Three months of MINOR PROPHETS, out in the wild
Book tours, reviews, and returning to the privacy of working on a new novel
It’s been three months since my novel MINOR PROPHETS was released into the world, readers; I’m so grateful for all the people who have bought it in bookstores, requested it in their libraries, and sent me photos of its arrival on their doorsteps. Indie novels spread largely due to word of mouth, so every time you share a little news about the book, it helps it reach another reader. Thank you!
I’m honored that the novel has received some warm praise from The New York Times Book Review, Kirkus, and others. The New York Times called it “Generous and unblinking...giv[ing] thoughtful voice to the power of doctrine." and Kirkus said “Hurley probes the complexities of religious extremism, fraught family relationships, and the legacies of abuse in her subtle but engrossing second novel.” It’s been wonderful seeing reviews probing deeply into the novel and finding worthy elements in the story. It’s been a long journey seeing this novel into the world, and now that readers are reporting back, I feel somewhat stunned to see that the strange, fragmented, wild apocalyptic story I’ve been trying to write is moving to readers.
I also had the honor to write an essay for Lit Hub about my time shuttling between NYC and Boston while my mother was dying, and an essay for Poets and Writers about how Gary Paulsen's novel Hatchet was a powerful inspiration for MINOR PROPHETS. Most recently I was interviewed on The Drunken Odyssey podcast about cults, writing, and my novel-writing process.
A book tour is a strange adventure; it’s a chance to travel through cities and towns where you’ve made friends, seeing old acquaintances come out of the woodwork, chatting with fellow writers you admire. It’s also a chance to eat great donuts and live in hotel rooms and drive rain-soaked highways in the dead of night. I made it a family affair this time and traveled with my husband and daughter for much of it, road-tripping from Ann Arbor, Michigan, to Chicago, to Brooklyn, New York, to Princeton, New Jersey, and finally to my hometown of Boston. At every event, I got to sign copies of my book, stamp them with my special stamp, and talk with some incredible writers about process, craft, and cults.
Eventually, the traveling stops, the attention wanes, and it’s time to return to why we become writers in the first place: that quiet, very private relationship between us and the page. After a little vacation time to de-compress, I headed off to a five-day writing retreat, the likes of which I haven’t been able to do since before the pandemic, and I focused on writing my new novel. It’s still in pieces, but the quiet time and space allowed me to hold the whole story in my head and examine it, turning it this way and that way, studying its edges, its rough parts, the parts that are still missing. There’s still much work to be done, but it felt almost sacred to be still and quiet, shaping a new story again.
What does it feel like for you, when you get the time to sit alone with your words and the story you’re making?
Your exclusive writing exercise:
• Try writing an entire short story in just one paragraph, with each sentence covering one important plot point in the story. With this microcosm of a story, you can plan all the major moves; then proceed to flesh out each sentence, turning each one into a scene.
I’m currently reading and loving:
I Have Some Questions for You by Rebecca Makkai.