Publishing

There is Snow

Natalia learned how to muffle her crying, how to put on a mask that said to the rest of the world I am a well-adjusted individual. Pay no attention to me.

Winter isn’t like I remember it. When I was a youngun’ in Kelowna I remember heaps of snow that dominated the world. They peaked like egg whites whipped to perfection, so thick you could burrow into them and tunnel like a prairie dog to the other side of the world.

I’m sure climate change is the reason for the grey, barren world outside of this bus depot now. I find it strange when there is no snow to hide the earth in the winter. Snow is like a magician’s cape pulled over a box containing a rabbit. In the spring it is pulled back to reveal flowers where there was once something else. Without snow, the magic of the seasons seem somehow more hollow, almost exhausting. I’m happy for the blue sky, and the sense of infinity that comes from living on the prairies during this time of year, but I wish there was snow to blanket the earth and create that sense of incredible wonder again.

In the winter I always find myself stalling when it comes to writing. Maybe it’s the fact that I am cold 90% of the time and my fingers would much rather be buried in a blanket than tapping away at a keyboard. I can’t do that now. There is a sense of ownership to this journey, that even the three or four people who have read Between Fire and Pines and The Skeletal Bird are owed an ending, and unfortunately I am still rather far away from that. There is a lot of work to be done this winter, and I have to drag myself out of this melancholia that had set in and remind myself that in my very tiny world, I too am a magician.

Plot, characters, setting, events, deaths, births. They are all woven together to make my cloak, and beneath them exists a final product, another book. It isn’t as simple as the cry of Abracadabra or Alakazam. The end product of this magical act must be tended to like the snow tends to the earth in the winter. It is done beneath the surface, where no one can see what is taking place.

I like being a magician with words, although I’d hardly call myself adept at the craft yet. But magic can be learned and the bulbs in the frozen ground can be tended to, and amazing things can grow where you least expect it.

Book 3 has been a challenge for me, and I’m not sure why. It is at least  partially a case of “I wrote the original plot so long ago that it no longer fits with the overall narrative, and also it was stupid.” At the same time, something hasn’t been fitting quite right. It’s like a shirt that’s been washed too many times. It no longer fits right. Without a finished draft I can hardly go back and begin to identify the problematic feature. Instead I have to barrel on through the whole thing until I have that beginning, middle, and end. That’s when my favorite part of the magic show takes place. The illusions, the  misdirection, all the bits and pieces that I get to put into place. The moments of quiet reflection and the other moments of explosive action.

I was speaking to a writer friend of mine not too long ago and he was just about halfway through The Skeletal Bird. I always get nervous when it comes to my friends reading my work, especially when they have the same desires that I do to succeed in the industry. We’re hard on each other, if only to help each other improve and succeed. This friend told me that he was enjoying it, but in particular he loved the moments between action and dialogue. The little reflective moments that don’t build on plot or characters, but create a striking visual and help cement an author’s voice. I was extraordinary happy with that, and quite embarrassed by the praise. It meant a lot to me, and helped carry me through some severe moments of doubt.

At the same time, I think maybe doubt it a product of a winter without snow. You look around the world and wonder if its possible this cold will ever cleave itself from the earth, if you’ll ever feel the warmth of a spring sun. Winter is a time of doubt, and it can be remarkably exhausting if you don’t have the means to survive it. I have words; a little bit of magic in my hands.

I wouldn’t mind a bit of snow either.


Between Fire and Pines  and The Skeletal Bird are both available on Amazon, Kindle, and Kobo! If you’e read them, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads! It helps readers make informed decisions. Like, “This book wasn’t as bad as I thought”, or “This book is like a Michael Bay wet-dream”.

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Photo by Nancy Wong, 1977

Let’s Talk About Cults

Or more, let me introduce you to my new favorite obsession. Three years ago it was biker gangs, last year it was viruses. This year is the year of cults, and I am so giddy that my astral cocoon is fit to burst!

I’ve been busy working on Book 3 (reminder, you can buy books 1 and 2 on Amazon), but as always I’ve also been working through replotting book 4 (because writing a series, let alone one nine novels long requires a bit of foresight on my part.) And as with all the previous books, something about the plot of #4 just wasn’t sitting right.

And then I listened to Cults, a comedic investigative podcast that looks into various cults throughout history, their activities, recruitment methods, all that fun sort of jazz. As hosts Paige Wesley and Marie Bello explain on their inaugural podcast, they’re interested in cults because they live in California and cults are literally everywhere. Oddly enough, that was the same thing Gregg Hurwitz said in an interview about his second Tim Rackley book.

I love comedy. I love cults. If there were a cult based around the Marx Brothers, I would probably join. (The password is always Swordfish). As it is, I live in Canada and the only Cult I have access to has a history of cutting off people’s arms and I need mine for writing purposes (Hello, Ant Hill Kids.) Therefore, I live vicariously through the work of people like Paige and Marie who are deeply ensconced in the cult-scene and, on at least one occasion relayed to listeners about a weekend visit to a farmer’s market for a massage (which might just be the most hipster thing I’ve written in the last few months) about how they were nearly swindled by a cult.

The point is, knowledge is power. I have a notebook chalked full of notes thanks to these two lovely ladies about the cult that will be dominating book 4, and I am excited to see where it takes me.

However, as with all things in life, they couldn’t have expected to poke the hornets nest for so long before something came out to sting them. A couple days back a message was posted on the Cults Facebook page regarding the removal of Part 1 of a particular episode. It doesn’t take a backrub peddling pontificator to know that someone got a little uptight about being called a ‘cult’ and didn’t appreciate having their presumably very white, identical pants and shirts all laid out to bare for the public to see. It looks like they have avoided litigation, at least for now. But that sort of subtle threat against your creative work can be a serious downer, and word can spread and sometimes impact that potential audience you are trying to reach. That’s why I’m encouraging all of you to go to your favorite podcast provider and give Cults a listen.

Okay. Maybe not the first few episodes. Pre-Armando episodes, or Pre-Mando episodes as I will now call them. Armando, their hilarious sound guy, was sorely needed in those early days. But don’t bring it up to Paige or Marie. They know their sound was crap. If you can deal with ratcheting your sound up to eleven, they’re still worth checking out. I promise, there are no audible jump-scares to ruin your hearing.

Cults are fascinating. They’re all around us (some more than others, I guess. Stupid, lame Canada with its lack of interesting cults.) They prey on the weak and most vulnerable in society and manipulate them into acting outside of the social norm. They are awful, but sort of cool, but really actually awful, but also, like, sort of really cool in a sick sort of way.  I have a lot of different feelings, but given my history of writing explosive, violent scenes, I suppose an interest in cults isn’t that unusual.

The point is, go listen to it. The crimes of these cults and leaders aren’t exactly friendly jaunts through fields of daisies. Paige and Marie are dealing with dark, uncomfortable topics on a weekly basis, and interjecting an overtop level of humor that a person could argue reflects the overall nature and response of general society when we hear about people getting caught up in cult activities. Ha ha, look at those chumps! This could never happen to me! That’s about as academic as I’m willing to get on the topic at the moment given the high levels of morphine currently in my system.

Anyways, give it a listen. It’s well worth it. Also buy my books. Those are also well worth it.

Or don’t. See if I care.

(I do.)

Header Photo by Nancy Wong, 1977

The Skeletal Bird – Now Available!

This post is an unfortunate month late, but that is what happens when you try to balance work with writing and a whole other sundry of fun activities!

Book 2 of The Code Series is now available for purchase at the finest Amazon retailer near you! That includes Kindle (Huzzah!) I’m very proud of the end result. Writing is about evolution of skills, and I’m proud to say that I, at the very least, can tell that I am slightly less awful at putting sentences together. I hope those of you that enjoyed Between Fire and Pines might be intrigued enough to consider picking up a copy of The Skeletal Bird! There is less gratuitous violence because I got that out of my system, but plenty of lovely explosions and biker gangs to keep you occupied if you have a short attention span like m-

And for the weekend, the price for both Between Fire and Pines and The Skeletal Bird will remain at $1.99 for Kindle users because I am too lazy to change the price, so grab it while you can! Links to purchase are below the break

Three months after the Siege on Alcatraz that almost took her life, Natalia Artison returns to New York to confront the evil that has relentlessly pursued her since her parents’ death. With her reluctant new guardian in tow, Natalia learns that her parents legacy, one steeped in blood, is endangering both her and everyone she holds dear.

As her enemies begin to converge, Natalia struggles to manage her survivor’s guilt and find her place in the world of the Special Operations Initiative. When her guardian’s family is taken hostage, Natalia must choose between what is safe, and what is right. She will have to push her fears and insecurities to one side, and prove to all those who doubt her that she will not be broken.

Natalia Artison is no victim.

Not then. Not now.

Not ever.

Amazon.com

Amazon.ca

Kobo

And once you’re done, please consider leaving a review on Goodeads! It helps other potential readers find The Code Series and, in turn, assists in my life goal of not having to wear pants to work because I work at home and at home I don’t have to wear pants.

Happy reading!

-Kathleen

The Code, Book 2: The Skeletal Bird – Coming Soonish

I’m not sure what it is about November. Perhaps it has something to do with NaNoWriMo, which I unfortunately bailed on this year. Or perhaps it is the fact that it is also Extra Life (which was a grand success this year.)

Something about November forces my writing to a complete halt.

want to write. I want to be productive. Especially given how well Book 2 is coming together. Alas, I took nearly a month off of writing and now I am desperately behind.

That’s not to say I didn’t accomplish things related to writing. For instance, I came up with the title. That’s pretty good, eh? Ha ha. In reality, I actually accomplished much more than just a title. This is my favourite point in the writing process, when I take the core of the story and build an intricate frame around it. It really is the little things that make the plot.

That being said, I’m also coming to terms with the fact that Book 1, as proud as I am of it, is not a reflection of my skills now. And isn’t that always the way of it? Your skills as a writer are always changing, always evolving. You become more theatrical, more concise, more in tune with what a reader is looking for. Your voice becomes more lyrical; bolder, brighter. It becomes everything you could have imagined.

And then the next day it becomes that all over again. Because your skills as a writer are not static, they are constantly evolving, and at some point you have to step back and say “Yes, this is as good as I can make it with my current skill set.” Even though one day you know you will look back at it, face palm, and pray for the sweet release of death.

I was fortunate enough to meet a local author yesterday, who told me about a time she saw Yann Martel speak. Martel, of Life of Pi fame, explained how he hated the first line of the novel and eventually just had to come to terms with it.

Yup, that sounds about right. Come to terms with it. Deal with it. Suck it up, cupcake. You’ll never look back at your old work and thing that it was the best thing ever. It is always changing. As you grow and evolve so does your writing.

Still, that desire to go back and press the ‘edit’ button is so, so tempting…

Where was I? Oh right. Book 2.

Coming June (probably) of 2017! Book 2 of The Code Series. The Skeletal Bird.


It has been two months since the Seige on Alcatraz. Natalia Artison and her guardian, Jim Wilkinson, have been on the run, changing names, identities, and stories, in the desperate hope of staying one step ahead of those that want them dead. 

But things have changed, and it is time to go home. With old enemies now on their heels, and an innocent child the victim of circumstance, Natalia and Jim must agree to forge an alliance with one who wants them dead in order to prevent an even more vicious enemy from coming down upon them.

Even an alliance with the devil cannot protect the innocent. With Jim’s family caught in the crossfire, Natalia must decide which fate is more horrendous: one where she is the killer, or one where she is the killed. 


 

Awwyisss.

Until then, may I recommend you purchase a copy of Between Fire and Pines from Amazon and become acquainted with the world of Natalia Artison and the Agency?

Until next time,

Kathleen

Fractals

She was built of fractals that continued to break down, leaving behind smaller halves of the same person.

Several days ago I finished the second draft of Book 2 of The Code Series. It was a little surreal. I’ve spoken before about earworms, and how some idea can get nestled down into your skull and refuse to leave until you rewrite your entire manuscript. The original draft of book 2 was a bit different. I finished it and didn’t feel satisfied. It felt disjointed and not the least bit cohesive. Whether or not that was true, it’s hard to say. I generally go with my gut on these things, so I took a couple days away from the draft, figured out where I went wrong, and deleted 70k words. And while I shed a bitter tear for all the words lost, I knew that it was the right thing to do.

Now with the second draft finished I feel much better. I have the same stomach squirm (elusive cousin of the ear worm) that is telling me this is it. Now I’m on the right path. This is a draft I can, and will, work with.

Enter my favorite part of the process. Not rewrites, because screw rewrites. No one likes them. No, this is the part where I go through the manuscript and begin to develop the ideas that were half assed. Increase that, add more blood to that, throw in another explosion here, more drama, less mystery, more ghosts. Any and all of it. It is essentially a full rewrite, but I start with major changes (13 at last count) that need to be addressed. And these changes are what give the story an air of mystery. They are the pieces of thread that connect all the stories together.

love this part of the process.

And yet, while I’m busy writing, and moving, and dealing with a huge barrel of drama at work (and the barrel is full of bees and the bees are on fire) I have mistakenly forgotten that marketing is a valuable part of the whole process. If I want people to read Book 2, I really need them to read book 1. I am no good at marketing. I get into slumps where I’d rather read or write new things. Anything than create another tweet that says “Hey! Look at me!”

Okay, story time…

The other day at work I got a call. Usually when people call me at work it is to ask about consignment which I, bizarrely, agreed to take over when the Consignment Manager left. This time, however, the phone call was for me, Kathleen, the author. The woman on the other end explained her son had bought my book and wanted to come in to introduce his Grandma to me, who had been reading the book with him over the last few weeks.

I knew this kid, because he was there at my signing and bought the book while I nervously looked at my mom, telepathically screaming to her What do I do oh my god this isn’t appropriate for someone his age oh my god oh my god oh my god!

Since my signing, the kid, Yago, has come to see me at work a couple times. We’ve had lots of fun talking about the book and Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. On the day his mom called I was having a brutal day. I was miserable from all the drama and getting accused of things I hadn’t done. I was tired of being part of the rumor mill and just wanted to go home. Getting to see Yago again would be a highlight so obviously I enthusiastically told his mom to bring him on over.

A few hours later I was standing at the front, being introduced to his grandma, who slyly told me that Book 1 was the only time she would ever say those words around him. (Oh my god, how many times did I drop the F-bomb? I’m so sorry, Grandma!) I explained that I was having a miserable day until they showed up, and how happy it made me to see them. I gave Yago my card so we could email if he wanted to.

He wasn’t happy that [Spoilers] died, but he liked the book all the same.

It was an amazing experience. My first real fan. The first person who has no real reason to care about my writing, and he liked it. It was remarkable and heartwarming and made me feel like, despite all the mistakes of the first one, it was still a palatable book and was worth the marketing effort and the exhaustive hours and the tears and struggles. That the fact the series is going to be 9 books long isn’t ridiculous – it’s worth it, because it is a good story that is worthy of being completed.

It felt like a renewal. It sparked the flame again. It was marvelous. Now, with only 9 days until we move, I’m saying screw it to packing for a while, and I’m going to sit down and edit the hell out of Book 2. Because someone out there is waiting eagerly to see what happens next, and I don’t want to disappoint him.

Fun reminder! You can buy a copy of my debut novel, The Code: Book 1 – Between Fire and Pines, from Amazon right here or read an excerpt here!

Meet My (Writing) Family

A few days ago it was National Book Lovers Day. I had the intention of making a blog post to shamelessly self-promote myself, but as with all things, life got in the way and I failed amazingly well.

I did, however spend some time contemplating my writing journey, silly as it was. I thought about how The Code started as a silly project to help me cope with the challenges of life, and then somewhere along the way became firmly embedded as a part of me. I thought about the people who supported my GoFundMe so I could pay for my editor, and my managers at Chapters who have eagerly supported me by allowing my book to be on the shelves. I thought about my coworkers, who have bought copies and demanded I sign them, as if I were someone important.

As if the book has value beyond what I imagine for it.

And then, perhaps most importantly, I thought about my writing friends. No, not friends. Family. I thought about the people that are on the same journey, some ahead, some behind, some on a different path still leading to the same well. I thought about them and was immeasurably grateful for their love, support, and their insanity. And it occurred to me that while I’m not by any measure a particularly important person in the world of self-publishing, I do have a few people who glance at this blog. It would behoove me to share the accomplishments and sing the praises of the people I care about whenever possible. With that in mind… Meet my second family.

Ashley Whitt, who I met via kismet when myself and others were seeking critique partners on CC. Along with Lisa Reece, the three of us began the arduous task of sharing and exploring each other’s writing. She is in the query stage, and has had several requests for partial and full manuscripts of her speculative suspense novel, The Fairer Sex. What if men were no longer needed; what if women not only ruled the world but kept the men oppressed in camps? What if a woman saw a child – a male child –  at a camp who looked remarkably like her own daughter? Samantha kidnaps the boy and, accompanied by a man, Jonas, makes a wild escape into a world that she is beginning to question.

I loved everything about The Fairer Sex. It was my first experience acting as a critique partner to someone, and the day Ashley gets the agent she absolutely deserves and sells TFS for a gazillion dollars, you can be damn sure I will be putting my Staff Picks sticker on it at work.


Amber Pierce (My Agent Told Me To Make a Blog) is the first of our little group to actually accomplish something in the vein of traditional publishing. She has an agent, she has an agent who is telling her what to fix in order to make Pull of Gravity the perfect piece to pitch to publishers. Like Ashley, Amber has worked her ass off to get where she is, and we’re intensely proud of her. Her love of science and dedication to her craft makes for amazing blog posts, which you should definitely check out! Alternately, go find her on Twitter.


Pat – Mr. P.A. Thompson – has more dedication to writing than I could theoretically muster in a lifetime. He goes to conferences, he rubs elbows, he makes it damn clear that he wants this, and his novel Dog Tags, is going to get him to the top. An emotional and physically defeated veteran has his life inexplicably changed when he finds a stray dog whose tags help direct him through life. I was pleased to assist in a small way when Pat asked me about living with chronic pain.

Sometimes we live vicariously through Pat, for those of us that can’t get to, or afford, writers conferences. He gets the info, absorbs it life none other, and graciously passes it on. We’d have no idea what those conferences were life if not for Pat. And now, just recently, he has become, and I quote “a real writer”, by receiving his first rejection letter. One of us, Pat. One of us.


Debbi Miller Gutierrez, aka Gretchen. She is, without a doubt, the mom of the group. She looks after us, an while her wit is absolutely biting, she can turn it off at a moments notice to offer advice. As long as that advice doesn’t have anything to do with how you plan to kill a dog in your book because she will literally eat your face if you even dare consider it. She is a dog-lover through and through. Her children’s books are charming and popular with the children of our group members. Gretchen may have been in a slump with her latest work, but over the last month she has been re-energized to take it on, and we can’t wait to see what happens next.


Keith McBride, parrot lover, Hugh Howey worshipper.

Keith and Parrot Lovin'

Suck it, Keith. Oh wait, you already did.

He’s in a band now. He also self-published Across the Chasm, a Kindle Worlds novella set in the world of Hugh Howey’s Sand series. Keith really, really loves Hugh Howey. His latest venture is a baseball novel, which is severely lack in explosions if you ask me. He is also the go to when it comes to cooking of any kind. He’s a joker, a smoker, but presumably not a midnight toker because he is also a family man. He introduced me to Maine Beer Company, which I can never forgive him for, given that it is very, very hard to find MBC in Calgary. Goddamit, Keith.


T.R. Calais aka Aries75. She has an image for everything; no matter what you have said, what you have commented on, within 30 seconds she will appear with a relevant article or image to make you laugh. She is a writer of contemporary women’s fiction, a genre that few of us dare tread. Still, knowing Aries75, The Best Bad Day (Coming soon!) is going to stand out among the rest with humor and contemporary relevance that is rarely seen in women’s fiction.

 

Linnea Ren, who abandoned us for a year to go to Asia and returned, remarkably, without any strange disease created through the combination of bat spit and lemur tears. I am in the process of beta reading her novel, Waking Immortal, which I will definitely get back to as soon as I finish this post. She is the youngun’ of the group, but not lacking in experience or knowledge. She is deeply passionate about her work, taking part in every pitch contest on Twitter, and constantly on the hunt to find another way to improve her query. Again with the dedication. It must be a writer thing that I just ended up missing out on.


A special shout out to David Fross, Dfross, who isn’t a writer but a graphic artist. He made my cover. He made Keith’s cover. I have no idea how he found our chat room or why he decided to stay, but he is a fantastic person and constantly… erm… challenges us with his viewpoints. You’re an okay guy, Dfross.


We all have so much still to learn about writing, but our combined experiences make us professionals. Well, professional assholes if anything. We goof around. We tease each other. We harass each other. We force each other to be better and question our decisions in our characters and plots. It is an amazing miniature family to be part of, and doesn’t even include the others who appear on the chat less often. I will forever be grateful for the help and love these individuals have shown me over the years, and I look forward to harassing them endlessly for many more years to come. If you are looking for hilarious Twitter feeds, informative blogs, or wonderful self-published work, I recommend taking a look at the links above. It won’t be a waste of time. Or maybe it will. I don’t know. Either way, at the end of the day we’ll keep doing the same old faffing about.

An Open Letter to John Connolly

Dear John Connolly,

I’ll be the first to admit, I should be busy reading A Time of Torment, which was just (mercifully) released in North America. There is a bonus working in a book store, even if it is a mass retailer. The moment I realized Torment was released I was able to leave our lunch room and ravenously search our shelves until, upon realizing I couldn’t find our five copies (Five? Only five! Blasphemy!) demand assistance from my coworkers to whom I promised a shiny quarter to the first person who could hand me a copy. The shiny quarter ended up going to my boss, who located Torment in the mystery section. We generally shelve your books under general fiction because of its beautiful culmination of elements taken from different genres. On more than one occasion I have found it in horror and mentally decried the foolishness of my coworkers. Yes, it is horror; yes, it is mystery; yes, it is paranormal and at times, when Rachel makes her appearance, a tiny bit romantic. It is all that and so much more. Charlie Parker is so much more.

I began following the story of Charlie Parker around the time The Reapers was first released. It was the first of your novels that I read. I am a sucker for assassins and banter and blood splatter. It seemed right up my alley. I loved it enough to hunt down your other work, not realizing that Charlie Parker was the true antihero of the series. I was easily smitten by his sarcasm, his nobility, and oh, the fact that he is being flipping haunted by his dead wife and daughter holy shit this is amazing oh my god oh my god homaigawd. 

Sorry, I lost my head there a bit. I’m a little madly in love with your writing (and your wry Irish wit which, if my Irish relatives are any indication, is a national thing. We Canadians aren’t nearly as exceptional in the biting sarcasm and smarm.) And that is precisely why I write this open letter to you today.

For however many years your writing has accompanied me through my various phases in life. From hospitals to parental divorce to marriage and finally, into my own timid foray into writing. Charlie Parker has accompanied me every step of the way and, perhaps more importantly, challenged me.

No, that isn’t quite right. Parker doesn’t challenge me. At least, not in the way I mean. But you do. Your writing does. I’ve read and reread every book of yours multiple times. Reading them as a teenager, and into very young adulthood, they were just fascinating adventures into the human condition, a remarkable blend of paranormal, supernatural, and violence, which really just rings all my metaphorical bells. But as an adult, now educated and having taken numerous classes where the focus was primarily on analyzing literature, I see so much more in your work.

I see the tiny threads connecting each story. I see the way in which Parker’s fate is predetermined now and he, having died and returned to the natural world, is now an active participant in his own destiny. He has embraced it, or appears to in my mind. Granted, I am only on page 137 of A Time of Torment. Anything could happen.

And his meeting with the Collector at the beginning? Oh my god, I nearly peed myself from the level of badassery that was spilling from the pages.

Since I’ve begun to reread the series, yet again, I’ve taken my time with each novel. I’ve searched for hints of things to come. The exact moment I realized I needed to start paying attention was when Sam, I think in The Wolf in Winter, handed Charlie a cross made of sticks and told him it was to protect him. That was it. I knew it. Never has a series captured my attention and forced me to utilize so much of my memory to try and piece together the what if’s and what’s to come’s.

And you’ve given your readers an honest chance. That’s what I love about the Charlie Parker stories, more than anything. Deep reading aside, any dedicated fan (as I like to call myself) has an honest chance to guess what might happen on the next page, in the next chapter, in the next book.

And yet you continue to shock me, book after book. There is no denying your skill to engage the readers and create beautiful imagery melded with real, honest to god people with faults and hopes and downfalls.

It makes me profoundly jealous. I know your literary prowess didn’t appear overnight; even now I reread Every Dead Thing and some points make me cringe and think Now that might just be a bit too much. Reading your work in order, I can see the transition, and the trepidation as the supernatural and unreal becomes more prolific and the characters begin to test their limits.

It is, for a lack of a better word, glorious. You, sir, are a phenomenal author, and it makes me horribly jealous.

Thank you, for that. No. I mean it. Honestly and without an ounce of sarcasm (which anyone who knows me can tell you is quite remarkable in itself), thank you for making me want to be a better author. Thank you for making me look at my own writing and see the borders I have drawn around it. Thank you for unknowingly telling me to set fire to those borders and draw characters out of flame and ash and send them out into the world.

Thank you for Charlie Parker and all he has suffered. Thank you for Angel and Louis, who are my favorite assassins of all time. Thank you for Sam, for the subtle ways you have made her more than a child needing to be protected, for giving her a greater purpose. Thank you for all the stories, and the many more to come (I hope.)

Thank you so much for making me want to be a better author.

Most sincerely,

Kathleen Sawisky