Snow, Light, and Darkness: The Symbolic Threads You May Have Missed

A few weeks ago, I posted about Chapter 17 and "I Am a Rock.“ In it, I talked about Autumn being stuck inside where conversations with her mother revealed more about her inherited family history and how certain patterns were becoming clear to her.

In that post, I almost included a parenthetical note where a mention of snow was made: (Is there a metaphor in mentions of snow carried throughout the book? Perhaps…), but I decided to cut it so as not to interrupt the flow with a fourth wall break.

I've been thinking about it ever since though, because yes. There absolutely is, and it was fully intentional from the second line of the prologue; the first we hear of Autumn’s voice:

“I heard the phone ringing as I stood on our front porch, fumbling with my keys and knocking the snow from my boots.”

It’s not the most attention-grabbing of introductions, but there’s meaning in it—you just have to be invested enough to find out what it is.

Judging Books by Their Covers

While I’m sure there are scores of professional agents and editors who would chide me for an opening that lacks pizzazz enough to grab readers, that wasn’t my goal when I wrote this book. I wanted to tell a story about the kind of girl who’s flawed, imperfect, messy, and above all, authentic…real. I’m not out to hook people with a flashy, dramatic wash of intrigue so that my readers can’t wait to find out what happens after the first page.

That might be the publishing industry formula, but that’s not who Autumn is.

There are girls that spend countless hours in front of the mirror and thousands on their makeup, hair, nails, eyebrows, eyelashes, making sure everything about their appearance is exactly perfect. They’ll likely spend thousands more on their wardrobes, shoes, and accessories to complete the look.

These are the girls that grab your attention right away—you can’t help but notice them; they stand out in the crowd because they want to. They want your eyes to stop scanning when you see them. They want to be seen, they want that attention, that spotlight. They want to give you that opening line hook where you just have to find out what happens when you talk to them…and what does happen? Should you take that chance?

Sometimes, you might find that that the brains, personality, and heart match the looks. Sometimes, they don’t. And sometimes, the girls that put zero time, money, or effort into trying to get your attention are the ones that capture it when they weren’t even trying. They’re effortlessly beautiful, inside and out (this is why my book cover had to do the eye-catching, because I knew the opening lines wouldn’t).

That’s who Autumn is, and her story has to reflect that authenticity, even if it means the opening lacks conventional pizzazz. I let the book cover do the eye-catching, but the first line (of hers) does something else entirely.

Let me show you what I mean.

Snow: Obstacle and Isolation

Snow appears throughout The Strangest of Places in ways that seem incidental at first. The story is set during the winter in New England, so the setting would naturally include snow.

But look closer.

What you read on the first page of the prologue is an everyday scene of a girl arriving home on a winter’s day. What I wrote on the page was an opening sentence that’s full of metaphorical foreshadowing.

Let’s read it again, now with annotations:

“I heard the phone ringing¹ as I stood on our front porch², fumbling with my keys³ and knocking the snow⁴ from my boots⁵.”

1.      Phones represent people trying to break through Autumn’s walls of protection.

2.      She’s home, but not protected by warmth and shelter.

3.      Keys unlock doors, both physical and metaphorical (as it relates to family secrets).

4.      Snow is an obstacle; a blocker – it slows progress and keeps things stuck in place.

5.      Boots represent determination to proceed, despite the slowing quality of snow.

Throughout the story, snow shows up when Autumn is stuck; when she's isolated—physically and/or emotionally. It’s not just backdrop, it's pressure. It's the weight of things she can't escape. It's being buried under truths she didn't ask for.

Snow complicates Autumn’s ability to get to shows. It creates obstacles, making simple things dangerous. It transforms familiar landscapes into something treacherous.

Emotionally, that's exactly what Autumn experiences throughout the story. Familiar relationships become more complicated. Simple connections become obstacles. Everything is harder to navigate than it should be.

Snow doesn't just fall in this book. It accumulates. It stops progress. It isolates.

Just like trauma does.

Light: Exposure and Vulnerability

Light in The Strangest of Places is complicated.

Sometimes it's clarity or revelation; that moment when you finally see something you've been avoiding. More often, it's exposure.

Autumn spends most of the book trying to stay out of the spotlight, both literally and figuratively. She's hyper-aware of the space her body takes up. She's terrified of being seen, defaulting to shadows, corners, to the back of the room.

When light hits her—when she's visible, when she's noticed—she feels anxious, exposed, and vulnerable. To her, visibility feels like a threat.

Complicating matters, light is also where connection happens.

You can't be seen if you stay in the dark. You can't be found if you hide in shadows. You can't experience intimacy if you refuse to be visible.

Autumn is caught between two truths:

1. Light exposes you to judgment, rejection, pain.

2. Darkness protects you but also isolates you completely.

   
   

She spends the entire book trying to figure out how to successfully navigate situations that present both spotlights and shadows, where she has to pick her poison.

Darkness: Safety or Prison?

Darkness in the book isn't inherently negative. Like all things in life, context matters. Sometimes darkness is protection.

Autumn feels safest in the dark. Darkness is where she processes, where she thinks, where she doesn't have to perform or explain or justify anything to anyone.

But darkness is also where she gets stuck. Darkness can be blind spots, or gaps in information that could change outcomes. Darkness is where self-sabotage patterns repeat, because there is no light on what would make them stop. It’s where Autumn cycles through the same fears and questions without resolution, where she's alone with the voices in her head that whisper she’s not enough to make anyone want to stay.

The challenge Autumn faces throughout the book: How do you know when darkness is sanctuary and when it's a prison? How do you know when you're protecting yourself versus running from salvation?

The Interplay: When Metaphors Collide

Some of the most powerful moments in The Strangest of Places happen when these two or all three of these elements intersect. Without the spoilers context would provide, here are a few examples:

“I could feel myself blushing and hoped that it wouldn’t be noticeable through the constantly shifting lights and shadows on our faces as twenty thousand people poured out of the venue.”

“ It really was quite stunning, even when cloaked in snow and shadows.”

“As he spoke, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out something that I couldn’t quite make out in the mix of shadow and light.”

These aren't just weather descriptions or setting details. They're the emotional landscape of the entire book.

And once you see it, you can't unsee it.

Your Turn: What Did You Notice?

If you've read The Strangest of Places, I'm curious: Did you catch these patterns on your first read? Were there other recurring images that stood out to you?

This is why the book rewards re-reading. The first time through, you're experiencing Autumn's story. The second time? You see the architecture underneath.

The snow, the light, the darkness—they've been shaping how you feel about her journey the whole time.