The Place of Disappointment

A lot of writing Desperation comes from a place of disappointment; it's waking up and finding out you're special, you're the chosen one, there's magic around you - but it doesn't matter because you feel alienated and none of your problems are fixed and it doesn't make up for the fact that you're an orphan and your Dumbledore is kind of a grouchy bitch who has no clue how to help you. Throw in boys kissing boys, insect metaphors, and old mansions, and you've got this book.

There's this place Val, as a character, comes from, where it's all indecision and self-resentment. He feels like he's wasted precious time and he's always one-step behind, and he's suffered this big loss to the point where he doesn't know who he is anymore, if he's not the person who just. . .survives.

Essentially, what happens when you move past trauma and realize you have lost a lot of your own identity, as a person? How do you redefine who you are? How do you do it when everything around you is unfamiliar?

How do you do that while magical creatures try to seduce, steal, or murder you? That's what this is about.

It's also about paranormal romance and urban fantasy, in general. Those books have these moments where there are big speeches and romantic declarations and dramatic feuds - but what happens, in reality, when you're trying to relate these complex feelings and the words just won't come out?

How do you work around awkwardness and fear and internal conflicts in order to really, truly reach a place where you can communicate with someone? And how do you reach a place where you don't blame yourself for the past? When stuff isn't all big declarations of emotion and destiny and fate, when there are so many moments of wondering and questioning everything, how do you really fight evil or save the world? Because Val is thrust into this spot where he's got warring factions fighting over him, and monsters hunting him and harming the people around him.

He's got something, not essentially, but close enough to, a destiny to fulfill, and at the same time he's dealing with the first true romantic relationships of his life and leaving behind not only childhood, but his home.

Throw in mourning over his father, and the boy has issues. It's a dark book.

It's also a very light book, at the same time, because while so much of his story is despair, Val really comes from a place of Joy, and kind of this childlike wishing of everything to fit together and be simple and easy. He's got a kind of innocent soul, when its stripped to its barest level.

I'm in that place right now, as a writer, where his voice is starting to click for me, and the story is starting to grind together in the right way where I'm feeling the ball start to roll. I can see myself drafting the rest of this in a very timely manner before moving on the the two Dreamwalker books. AKA; projects are going well.

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On that note, you can buy the Dreamwalker novella, a standalone story, here! Or, you can hit me up on twitter here, for more talk about work, writing, pop culture, and pretty boys. (A very important subject, clearly!)

Again?

Here's a Desperation quote! Again? Yes, again. I am having a lot of fun writing this book:

Desperation...

I'm going to draft the next 3 or 4 chapters of Desperation tonight, concluding the first act of the novel, and then have the next two acts done within the next four days. That means that this book will be out sooner than I thought!

It helps that it's a lighter, fun project to take my mind off a more intense beast I'm about to tackle another round of edits on. Plus, gay faeries. It's just a fun, romantic story with lots of action.

Here's an extract:

The lingering echo of death filled my mouth like the taste of copper, and I turned around and plunged into the forest after the rude boy who’d just saved my life.

Rowan led the way through the dense forest without a word.

I spent most of the walk staring at the rippling muscles of his back. He was muscular, but not overtly so—more lithe and slender. There was something slightly feline about the way he walked, graceful and silent, while I crashed through the underbrush like a bull in a china shop.

By the time we reached the edge of the forest, the sun was setting. It had been only four in the afternoon when I’d pulled myself out of bed and left the house, but now the balmy summer air had taken on a slightly cooler level and the sky was a rippling canvas of pink and purple.

We stopped at the edge of the forest, a silent agreement, and stood together for a moment. Across the lawn, George looked up from where he was tossing his tools into his wheelbarrow and spotted me. He had clearly been at work for a while, sweat beading on his dark brown skin. His eyes widened, face registering surprise, and he began to wave me over.

“Thank y—” my words cut off abruptly as I turned to face Rowan.

He was already gone.

And, as always, a link to the first chapter!