April 29th is a day that I celebrate every year for the last nineteen of them, I quietly acknowledge that this is the day that I picked up an empty salt n’ pepper composition book and filled it with the words that I needed to get out of my system. Those words became my first novel, Washed Glass. When I finished writing it six months later on October 29, it had a beginning and an end, and lots of shit happening in the middle—maybe too much. I revised it many times and set it aside in 2004. That time from 1999-2004 was pretty intense, I had the floodgates wide open and all of these stories came into being. I was writing them as fast as I could, very often simultaneously—it was madness, and I was incredibly happy and miserable at the same time. As it is, Washed Glass is still very raw—it has chronic first novel-itus—which usually is a death knell for many first novel attempts. I know it has lots of potential to become what I have envisioned for it, it’s going to take time and focus. I believe that more than one book can be dredged out of what’s there, the fractals of possibilities branch out and keep making more stories to explore.
I visit Washed Glass occasionally to tweak a detail here and there because it overlaps with my three other novels, Dusty Waters A Ghost Story, The Fractured Hues of White Light, and Drinking from the Fishbowl, maintaining the consistency from one book to the next is a challenge. This community of characters that I have created are all connected in some form—as in real life, people influence one another in various ways, for good or bad. I check in with the two main characters, Katharine Tierney and Jonathan Wiley, from time to time as they wander in and out of the story threads of the other novels, leaving bread crumbs that will lead to their story, and I am so excited that their turn is coming. I’m certain that I can make it right.
(Drinking from the Fishbowl is in the final, final, final stages of “dotting i’s and crossing t’s”, I swear fuck damn it, this time it’s going to be done!)