Okay, so, I wrote this novel.
If you've known me for any length of time, you would know that this was, actually, inevitable. And if you don't know me, I'll explain why: books and I go way back. Way, way back.
At this risk of sounding like exactly as much of a dork as I actually am, I spent a disproportionate amount of my childhood with my nose buried in a book. I devoured Little House on the Prairie. I solved mystery after mystery with Nancy Drew. I read my copy of Matilda to the last page, at which point I would immediately flip back to page one and start all over again. There was a period of time when I actually believed I was Anne of Green Gables. No, guys, seriously... I was her. And before you ask, yes, I actually did have friends.
I read in strange and unexpected places, such as under my bed, while walking down the street, and, on several occasions, while sitting in a tree. It was a lovely, socially acceptable addiction. And because I loved these books so much, because these authors were my own personal superheroes, I soon decided I wanted to write a book, too. Oh, sure, I'll just write a book. How hard can it be?
Because the truth is that I love writing every bit as much as I love reading. I'm one of those oddballs who would gleefully write a fifteen page paper in lieu of taking a multiple choice test any day. My mind boggles in delight at the millions of ways there are to express myself. But even this isn't enough to turn a whim into a manuscript. Actually, trying to write a book is just as much about dogged hard work, planning, and fact-checking as it is plucking pretty turns of phrase from the aether.
And so, twenty some-odd years and many failed attempts later, I finally tethered one of those ideas floating around in my brain and forced it to hold still long enough for me to write it from start to finish. It was a labor of love that I undertook for myself, as one of the biggest items on my own personal bucket list. And I loved doing it every bit as much as I always hoped I would. And though it started as something I did for myself, I soon realized that this was story that deserved to be read.
So now I'm sending it out into the world for other people to read, which is probably the most terrifying thing I have ever done. I'm pretty sure most writers feel this way, at least at first. The closer I get to that moment that a complete stranger picks up my book and reads it, the more convinced I am that the book I love, that I am so incredibly proud of, should have stayed locked away in a tower lest its heart get broken. But that's the nature of a book; it is nothing at all without someone to read it. So, world, meet Spirit Legacy. And Spirit Legacy, this is the world. I'm hoping the two of you hit it off.