I suppose you can imagine what it feels like to carry around a head full of years’ worth of chatter, plans, locations, and neuroses. What complicates that is when so much of it belongs to fictional people. The method of silencing it is writing a book, but that’s complicated by plot twists. You suddenly feel like there are fewer hours in a day. You’re popping up every fifteen minutes to see what your elderly cat peed on. A kid needs help finding their school iPad. You forgot to start the sprinklers and it’s going to be a grass-scorching 100-degree day.
Your best-laid plans laugh in your face. (Which you forgot to put your serums and moisturizers on this morning.)
Finishing anything right now should feel like the ultimate of victories. But finishing a series—damn, I still don’t know how to process that, even after all these books.
The Afótama Legacy was a seat-of-my-pants adventure, and I definitely clutched my own pearls a few times while navigating it.
If you’ve been following me for some time, you probably already know that I never really say goodbye to a place or group of characters I’ve created. I just spin off into other things, and we’ll see those beloved characters popping in here and there. Still, it’s hard to give up my full-time Norseton residency. I’ll miss the scandals.
I guess I’ll have to create new ones elsewhere.
You can read all about Ótama and Lachlann’s now:
I love these prickly magical weirdos, and I hope they’re everything you expected them to be. (*wild eyes*)
I suppose I should mention here, as I do in the author’s note at the end of Legacy that the final Norseton Wolves novella is set AFTER this novel, so that will be one of the next stories you’ll see from me. And then you’ll likely see something from the Hearth Motel. You probably expect that book to be Sully’s, but nah. It’ll be Matt’s.