Home » Author Interviewing Characters Series: Cheryl Grey Bostrom

Author Interviewing Characters Series: Cheryl Grey Bostrom

August 3, 2021 | By Women Writers Women Books | Reply More

Authors Interviewing Characters Series

Author Cheryl Grey Bostrom interviews protagonist Celia Burke from Sugar Birds

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“Bostrom’s prose is propulsive and detailed . . . a true page-turner all the way to the end. An engrossing tale of survival and redemption in the Pacific Northwest .”
―KIRKUS REVIEWS

“Suspenseful. Lyrical. Redemptive. Bostrom’s voice reminds me of Delia Owens’ Where the Crawdads Sing and Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.”
―TARYN R. HUTCHISON, award-winning author of One Degree of Freedom

““Sugar Birds is in a class by itself . . .Bostrom is a writer of astonishing originality and talent.”
―MAGGIE WALLEM ROWE, award-winning author of This Life We Share

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Sugar Birds: the harrowing, tender story of young Aggie, who lights a terrible fire and hides in a Pacific Northwest forest, evading those who must bring her home before wilderness claims them all.

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Northwest Washington State, 1985

For years, Harris Hayes has taught his daughter, Aggie, the ways of the northern woods, where she sketches the nests of wild birds as an antidote to sadness. Then her depressed, unpredictable mother forbids her to climb the trees that give her sanctuary and comfort. Angry, ten-year-old Aggie accidentally lights a tragic fire and flees downriver. She lands her boat near untamed forest, then hides among the trees and creatures she believes are her only friends—determined to remain undiscovered.

A search party gathers hours after Celia, fresh off the plane from Houston, arrives at her grandmother’s nearby farm. Hurting from her parents’ breakup, she also plans to run. But when she joins the hunt for Aggie, she meets two irresistible young men who compel her to stay. One is autistic; the other, dangerous.

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Two years after the fire, Sugar Birds author Cheryl Grey Bostrom bumps into protagonist Celia near the Artist Point trailhead in the North Cascades—the same trail Cabot and Celia hiked before . . . well . . . before everything happened between them.

Bostrom: Celia! You’re back! Of all the places to meet you . . .

Celia: [Laughing, embraces Bostrom] Yeah, you would remember. That’s where Cabot and I . . . [points up the trail] Forget it. Too nice a day to dredge him up.

Bostrom: I figured you’d be stuck in Texas this summer.

Celia: Staying with Gram for a month. Helping her sample wetlands near the border. [Waves toward Canada] She’s convinced lead pellet ingestion from a new source caused that acute waterfowl die-off in March. And we’re rehabbing a northern harrier and raising raccoon kits some girl brought over in a laundry basket. Dèjá vu, right? First week of August I fly home, pack my Jeep, and head for College Station.

Bostrom: So you’re an Aggie now, huh?

Celia: Ironic, right?

Bostrom: Aggie. You’ll never forget her.

Celia: How could I? I can’t go in the woods without imagining her huddled in tree crotches, eighty feet up. I half expect her to crawl out of every burrow I pass when I’m hiking. Two years later, and I still have this otherworldly image of her etched in my brain. Ethereal, almost. Dirty as she was when I finally laid eyes on her, I picture her a gauzy waif blowing through the canopy.

Bostrom: [Nods thoughtfully] See Burnaby yet?

Celia: He’s why I’m here. He sent my round-trip ticket in a graduation card with “Starlings are ready,” in that mysterious script of his. “Sincerely, Burnaby,” he signed it. Sincerely! How could I not fly to Washington? He wanted to hike with me today, but he’s milking for Loomis. Getting in all the hours he can before he heads back to MIT next month, though he doesn’t have to. Doesn’t have to work so hard, I mean. He got a full ride, you know?

Bostrom: Mender told me. Glad to hear you’ve stayed in touch.

Celia: Sometimes I think it’s more than staying in touch . . . that we’re more . . . but I can’t tell. He’s like nobody I’ve ever met. Gotten under my skin, you know? Writes me the first Saturday of every month. Magical stuff about biochemistry, quantum physics, birds, God. I’ve been dying to talk to you about him. Who is he? Inside, I mean.

Bostrom: Who do you think he is?

Celia: Well, not what I thought when I first met him. I knew nothing about the spectrum back then. Just figured the guy was odd. Wouldn’t make eye contact. Flinched when I touched his shoulder. That nervous cheek of his jumped like his diction did. Morse code. Staccato. And skinny? Whooee. Stick man. Hard to believe he’s the same guy.

What a difference now. A very fine difference.

Bostrom: You didn’t look too far beneath the surface in those days.

Celia: Easy there, author girl. To my credit, Burnaby and I connected over math the first hours of that search for Aggie, remember? Too bad all Cabot’s gorgeousness distracted me. Ever heard of narcissists? A friend from the strawberry field called him one. Called Cabot one, not Burnaby.

Bostrom: You’re wandering, Celia. If I rephrase your earlier question, I believe you’re asking me about Burnaby’s personality, his character, his capability to love. Stuff that spectrum eccentricities can mask.

Celia: Yeah. Burn’s so hard to read. So, I tell myself stories about him. Assume motives behind the little things he writes or does or says when that poker face of his won’t let me in. Helps that his looks are serving him so well, but oh, his mind. His kindness. Though he’s still socially awkward, I’ve almost talked myself into believing he doesn’t have a downside.

Bostrom: Why?

Celia: Because what I do see in him takes my breath and hides it somewhere.

Bostrom: Celia. Celia. We’re talking about a human here. You, of all people, know how we fail each other. You’re inflating an idealized bubble.

Celia: So what do I need to know about him? What are you keeping from me?

Bostrom: Nothing you’ll hear. Get to know him. Get to know yourself. Figure out why you’re concocting perfection.

Celia: You could be wrong, you know. Maybe he’s one in a million?

Bostrom: Of course he is. But allow him his dimensions, Celia. Allow yourself yours.

Celia: Forget I asked.

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For most of her life, Pacific Northwest naturalist, photographer, and award-winning author Cheryl Grey Bostrom, MA, has lived in the rural and wild lands that infuse her writing. Her work has appeared in a variety of publications, including the American Scientific Affiliation’s God and Nature Magazine, for which she’s a regular photo essayist. A member of the Redbud Writers Guild, she has also authored two non-fiction books. This is her first novel. She currently resides near Lynden, WA.