Anna Karenina. Hamlet. Pride and Prejudice. These texts are part of a well-established cannon; not reading them (or liking them) feels akin to committing a literary misdemeanor. But I’ll admit it: Hamlet… doesn’t really do it for me. Ophelia doesn’t get enough time on stage and the plot thickens to tapioca-pudding levels in later acts. That’s why I love adaptations. When the original story feels inaccessible, a good modern adaptation brings the central themes and conflicts into twenty-first century life.

I’ve always been a voracious reader, but now that I’m about to have a debut novel published, I see books as an author’s creation rather than just a story I consume, and enjoy, and feel things about. I know more about the work and hardship that most likely happened for the book to be in my hands. For me to have even heard of it in the first place now feels like a small miracle because so many good books aren’t widely known, and thus aren’t read.

In the early 1970s my brother-in-law, Mark, published a pornographic novel. No one I knew had read it, except my sister. She said that Mark’s book contained graphic sex every few pages because an agent told him that sex sells. It didn’t for Mark. At a family gathering shortly after the publication, a small group of us surrounded the proud new author. My devoutly religious mother was curious about Mark’s creative process.

There’s a cat lady in my novella, Great Expectations. She conforms to many aspects of the stereotype: she’s a misanthrope who lives alone with several felines. But Amanda Carey is so much more than a cat-lady. She’s smart and more sensitive than she seems; she is aware of the ridiculousness of her cat-situation (and has been known to curse at her cats and even handle them un-gently); and, unfortunately, she’s still reeling from some acutely painful past experiences. She’s a survivor and a fighter. Part of her embrace of cats (and her estrangement from other humans) is a response to trauma.

Imagine this scenario: You’re walking down the street on a warm spring day, enjoying the shop windows full of artfully displayed wares. People smile and nod. Some wave. Some pause to admire you as you pass them by. One or two even whistle in appreciation.