The Keystone: A Manifesto for a Novel

Why Write a Novel?

One of my earliest memories is learning what a screwdriver was. I took that newfound knowledge and applied it to my mom’s camera.

As I took each part off, I laid it neatly on the table. When the camera was finally reduced to pieces, I began putting it back together.

Then I hit a snag: the shutter spring. It was a tiny torsion spring, almost hair-fine, that had to be bent and hooked into a minuscule hole. It kept slipping from my stubby toddler fingers and pinging across the room. I don’t know how long I spent chasing that spring, but it was longer than it took to take the whole camera apart.

That’s what I was doing when my mom caught me. She snatched the camera body away. “You can’t fix that—it’s a precision instrument!”

Maybe so. But even then, I could see that something complicated could still be made of parts that, individually, fit together in simple ways. That lesson stuck with me. Practically everything I’ve owned since has been taken apart at least once so I could see how it worked.

That’s why I wrote a novel. It wasn’t about fame or fortune—I wanted to understand what makes the things tick. My first novel was an unfixable mess, but interesting. It showed potential, and people I shared it with were intrigued. So I wrote a second, The Keystone, and sent it to a big writing contest, where it landed somewhere around the top hundred out of ten thousand entries.

Still not publishable. But taking it apart and putting it back together—that was the real lesson. I learned something about how novels work, and then I set it aside, satisfied.

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Why Now?

I’m retired now, after a career spent applying my stubbornly analytical streak to public-interest work—field research, environmental education, public health. But I look at the public sphere today and I’m dismayed. It’s not just the usual cracks in civility—it’s the bedrock itself. The rule of law, even science, seems to be under siege.

And the secret sauce on this shit sandwich is hopelessness. Public discourse itself has been turned against us; the more we try to engage, the more powerless we feel.

I’m retired, yes, but I’m not done. I read and argue online like everyone else, but that’s a poisoned chalice. I show up at marches—that’s better—but I wanted to put my oddball “camera-disassembly” skills to work again.

Then I remembered The Keystone. It’s a farce: a love letter to Hollywood screwball comedy and a send-up of overwrought space opera. I meant it to make people laugh—and that’s exactly what we need right now.

Now, where’d I put that box of torsion springs...

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The Keystone Manifesto

Sometimes following the news makes you feel powerless. We scroll, we argue, we obsess, but we only feel worse.

In times like these, it’s nice to lose ourselves in an adventure story. That isn’t turning your back on the world—it’s catching your breath. For a little while, we can be someone who has the power and clarity we wish we had.

But could a story do more? After all, we’re not flawless heroes or fearless space captains. So what can pretending to be one do for us after we put the book down and face the news again?

What if a story showed us how the hero got that way—pulled back the curtain and gave us a peek at the messy process by which the heroic sausage gets made?

This is the story of a space opera hero who’s only halfway there. Kate MacClaine can outwit pirates, fly her way out of a collapsing wormhole, and tell you, with painfully accurate precision, what makes you a dangerous incompetent. But she’s unfinished as a human being: brilliant, abrasive, lonely, and yet full of untapped potential. Her greatest challenge isn’t surviving the stars—it’s learning to connect with others and see her own worth.

If you’ve ever looked at the chaos around you and thought, “We ought to fix that”—and then realized that “we” has to start with you—then this is a story for you.

Welcome aboard.

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So There You Have It

Against the rising darkness, I’ve chosen to light a candle. Odds are it flickers out before many people see it.

But it’s something I can do.

I hope you get to read The Keystone soon—and that it puts a smile on your face.

How to Read The Keystone

The Keystone will be available in Amazon as an ebook in December 2025 or January 2026.  Watch this space for news.