Author Kim Berkhof Bolt

Author – Speaker – Mom of 3 (+1 dog)

Author: Kim

  • What I’m Thinking

    (September 2025)

    The Weight of Grief

    the weight of grief sculpture by celeste roberge

    Recently, a high school student passed me in the hallway and called out, “That’s the death lady!” I knew what they meant. I’ve spent more time than most people talking and teaching about grief, dying, and the complicated way we humans try to keep living through it. Some of that comes from being raised as a mortician’s kid. Some of it just comes from being alive in the world right now. Death is everywhere. You don’t have to look hard.

    Recently, two people I knew died—both younger than expected, both leaving behind families who are completely shattered. I keep thinking about how we’re supposed to move forward after something like that. How do you even begin? Is it possible to find meaning again? Or joy?

    When I was working on my master’s capstone, I researched the importance of writing about grief in fiction. In my research I found this quote from Megan Devine exposing one of the underlying issues of grief: “We don’t talk about the fragility of life: how everything can be normal one moment, and completely changed the next.” There are an estimated one million words in the English language, but none of them seem to be enough to understand and express grief.

    Grief takes over more than just our emotions. Sigmund Freud of all people was studying this back in the early 1900s, and even then, he recognized how far-reaching grief can be. It touches everything—our physical health, our relationships, our spirituality. Modern researchers like Joanne Cacciatore have backed this up with science: grief impacts the immune system, our nervous system, our heart. So when people say they feel like grief has taken over their entire body, they’re not being dramatic. They’re being accurate.

    And if it’s hard enough for adults to carry that kind of weight, just imagine what it feels like for kids or teens. It’s messy and awkward and full of questions adults often don’t know how to answer—so most of the time, we just don’t bring it up. But we need to. Because here’s the reality: the National Alliance for Children’s Grief reports that 1 in 12 children in the U.S. will lose a parent or sibling by the time they turn 18. That’s six million kids. By the time they hit 25? That number more than doubles. Death—and grief—is not something reserved for later in life. It shows up early and often.

    But in Western culture, we’re trained to avoid it. We don’t know what to say, so we say nothing. Someone else’s loss makes us uncomfortable because it brings about mortality salience, the acute awareness of the fragile nature of mortality, both to us and our loved ones. And so, intentionally or not, we leave grieving people to carry their pain alone.

    Melancholy, a sculpture created by Albert Gyorgy, portrays the void that grief leaves us with. : r/interestingasfuck
    Meaningful Melancholy Created by Albert Gyorgy

    So what do we do with all this? When someone we love dies, the loss isn’t just individual—it ripples through families, schools, churches, neighborhoods. But even though grief is communal in its impact, the actual experience of grieving is deeply personal.

    That’s why it matters so much that we talk about it. Megan Devine says, “When grief is made visible, a doorway into acceptability and openness comes, inviting others to consider and discuss their grief.” And she’s right. Something shifts when we stop pretending we’re okay and start telling the truth. We start to realize we’re not the only ones walking around with broken hearts.

    George Bonanno put it this way: “If we understand the different ways people react to loss, we understand something about what it means to be human, something about the way we experience life and death, love and meaning, sadness and joy.”

    And isn’t that what we’re all trying to do? Be a little more human with one another. Hold space for both joy and sadness. And remind each other that even in the thickest fog of grief, we’re not actually alone.

  • What I’m (Writing) Teaching

    (September 2025)

    So, the end of August rolled in, and I sat down to map out the usual rhythms of my September newsletter. Week one? That one always writes itself—it’s what I’ve been reading lately. Week four? That’s reserved for a wild-card writing prompt or a quick Google search for something fun. Week three is my favorite—I get to share whatever thoughts are bouncing around in my head (and let’s be honest, I always have a few). But week two? The “what I’m writing” week? This month, it stopped me in my tracks.

    Because the truth is—I haven’t been writing. Not really. Not unless you count emails, grocery lists, or the ever-growing sticky note in my planner labeled “things I should be writing but am not.”

    August is tough. It feels like it’s a month where everything changes, and sometimes, quite suddenly. Children who were home full time and gone to school for a good chunk of the day. The weather, which was so hot we swam in it most days, finds us shivering and looking for a warmer layer (which I know excites some of you. I cannot relate. I am already fearing winter). Today, I looked out my window at my backyard to see some of my dogwood’s leaves blushing red, a color I’m sure it was not wearing yesterday.

    Change is exhausting. It requires an adaptation of our entire selves: physical, mental, emotional. The regularly scheduled programming of my life has suddenly been disrupted. And, as a result, I have not written. Not one single word. The novel I’ve been working on? It’s been stuck at 25,000 words for months. Occasionally, I reread it. Sometimes I add a sentence. Mostly, I stare.

    And then the familiar feelings show up. The “I should be writing” guilt. The “why can’t I just get myself to do this?” spiral. Shame, that old familiar friend, creeps in and pulls up a chair.

    How does a writer confess that she’s not writing?

    Just like that, I guess. And once it’s out in the open, it’s easier to deal with. It’s accepted. It’s reality.

    What I have been doing, though—is teaching.

    And I forgot how much I love it. Sure, there’s grading and rosters and attendance and rubrics, but if I had my way, I’d just lock the door and learn for the sake of learning. We’d talk. We’d read. We’d write. There’d be snacks. It would be great.

    Right now, we’re diving into rhetoric, which I was not taught in high school. Or college. It wasn’t until grad school, when a professor casually dropped the word in conversation, that I scribbled it down in my notebook like, what is that and why does everyone else seem to already know it?

    In its simplest form, rhetoric is about persuasion. And sure, we all recognize it in political speeches or glossy magazine ads—but what about Instagram reels? YouTube shorts? That oddly compelling TikTok voiceover? Are we paying attention to the way persuasion shows up in the small stuff? The everyday?

    The first major assignment my students had to complete was entitled “Rhetoric in Reality.” They had to find areas where they hadn’t necessarily been aware of rhetoric before. Some of their responses surprised even me. “Just Do It” came from prison inmate Gary Gilmore’s last words on death row (yes, I looked it up and you should too). KATSEYE is a group selling Gap denim (yup, go ahead and look them up too). Selena Gomez is selling Rare Beauty Cosmetics. People who have nothing to do with the products are pushing them at us consumers. It makes me wonder: have I purchased something just because I attach it to another person who recommended it to me? Did I ever research it myself?

    It made me stop and ask: How many things have I purchased, followed, or believed in just because someone I liked told me to? How many things have I not questioned?

    Because rhetoric is everywhere. Not just in marketing, but in our conversations. In how we introduce ourselves. In how we frame our stories. Everyone’s got an angle, whether they know it or not.

    And here’s the part that gets tricky: once you start seeing it, you can’t unsee it. As I told a few of my students in their feedback, “Rhetoric is so tricky because once you begin to see it, it shows up everywhere. Even in your everyday conversations with friends. The goal is to recognize it, without letting it overwhelm you.”

    So that’s where I am. Writing less, teaching more. Watching the world shift from summer into fall. Watching my students shift from passive consumers to critical thinkers. Remembering that even if I’m not writing chapters right now, I’m helping others write their way toward understanding—and that counts too.

    We keep going. We change what we can, accept what we can’t. We teach, we learn, and we remind ourselves: rhetoric is everywhere. And maybe, if we pay attention, we can get just a little better at naming it.

  • What I read in August (2025)

    1. We Were Liars

    Author: E. Lockhart

    Length: 320 pages

    Publication: May 2018

    Genre: fiction

    Audience: middle grade/young adult

    SUMMARY

    A beautiful and distinguished family.

    A private island.

    A brilliant, damaged girl; a passionate, political boy.

    A group of four friends—the Liars—whose friendship turns destructive.

    A revolution. An accident. A secret.

    Lies upon lies.

    True love.

    The truth.

    Goodreads review
    MY REVIEW

    I’m not even sure why I put this book on hold at the library. I think somewhere I read an article on “must reads for the summer.” Considering it was middle grade/young adult, I had high hopes for this novel. In addition, in the first few days I carried it around, multiple people mentioned they had heard good things about the book, and did I know it was turned into a miniseries as well? (I did not).

    The plot does make for a fascinating read. Four friends continue to meet each summer on a tiny island just off the east coast. But something happens to one of the four in which she loses her memory and no one is willing to tell her why.

    Ultimately, the depth wasn’t what I wanted it to be. I read one review that used the word “cringy,” which I thought was a perfect description for a novel geared toward the very generations that would use that word. It felt a bit to “soap opera” with deep dark secrets and family feuding; when I finished reading it I was not surprised at all that this had been turned into a show. It has all the drama elements necessary for good watching.

    If you are someone who needs lots of drama to keep you turning the pages of a book, then I would recommend this to you.

    2. How to Age Disgracefully

    Author: Clare Pooley

    Length: 352 pages

    Publication: June 2024

    Genre: fiction

    Audience: adult (suitable for young adult readers as well)

    SUMMARY

    When Lydia takes a job running the Senior Citizens’ Social Club three afternoons a week, she assumes she’ll be spending her time drinking tea and playing gentle games of cards.

    The members of the Social Club, however, are not at all what Lydia was expecting. From Art, a failed actor turned kleptomaniac to Daphne, who has been hiding from her dark past for decades to Ruby, a Banksy-style knitter who gets revenge in yarn, these seniors look deceptively benign—but when age makes you invisible, secrets are so much easier to hide.

    When the city council threatens to sell the doomed community center building, the members of the Social Club join forces with their tiny friends in the daycare next door—as well as the teenaged father of one of the toddlers and a geriatric dog—to save the building. Together, this group’s unorthodox methods may actually work, as long as the police don’t catch up with them first.

    Penguin House Random review
    MY REVIEW

    My husband recommended this book to me, as he knows my penchant for older, curmudgeony narrators (I’ll give you a rundown of my favorites sometime in a 2026 newsletter). The first chapter is fantastic. In literary terms we use the phrase “in media res” meaning to start a story in the beginning. But actually, the first chapter happens chronologically at the end of the novel. The author throws the reader into the middle of chaos, ends the chapter, and requires the reader to slowly work their way through the plot in order to watch the issues build.

    Pooley creates a lively and loveable cast of senior citizens for her story. While the plot does have its twists and turns, the overall arc is fairly predictable and the reader has confidence in how the novel is going to end before the author actually gets us there.

    This is a pleasant, light-hearted, straight-forward read. If you enjoy (or even appreciate) older, curmudgeonly readers as I do, than I recommend this book as worth your time.

    3. SUMMER ON LILAC ISLAND

    Author: Lindsay MacMilllan

    Length: 400 pages

    Publication: July 2025

    Genre: fiction

    Audience: adult (suitable for young adult readers as well)

    SUMMARY

    Broke and newly unemployed, Gigi Jenkins is heading home to the horse-and-buggy Mackinac Island that she once couldn’t wait to leave behind. She’s going to be spending the summer with her mother, and she’s not sure what that close proximity will do to their already fraught relationship. Almost immediately, they find themselves in a battle of wills, and they agree to play matchmaker for each other. Both women are certain that the other couldn’t possibly understand them, so surely these potential connections will fizzle out before they even begin.

    Misunderstandings, interference, and near-misses are skillfully wielded. Gigi and James circle each other through the curse of small-town encounters–cornhole tournaments, church fundraisers, and lakeside run-ins–and a fresh nemesis-to-lovers plot plays out. Meanwhile, Eloise feels sparks for the resident-for-the-summer Scottish author that she never thought she’d feel again.

    But the greatest love story of the summer is the one between Gigi and her mother, Eloise. As they navigate the world as two single women, staying up late to wait for each other to get home from dates and helping each other pick out outfits and draft texts to their respective suitors, their strained relationship starts to heal as they transition from mother-daughter to confidantes and friends.

    Goodreads review
    MY REVIEW

    I believe I first became interested in this novel through an online “summer reads” recommendation by Schulers Book employees. I do love a good seasonal fiction story; I’ve been known to fall prey to more than one Christmas novel in December (hoping it will soften my otherwise Scroogish spirit). And summer reads should be read…well…in the summer. Add in that the novel takes place on Mackinac Island, a charming place I have visited a handful of times, and I was all in for this novel. I placed my holds early and was pleasantly surprised that my name came up in the queue well before the end of summer.

    Overall, it is a lovely novel with enjoyable characters and a plot that keeps the pages turning. But if I had to flavor the novel as if it were an ice cream cone (perhaps sold at Sadie’s on the island), it would be vanilla. The characters were quite predictable, and the plot was fairly straight forward with a few minor twists and turns thrown in. And while I love Mackinac Island, there was just too much of it. Too much description, too much history; the main character continues to explain how she feels claustrophobic on the island, and after reading the novel, I did a bit as well.

    I’m so glad I got the chance to read this summer novel in the summer. And I hope it enlightens more people to visit this island set back in time, with all of its charm and grandeur.

    For those of you looking for a sweet, simple summer romance novel, I highly recommend this for you.

    4. The Patron Saint of Liars

    Author: Catherine Newman

    Length: 221 pages

    Publication: June 2024

    Genre: fiction

    Audience: adult (language and topics)

    SUMMARY

    St. Elizabeth’s, a home for unwed mothers in Habit, Kentucky, usually harbors its residents for only a little while. Not so Rose Clinton, a beautiful, mysterious woman who comes to the home pregnant but not unwed, and stays. She plans to give up her child, thinking she cannot be the mother it needs. But when Cecilia is born, Rose makes a place for herself and her daughter amid St. Elizabeth’s extended family of nuns and an ever-changing collection of pregnant teenage girls. Rose’s past won’t be kept away, though, even by St. Elizabeth’s; she cannot remain untouched by what she has left behind, even as she cannot change who she has become in the leaving.

    Goodreads Review
    MY REVIEW

    I’m not even sure why I reserved this particular book at this particular time from the library. I have wanted to read Ann Patchett for some time (ssshhh–don’t tell others I hadn’t read any Ann Patchett up until this point). I will join her throng of followers in confirming she is a talented writer. Her characters are deep and complex and well-thought out. I loved how the novel changed in point-of-view to three different characters.

    The novel left me thinking about the definition of villain. Rose is not meant to be liked, although there are aspects of her we can empathize with. While she’s not a good person, she’s not evil. And given the time stamp of the story (1960s) and the location (rural Kentucky), I wonder how much agency Rose had in her own story. Did she truly have the ability to choose what she wanted to do in life, or was she limited by her gender, level of education and socioeconomic status?

    This novel is a slow read for sure. Patchett puts this fiction stew in a Dutch oven and sets it on simmer for quite some time. The reader will need to commit to continuing to read even when the plot offers nothing new or exciting on the horizon. But it is worth the read at the end. And I’m excited to read another Ann Patchett–perhaps The Dutch House will be my next one down the road.

  • What YOU’RE Writing (August 2025)

    Writing Prompt:

    Write yourself a letter

    Letter writing is such an important genre, and yet it is becoming a lost art. Rarely do any of us send out hand-written letters in the mail; most often we all give into the ease and efficiency of an email or a text. But there’s something about writing our thoughts down in letter form. It requires time and space; it forces us to keep the recipient of the letter in full focus the entire time.

    The end of summer is meant for reflection; for many of us, September ushers in a new rhythm of life and perhaps even an entirely different schedule.

    So go ahead and make some time on this Friday to write yourself a letter. Here are some choices to get your started, or if you want, go in a direction that is completely your own.

    1. Write a letter to your June self from this year. Tell yourself about an upcoming moment or day that you must simply slow down and treasure more.
    2. Write a letter to your June self from this year about a regret you had over the summer. Tell yourself how you should have said yes, made the plan, stayed longer, enjoyed the moment more.
    3. Write a letter to your current August-summer self about the upcoming fall. How do you want to approach the change of pace, of schedule, of weather? What does your summer self want to say to your fall self?
    4. Write a letter to your June self from next year. Offer your future self a goal or a challenge. Provide yourself with wisdom and encouragement so that summer 2026 can be your best ever.

    Story Starter:

    Living in Michigan, I realize that I am privileged to have some of the best beaches in the world. There’s endless stories that could be written at the beach. but today’s beach story starter involves a mysterious element to it.

    Walking along the beach, my toes sinking into the soft sand, the wind gently blowing my hair, I almost stepped onto the mysterious object. I had never seen anything like it before, let alone at the edge of the water. What was this object, and who put it there?

  • Common Ground and the Common App

    (August 2025)

    Lately, I’ve been working with my second-oldest on his college Common App essay. (And if you’re a parent of a high school junior or senior, let me offer this advice: if your school or community offers a one-week Common App writing course—and time and finances allow—take it. They’re fantastic.)

    I feel somewhat qualified to help, given that I’m a professor of English. And yet I also feel wildly unqualified, given that I’m his mom. In my experience, the fewer outside roles we try to play in our kids’ lives, the better.

    If you’re wondering what the Common App is—or if you’re old enough to remember when college applications meant paper, envelopes, and stamps—it was created in 1975 by a group of 15 private colleges but didn’t really take off until it went digital in 2007. Since then, its essay component has gone through many phases, from 25-word responses to submissions in comic strip form. Today, it’s a 600-word essay based on one of seven open-ended prompts.

    My son and I recently spent an evening brainstorming topics. Fortunately for him—and I say that sincerely—he hasn’t experienced the kind of trauma that tends to anchor many college essays: the loss of a parent, a major illness, a devastating failure, or an against-all-odds success story. (Not to diminish any of those topics—they’re valid and powerful—but when you don’t have one, finding a meaningful story can be a tougher task.)

    It ended up being a great conversation about who or what has shaped him. He landed on a topic that felt “good enough” to get started—and honestly, with enough revision and feedback, I think it’s going to be more than good enough. I’m excited to see where it goes.

    But while he was typing away, I got stuck on the idea of the essay itself.

    There’s something a little ironic about asking 17-year-olds to write reflectively about their lives. I love reflection—I assign it weekly in my college classes. But it’s a big ask for someone who hasn’t yet lived two full decades, someone who can’t vote, rent a car, or legally sign most contracts. To distill your life into a single story or insight at 17 feels… both profound and slightly absurd.

    I think we should all be required to re-read our Common App essays every ten years—at 30, 40, 50—just to remember what it felt like to stand on the edge of everything. To smile at what once seemed monumental, now a footnote. A faded photo. A blip.

    Of course, that got me thinking: what would my 600-word essay be today? What event or person would I choose? What moment, in the blur of days and decades, has shaped me most?

    My son and I continue our weekly Common App dates—he writes and worries and wonders; I toggle between English professor, cheerleader, and mom. At some point, we’ll call it done and hit submit. And then his future will begin to play out before my very eyes.