
Read a review of Leaning on Air in the Fall 2024 issue.