There’s a moment in the depths of winter when everything feels still. The trees are bare, the air bites, the nights stretch long—and the world seems to quiet itself in reverence to the season. But then comes a fleeting warmth. A patch of sunlight filters through the clouds and hits your face. A child’s laughter rings out while playing in the snow. A fire crackles just enough to take the edge off the cold.
There’s a word for this small, unexpected warmth: apricity.
It’s an old word—nearly forgotten—meaning the warmth of the sun in winter. The kind of word that comes from a time before central heating and electric blankets, a time when people marked the seasons not by thermostats but by what they felt on their skin.
It’s also the title of my new novel and the long-awaited sequel to The Other Side of the Sun.
But why that word? Why now? And what does it reveal about where this story—and this world—are headed next?
A New Season in the Story
The Other Side of the Sun introduced readers to a world transformed by sudden and total technological collapse. One day, everything just… stopped working. The power grid failed. Cars wouldn’t start. Phones died for good. No explanation, no warning—just silence.
The novel followed a cast of characters as they navigated the immediate aftermath. In a world stripped of its modern conveniences, survival became the first priority. But what surprised many readers (and even me, the author) was how quickly the story became about something else: connection, adaptation, and rediscovery.
And now we continue.
Apricity picks up not long after the end of The Other Side of the Sun—as the full weight of winter descends. And with that change in season comes an evolution in tone, theme, and challenge.
The Cold is More Than a Season
Winter is more than just a drop in temperature. In a world without heat, winter is a threat, a test, a reckoning.
Where The Other Side of the Sun was about survival through disruption, Apricity is about endurance through scarcity. It’s about what happens when the adrenaline wears off, when the food runs low, and when morale begins to fray. It’s about people forced to face not just the elements, but themselves.
This shift into winter allowed me to explore some of the questions I couldn’t fully get into in the first book:
- How do communities rebuild without technology to rely on?
- What knowledge do we retain—and what do we lose?
- Who do we become when the cold settles in, physically and emotionally?
The Meaning Behind the Title
I stumbled across the word apricity during my research into pre-industrial life. It wasn’t just beautiful—it was perfect.
Why?
Because Apricity is ultimately a story about hope in the harshest conditions.
It’s easy to believe in humanity when the sun is shining, the crops are growing, and everything works as expected. But what happens when all of that disappears? What happens when warmth becomes a luxury?
In a literal sense, the characters in this story are chasing warmth. They’re figuring out how to heat their homes, stay nourished, and survive blizzards without electricity or natural gas. But metaphorically, they’re also searching for warmth in each other—in relationships, in family, in small victories.
The warmth of the sun in winter. A brief but vital reminder that life can still be beautiful, even in the bleakest moments.
That’s apricity.
A Return to Fragility
If The Other Side of the Sun was about collapse, Apricity is about fragility—and our ability to endure it.
In the sequel, we begin to understand that the breakdown of technology wasn’t the end of the world; it was the start of something else. What’s left behind when the lights go out isn’t just darkness—it’s opportunity, but also peril.
Some of the characters have grown stronger. Others have not. And as supplies dwindle and temperatures drop, the weight of past decisions begins to press down.
There’s no cavalry coming. No reboot button.
It’s just people, surviving—or not—together.
The Emotional Weight of Winter
I chose winter not just for its physical challenges, but for its emotional symbolism.
Think about how winter makes us feel, even in our current world:
- Isolated.
- Still.
- Reflective.
- Sometimes depressed.
- Sometimes peaceful.
All of that is magnified in a world without distractions. There’s no television, no scrolling, no escape into busy-ness. People are forced to sit with their thoughts, their grief, their memories. In Apricity, we see characters wrestling with guilt, identity, and meaning.
And yet, again and again, they find glimmers of warmth.
Sometimes it’s a fire that won’t go out.
Sometimes it’s a laugh, shared between strangers.
Sometimes it’s love—new or rediscovered—making itself known in the silence.
How This Reflects Our Real World
I didn’t write Apricity as a direct commentary on the real world. But I also didn’t have to stretch very far to imagine it.
The last few years have shown us just how fragile our systems are. From power grid failures to digital outages, from global pandemics to economic uncertainty, we’ve all gotten a glimpse of what it feels like to lose control—and to long for connection.
In many ways, apricity—the concept—is something we all instinctively reach for. We crave that little bit of warmth in the cold. A kind word in a difficult season. The fire inside that keeps us going when everything else seems frozen.
My hope is that readers will see the story not just as entertainment, but as a reminder: The sun still shines, even in winter. And small warmths matter more than we know.
What You Can Expect in Apricity (Without Spoilers)
Without giving too much away, here’s a glimpse into what Apricity offers:
- New locations: The characters venture into deeper wilderness, and encounter remnants frozen in time.
- Tougher decisions: With fewer resources, every choice carries more weight.
- New faces: Not everyone who survived the collapse has good intentions.
- Themes of resilience: We explore the limits of loyalty, faith, and what it means to hold onto humanity when survival is no longer guaranteed.
- Moments of beauty: Despite everything, the story makes space for light. Music. Joy. The human spirit.
In other words, apricity.
What I Learned Writing This Book
Writing Apricity changed me.
When I began the sequel, I thought I knew where the story was headed. But winter has a way of humbling you. It strips things back. It makes you ask: What really matters?
I found myself cutting entire sections, going deeper into character psychology, and revisiting old truths with fresh eyes. I found myself slowing down—not unlike my characters—to sit with silence, to notice what flickers in the darkness.
Most of all, I learned that warmth doesn’t have to be big to be powerful.
A single match can light a room.
A single friend can save a life.
Why This Story Still Matters
I’ve heard from dozens of readers who were deeply moved by The Other Side of the Sun. Some loved the survival aspect. Others connected with the relationships, the reimagining of family, or the poetic glimpses into a simpler world.
I believe Apricity will speak to the same hearts—but also reach deeper.
Because when the thrill of the apocalypse wears off, what’s left is real life. Real stakes. Real people.
And maybe that’s the scariest—and most beautiful—part of all.
Final Thoughts: Holding onto the Light
So why did I call the sequel Apricity?
Because it’s not just a word.
It’s a prayer. A reminder. A lifeline.
That even in a frozen world…
Even when the night is long…
Even when everything has changed…
The sun can still touch your skin.
And warmth, no matter how small, can still save you.
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Thank you for being part of this journey. Your support fuels this work—and like the winter sun, it means more than you know.