Just finished the almost-final edit of my latest novel, The Boy Scout. As I completed the last read of this very challenging book, a book about human trafficking, a book that made me cry and laugh many times through the process, and left me in a wallow of tears last night as I finished the last read, I realized that, once again, I am walking away from a deep, passionate, all-consuming love.
There will be a period of a month or so of grieving and loss before I stop thinking about Melchior, Theresa, Fairyland, the brave young Boy Scout, Jimmy, and my all-time outstanding villain, Tenga.
Oh how I enjoyed creating that villain. Never created a villain before. And this one is a dandy, knock-your-socks-0ff, shock-you and distress-you and break your heart, villain. A magical Shaman gone wrong.
There. You have been warned. What an experience. But boy oh boy, did he get his. That was terrific pleasure, too.
Where do these people live? They must be inside me somewhere, or I couldn’t bring them out. That’s scary. I thought of that more than once. Does a little bit of Tenga live inside of me? I sure hope not.
I’ve probably created the monster out of a blend of all the villains I’ve read about over the years in fiction, combined with real-life villains I’ve read about in newspapers. (I’m way too much a scaredy-cat to read the books they write about these real world villains. Nope. Can’t handle it. I check under my bed at night as it is, and the most dangerous thing I watch is re-runs of LOST on Netflix. Although, let’s face it, that smoke monster isn’t something I’d want to run into slogging home through dark December rainstorms. But that’s another story.)
Well, here it is, the morning after, my heart is bleeding, the book is finished, I can’t do any more with it. Once the copyeditor gets done dealing with the massive number of corrections and changes I thrust upon her weary head in first edits, then I get the .pdf and there’s not much more can be done. Whatever semi-colons I forgot, whatever foolish statements I have made as Melchior lies beside his beloved in his royal bed, both having sated their appetites fully upon each other’s most perfect bodies and minds, not to mention fairy-souls (they are fairies, well, he is, but she is half fairy now. She’s wearing his ring.) whatever mistakes lie hidden in the manuscript for you, dear gentle reader, to find and hee-haw over to my Vanayssa Somers FB page and tell everyone, (please be kind) they are there for posterity.
My high school grammar teacher has gone on to greener pastures in the sky, and I fear she watches over my shoulder as I write…”Lying down on the hard sidewalk, Jimmy…” and then change it to “Laying down on the hard sidewalk, Jimmy…” and then go to google to try in vain to figure out, is it Lying down or Laying down? Google, in this case, was no help.
You figure it out. I’m done. And I’m reaching for more kleenex here. It’s tough. Heartbreak at Christmas. But every book has to end sometime.
Goodbye, Melchior, you great gorgeous hunk of man/fairy muscle and gentle soul; goodbye, Theresa, beautiful young American goddess, human/fairy. And goodbye, Tenga, you ruthless, wretched, vile villain…you got yours.
And most of all, goodbye, Tyrannosaurus Rex and her nest of Mesozoic eggs, deep in the belly of ancient China.
I love you all so very, very much, and I grieve your loss. But every book must end.