It felt absolutely crucial to begin “Inheritance of Crises and Dysfunction” not with a dramatic political confrontation, but with the quiet, almost suffocating weight of transition – both personal and national. December 2020… that specific moment felt suspended, didn’t it? The air itself seemed thick with unspoken anxieties – the ongoing grind of the pandemic, the raw political chasm left by a divisive election, the lingering shadows and uncertainties cast by the outgoing administration. Capturing that precise atmosphere was paramount. Salt Pepper’s return to his family farm, surrounded by the physical clutter of moving boxes that so clearly mirrored his internal, unresolved grief, felt like the most authentic way to reflect the nation’s own difficult unpacking of recent history. We were all surrounded by remnants of what was, unsure of what lay ahead.

As a writer, placing a character deeply burdened by personal loss into this larger national malaise seemed the truest entry point. It wasn’t just about setting a scene; it was about grounding the impending political storm in relatable human experience. Was starting amidst such palpable weariness too bleak, too slow? The thought certainly crossed my mind. But the underlying tension, the sense of things teetering – like Salt’s poorly stacked boxes – needed to be established immediately, felt in the bones from page one. It had to be the quiet before the inevitable storm, a foundation built on the unsteady ground of profound change.