Hello All,

Yes, The Arbornauts is the title of my novel.
Yes, an Arbornaut could be defined in many ways.
Yes, the way I define an Arbornaut is: a willing traveler of liminal spaces (such as walking under an arbor, entering a new world).
Yes, I am identifying beings who I recognize have Arbornaut qualities.
Yes, I’m having fun with writing and life!

For the curious, here is a draft of the novel’s beginning:

Perhaps more suffering still lies ahead for her, or perhaps less. Whatever happens,
Tara no longer has to worry if or when or how her mother will die. From here forward,
she is free– downright, out-and-out. Free to go to university without a student loan.
Enough cash for a PHD. Plus, a new car. New gear: lightweight tent, a waterproof
pack, a down sleeping bag. GPS navigation. Solo canoe, carbon fibre. So lightweight
she can carry it with one arm. She can travel up north into the wilderness. She doesn’t
know how long it will take her to adjust to her freedom. Or what she’s going to do with
this ache in her chest. Unrelenting ache. She is healthy. Mostly. Somewhat. And a GPA
she can legitimately brag about. Any university will accept her. She would like to go to
MIT to study with David Kaiser. Or Columbia with Brian Greene.
The ache should be an obstacle she can overcome. She is a productive human.
Capable of holding math elegantly– she accepts every invite to observe intersecting
matrices. Also, curious about and risk-ready for quantum string theory, quantum
mechanics, quantum anything. She would like to know the origins of the universe, the
story of how life is.
Her dad is her rock. He is stable, logical, and rational. He believes she will save
the world.
“Okay Greta,” he jokes when she dives deep into string theory.
Junior Forest Wardens, he said, gave her friends she could relate to– they’re all
working at the Tim Horton’s kids’ camp, a job she turned down due to her mother. Due
to her ache.
That’s how it is. The marrow in her bones. The pulse of her heart. That’s how it
is.