For years my career placed me in Downtown Los Angeles. Within the imposing blocks that housed the esteemed financial district, hands extended from power suits shook over million-dollar deals. Lucrative introductions were made at the city club gym. In harsh contrast, one of the most glaring things that changed the landscape designed for wealth was the explosion of the unhoused population. Stained, tattered cardboard boxes were replaced by tents dotting every block. Prestigious high rises couldn’t shadow the lost. Local shelters became the occasional refuge, unable to assist all. An inflamed, flowing wound under a tiny gauze, reality hemorrhaged.
Cara Candlewood was borne from this blunt observation. I vacillated between digging deeper into her wretched past or leaving it as history. A kind soul saw her, convinced her all she needed was a chance, but that only made the difference between her and others painfully stark. Her self-taught intelligence didn’t enable her to relate to the humming society she quietly coveted. Working at a busy diner, she was surrounded by people, yet she was alone.
I can’t imagine spending time with real people without busting their tables or hovering around to clean up their messes.
Rearranging Fate doesn’t focus on not having a place called home. As Cara whispers her tale to me, we’re both finding out some things come first. I can’t wait to share them!
