When I’m writing a book, it’s mine.
I get the joy of fleshing out characters, the exhilaration of noodling through the plot, the frustration when it seems like something can’t and won’t and will never work. And then, I get the utter elation of solving that pesky little something.
But the minute I published The Longblood, it wasn’t my book anymore.
It became yours.
- Because in this marathon, my leg of the journey is over. I’ve passed the baton to you, and if you choose to accept it, you’ll craft a world from the descriptive clues I’ve left you here and there. You’ll decide the exact tone of the light, for lanterns shine differently in our minds. You’ll choose the pitch of the voices, for what is high to me might be much higher to you.
- Your participation in this collaboration is the magic in books. You are the magic in books; the words are finite, while you are infinite.
- I will never know the world you have created. The finish line is yours to cross – the story is only complete when you complete it.
I wonder what Daniel will look like in your mind. I wonder what Ainsley will sound like. I wonder how their hope and love and fear will feel inside your chest. And though I’ll always wonder and wish I could know your world, I treasure the quietness of our collaboration, the secretness.
Even more, I treasure the trust and time it took for you to make The Longblood yours.
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