Some people think I made up The Slithering Mist. Yes, I wrote the text and created the title and the tumblers and the cubby. I asked Tina Modugno to illustrate the book (which she did, beautifully). But I didn’t fully invent the story, because it was already real.
It came to life in 2005, when Hurricane Katrina wrecked the levees in New Orleans and wiped out much of the city and neighboring areas. The first draft of The Slithering Mist described that tragedy and its aftermath. Other natural disasters followed, nationwide and worldwide: wildfires, tornadoes, mudslides, tsunamis, earthquakes, new hurricanes, new floods. Most recently, here in East Tennessee, forest fires ravaged the Smoky Mountain town of Gatlinburg.
In every natural calamity, children end up homeless and afraid. Emergency aid pours in, of course. Families, neighborhoods, and towns scramble to survive and recover, aided by helpers near and far. The wrenching emotional toll usually gets tackled head-on. Eventually life inches forward again, at least for those who haven’t lost people they love.
But children still fear. If they’ve not experienced disaster, they wonder: Could it happen? If they’re immersed in disaster, they wonder: How long will it last? Will their family be safe? Will they have food, a bed? Will they, the children, be alone?
The Slithering Mist, a picture book fantasy, asks these kinds of questions, because they’re the questions children ask. The book is meant to reassure kids that the effects of such catastrophes do not last forever.
In hopes of soothing the fears of someone somewhere, I’ve occasionally mailed copies of The Slithering Mist to schools, emergency shelters, and organizations that serve traumatized children. I have no idea if any of the recipients has even read the book, let alone found it useful. Donating books without prior arrangement is like flinging a worm up in the air and hoping a migrating bird will gulp it down midflight.
But the next natural disaster will come, sooner or later. Whatever forms it takes, children will suffer. Children will be afraid. Children will need to know they’re not alone. So I’ll mail out more copies of The Slithering Mist, in case one of those children might feel better after reading it.
It came to life in 2005, when Hurricane Katrina wrecked the levees in New Orleans and wiped out much of the city and neighboring areas. The first draft of The Slithering Mist described that tragedy and its aftermath. Other natural disasters followed, nationwide and worldwide: wildfires, tornadoes, mudslides, tsunamis, earthquakes, new hurricanes, new floods. Most recently, here in East Tennessee, forest fires ravaged the Smoky Mountain town of Gatlinburg.
In every natural calamity, children end up homeless and afraid. Emergency aid pours in, of course. Families, neighborhoods, and towns scramble to survive and recover, aided by helpers near and far. The wrenching emotional toll usually gets tackled head-on. Eventually life inches forward again, at least for those who haven’t lost people they love.
But children still fear. If they’ve not experienced disaster, they wonder: Could it happen? If they’re immersed in disaster, they wonder: How long will it last? Will their family be safe? Will they have food, a bed? Will they, the children, be alone?
The Slithering Mist, a picture book fantasy, asks these kinds of questions, because they’re the questions children ask. The book is meant to reassure kids that the effects of such catastrophes do not last forever.
In hopes of soothing the fears of someone somewhere, I’ve occasionally mailed copies of The Slithering Mist to schools, emergency shelters, and organizations that serve traumatized children. I have no idea if any of the recipients has even read the book, let alone found it useful. Donating books without prior arrangement is like flinging a worm up in the air and hoping a migrating bird will gulp it down midflight.
But the next natural disaster will come, sooner or later. Whatever forms it takes, children will suffer. Children will be afraid. Children will need to know they’re not alone. So I’ll mail out more copies of The Slithering Mist, in case one of those children might feel better after reading it.
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