Why did you choose a tragedy for your debut novel?
Excellent question!
Since today is the official release day for my novel relaunch, I thought I’d apply a little introspective analysis to my novel. Why would I pick a genre that’s 1.) Outdated, 2.) A romantic tragedy (not exactly topping bestseller lists), and 3.) Psychological fiction (when most people prefer action and adventure)?
Well, if ya wanna know, I’ll tell ya.
Growing up, I struggled with depression and the overall internal suggestion that I was a waste of oxygen. I was not popular, didn’t have any awe-inspiring talents, and quickly realized that I was only average-looking. All around average. How was I going to survive, let alone thrive, as a lonely young woman in an increasingly competitive world that expected me to be a high-value feminist badass?
Some family issues contributed to my social isolation. Then, I made the biggest mistake of all time by losing my heart to someone who only saw me as a friend. “There’s all the proof you needed,” I thought. “You’re worthless. You’re ugly, you’re boring, and you’re going to die alone.”
Self-deprecation constantly invaded my head. By the time I was eighteen, my whole personality was steeped in melancholy. But I still had some fight left in me. All that love accumulating over the years had nowhere to go, and it literally felt like a wreath of thorns constricting my heart. It had to be expressed in some way, or else there’d be nothing left of my heart except shredded fragments. It was no longer a question of “Will anyone ever love me?” but “Will I ever be able to love anyone again?”
Slowly but surely, I started to write my first novel.
I didn’t tell anybody. My well-meaning parents viewed fiction as a waste of time, and I wasn’t about to disappoint them more than I already had. But my heartache, my profound emotional suppression, and my distaste for conforming to society’s expectations flooded onto the pages with an ease I’d never experienced before. It was as if my soul had pushed my mask aside and seized control of every sentence. It was freedom, pure and simple… and it made me realize so many things about myself that until then, I’d refused to acknowledge.
Yes, I’m going to live an average life, grow old, and die, just like everybody else. I’m not some kind of genius or supermodel or incredible philanthropist. And my books have precious little chance of popularity, either, so long as I dislike using social media – which appears to be a permanent impediment.
But despite all that, I’ll leave a piece of my soul behind in every book. And people can touch it, hold it, read it, muse over it. They’ll have a piece of me, no matter what. And that means a great deal to me, even if I’ll never see Waldgeist grace the shelves of best-sellers.
I thank each and every one of my beloved readers from the bottom of my heart.
