Today, I finally passed a point in the closing scenes of the novel (Journey of the Daggers) that, quite frankly, I thought I’d never have the courage to complete. My wife looked at me and said, what’s wrong?
I was sitting in the living room, trying to write the same paragraphs that I’ve been trying to finish for the last three weeks and I started to cry. I had to grab my notebook and go outside.
When you live with fiction and its characters for as long as I have, they become real. They have to. When they die, you feel just about the same way as you would if a good friend died.
Today, I realized how powerful the mind of a writer can be. I realized how in love and in hate your mind can get given the sum of your own words and time and care–for something that is as real as your mind makes it.
Today, I lost good friend. But the sacrifice was necessary. Absolutely. Just as necessary as the good friend who died in volume 1… The Cubit (some of you know who I’m talking about, and some of you got as upset as I did when they died).
Rest in peace, my good friend. Without you, the Journey of the Daggers would have ended in Hell.