Jennifer Vido: What’s the inspiration behind THE WISHING BRIDGE? Viola Shipman: A Zillow notification! Pardon the long story, but every novel I write is inspired by a deeply personal memory. THE WISHING BRIDGE is no different. I actually received a Zillow notification that my childhood home was for sale. I looked at the listing, and I saw the new photos of it. We’d sold it years before after my mother passed away and my father fell ill, but seeing the photos again sent me into a time warp, especially of the trees we planted when I was young. Growing up, I used to watch a Charlie Brown Christmas (which premiered, btw, the year I was born) while sitting in my grandma’s lap eating frosted Santa cookies. My grandma’s home was the epicenter – the North Pole – of my life growing up at the holidays. She lived in a tiny, one-story cottage with a huge wraparound porch that seemed to be a hundred degrees in the living room before a fire was started and a 120 degrees in her kitchen before the oven was lit.  Every inch of her home was decorated: Blow moulds of Santa, snowmen and Rudolph –…

Jennifer Vido: What inspired your new release, The Edge of Summer? Viola Shipman: Every novel I write is a piece of my heart and inspired by a deeply personal story. The Edge of Summer is no exception: It’s inspired by my grandma’s buttons and button jars (which I still have), her love of sewing and her love of me. It’s a tribute to the sacrifices of our mothers and grandmothers. My working poor Ozarks grandma, Viola Shipman (my pen name), stitched overalls at a local factory until she couldn’t stand straight. But even after sewing all day for work, nothing brought her more joy than taking a seat at her Singer. My grandma was like a ballerina at her Singer, her body in motion and in tune with the machine. It was a gorgeous dance to watch. She was also the first “artist” I ever knew, though she would blush at the mere utterance of such a fancy word. The Edge of Summer is inspired by these memories. It’s also inspired by the thoughts that spun in my head as I watched her sew, or when she would look up at me and smile, especially as I grew older: What…

As soon as I round the bend from Chicago to Michigan, I see a wall of clouds over Lake Michigan. Half of the sky is bright blue, the other half is steel gray, as if Mother Nature has hung a banner announcing, Nightmare Ahead! Lake-effect snow. My hands immediately tighten around the wheel. I see a Pure Michigan billboard, touting the beauty and landmarks of the state, and laugh. Lake-effect snow is Pure Michigan, I think, my former ad exec coming out, but I don’t see any billboards touting that. Without warning, the world goes from clear skies to total blizzard. I slow the car, tighten my grip even more and turn on my headlights. Lake-effect snow is not just snow, it’s as if the winter skies have opened up and are weeping centuries of frozen tears upon the earth. Within moments, the highway is covered and slick, and trucks and cars are moving at a snail’s pace. My heart is thumping like a jackhammer, and I immediately lament my life change. How could I have forgotten that winter lasts longer than summer, fall and spring in Michigan? Combined! What have I done? My earnings season will be shorter than…