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pjthompsonOnce long ago, in a lifetime far, far away I read R. A. MacAvoy's exquisite Damiano trilogy—Damiano, Damiano's Lute, and Raphael. The emotional and creative power of it stuck with me all these years. I never reread the trilogy, more because I loved it so much rather than because I didn't love it, if you understand me. But I've been haunted by the brief author's note she stuck at the end of the last volume (no spoilers here). I'll have to paraphrase because the books are still packed away and I can't check exactly what she said, but it was close to this:
"This is the last book of the Damiano trilogy. There won't be anymore. I no longer know what it means."
I was fairly young at the time, though not a kid, and I had an intellectual appreciation for this statement because having read those three books, I could well imagine how exhausting they must have been. But I hadn't written even my first novel then, so although the words haunted me, they didn't quite inhabit me, if you know what I mean.
My first novel was one of those generic Medievaloid quest fantasies and although it seemed a big challenge at the time (and it was), it wasn't as much of a challenge as later novels. Each one's been a little harder, but I can truly say that none of them gave me as much trouble as Night Warrior—not even close, and I was writing it during a chaotic (but not tragic) time in my life, too. Not to be overly dramatic about this, but I think after this experience, I have a little emotional piece of R. A. MacAvoy's statement inside me.
I haven't gotten anywhere close to her achievement, and there are still enormous problems to solve in order to make Night Warrior workable. I don't know if it will ever be a good book, but I do know this: the work transformed as it unfolded, became something I didn't intend, something in the end that was more than I could have done before. The work, and more importantly, sticking with the project even when it made me despair, has transformed me. I don't know what it means anymore—good, bad, ugly, pretty, or indifferent. I just don't know. And it hardly matters at this moment, at the end of a long process. It is what it is.
But (*deep sigh*) I'm glad I finished it.
"This is the last book of the Damiano trilogy. There won't be anymore. I no longer know what it means."
I was fairly young at the time, though not a kid, and I had an intellectual appreciation for this statement because having read those three books, I could well imagine how exhausting they must have been. But I hadn't written even my first novel then, so although the words haunted me, they didn't quite inhabit me, if you know what I mean.
My first novel was one of those generic Medievaloid quest fantasies and although it seemed a big challenge at the time (and it was), it wasn't as much of a challenge as later novels. Each one's been a little harder, but I can truly say that none of them gave me as much trouble as Night Warrior—not even close, and I was writing it during a chaotic (but not tragic) time in my life, too. Not to be overly dramatic about this, but I think after this experience, I have a little emotional piece of R. A. MacAvoy's statement inside me.
I haven't gotten anywhere close to her achievement, and there are still enormous problems to solve in order to make Night Warrior workable. I don't know if it will ever be a good book, but I do know this: the work transformed as it unfolded, became something I didn't intend, something in the end that was more than I could have done before. The work, and more importantly, sticking with the project even when it made me despair, has transformed me. I don't know what it means anymore—good, bad, ugly, pretty, or indifferent. I just don't know. And it hardly matters at this moment, at the end of a long process. It is what it is.
But (*deep sigh*) I'm glad I finished it.