Books are like a relationship. You put a lot of effort into it, flirt with it, flutter your eyelashes and maybe, just maybe, that story will like you back.
My debut novel, Phoenix, was my first love. We spent long weekends together. Some late nights, too. Fumbling through the fictive dream, sometimes getting it right, sometimes just getting our braces locked together.
We managed to make it
through high school to publication without too much drama. But, alas, it was time to graduate and move on to college.
That’s where I met Pardon Falls. While there’s some commonalities between the two, where Phoenix was that easy affable book-next-door, Pardon Falls is that moody book that makes me feel like the wittiest girl in the world one minute, only to leave me binge watching My So Called Life while shoveling ice cream into my mouth the next.
If Pardon Falls were truly a boy, he’d be that long-haired dreamy guy in flannel and ripped jeans playing a heartfelt ballad on his guitar for me to make up for catching him flirting with my roommate. We all know how these relationships end, but we still jump in with both feet understanding that the broken heart comes with the territory.
But these second relationships are where we truly learn about ourselves. This is where we learn who we are. We learn our strengths, our weaknesses. We learn what makes us happy, and what drives us crazy. We learn to give, we learn to take.
And, most importantly, we learn to love.