Finish Line Redux

Now that I'm FINALLY reaching the end of revisions, I'm actually starting to feel pretty good about this novel.  I'm really getting exciting about writing the next one, too.  I hope people like these books.  I guess that's what I worry about the most.  I really felt like no one actually read my last story.  Most of the people I know who bought it, did so because they thought they were helping me and never actually read the thing.  Yeah.  It sucked.  So, my only goal for this book was to reach a larger audience and make a more accessible final piece.

My research indicated that, although ebook sales have been steadily rising, 75% of all book sales still happen in a bookstore.  Most people prefer to read a book on paper, myself included.  I also wrote this book in a more popular and successful genre that's continuing crank out new entries every year.  Of course, that's not really the reason I chose to write this book.  I started the idea because of my own frustration with finding a good Urban Fantasy series outside of the Dresden Files.  Well, not just good, but also not drenched with hardcore love-making scenes and friendly, misunderstood monsters.  So, with those rules and ideas wadded up in my hand, I thought I'd write a book.

That's where Lost Lamb came from.

In some ways, I think this story has nothing to do with me as a person.  I've never shot at orcs or been friends with any cute, lady wizards.  But, in another way, the story is me.  I was thinking about it the other day.  I went to great length to make Jason Ingram different from myself.  I didn't want a more athletic, kick-ass version of myself.  Looking at you, Laurel K. Hamilton (just teasing).  I gave Jason a dark side and a weakness for rage.  Not just passionate anger that makes you punch a hole in the wall.  Jason's vice is that kind of rage that swells out of your gut like a ball of lava.  That intelligent, honed hatred that you form into the keenest weapon you can until you can plunge it where it'll do the most damage.  Wrath, you could call it.

As you may have guessed, this is based on firsthand experience.  When I was younger, I had a lot of anger problems.  Pretty bad ones, too.  I went through all kinds of different support methods.  Counseling.  Prayer (back when I was religious).  Meditation.  Most of it didn't work for me.  Finally, when I was fifteen, I took a karate class.  That did it.  Physical exertion put me in control of how I felt and gave me a positive outlet.  I had to do something with my anger.  Just like Jason.

If a thought is a jewel, no matter how much we work on it and add facets to make it special and different, each surface is a tiny mirror reflecting its maker.