*breath in *
My book has seen the light, people.
Which means I’m on tour in a lot of great blogs. Blog tours come with lots of interviews and posts about the book, me, and the whole crazy mess that’s a book release. It was for one of those I wrote this post. To this date, it’s the most intimate, personal post I’ve ever written. I’m not really into heavy stuff, you know? I like things easy breezy, I don’t like drama – which added to the weirdness of realizing how alike I am with Aidan. But here we are.
Writing Aidan and Summer’s story opened my eyes to many things, and the following it’s the biggest realization to date and it seems only fair that I post it here on my blog, my home, in a way, as well.
When your Characters help you.
Aidan, the Hero of my last novel, had a rough childhood–and I’m hugely underplaying this. As a reaction, he closed the world out and hunkered down into himself and his art.
Well, it could easily have been me.
I didn’t have it as bad as he did, not by any measure. My father was a raging alcoholic, one who hung with the wrong crowd and because of it, I saw things no child of 7 should.
But I had my mom, my grandparents, and my little town that never failed to make me feel loved and accepted. It was a cushion that didn’t make me break.
The cracks though, those I carry with me, probably always will.
I hardly ever cried for whatever crap my dear daddy did, anger was my medium. It was easier getting mad, really mad, than sad and hurt. Oversensitive and empathetic, I made myself be the fighter I probably wouldn’t have been otherwise out of necessity. I didn’t like lit, I didn’t want it, but I had to in order to survive emotionally.
I had huge issues with trust, and only because my husband is the very definition of an honorable man I started believing in the male category again. I can trust him, people can trust him, and that means there are good men around.
But it wasn’t until I wrote Aidan’s story that I realized how much of an impact my father had on me throughout the years and most importantly, that letting go of the past might take off because of someone (my husband for me, Summer for Aidan), but it can’t be done by someone else. It has to come from within.
Aidan’s epilog came as such a catharsis.
It was like he was showing me the way. He got rid of his ghosts, so maybe it’s time for me to do the same.
He made me see it can be done. It’s worth doing it.
We have a trip to Italy planned for this Christmas so it will be my chance to say my goodbyes–to bad memories, to people who are no longer here, to what can’t be changed.
Oh, how it will suck. But it’s needed.
This is the real power of books. Sometimes you have to see things from someone else’s perspective to find your way out from a problem, maybe even a problem you didn’t know you had.
I didn’t write Aidan’s story because of me, or my experience. It was his story, his demons. But it made me see mine and made me want to do something about it.
So, thank you, Aidan and Summer.
Now I see the way.
His Midnight Sun
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This is a stop in the great Book Hook Hop, and you can see all the other authors here: