I can’t stop thinking about a book I wrote a while ago. The Luna Moth.
When I was in my very early twenties, my first husband and I separated, and I had sort of a mental meltdown. Alcohol flowed…a lot of it. It didn’t take long for the situation to really spiral out of control.
At some point during this period in my life I just got disgusted with…well, everything. Mostly myself, I guess. I was not a good person. Looking back, I can see no redeeming qualities about the person I was then.
I had a couple of really good friends. I avoided them.
One persisted. She called me, came by. Asked me WTF I was doing.
I didn’t know- I really didn’t. I wrecked myself. Mentally, physically.
I had pills. Percocet. One night I decided I was just too tired, and I took them all.
There was never a conscious thought in my head that said; “I want to kill myself.” Never did I think that. I just wanted to sleep. To be left alone. But I was not.
I still had a friend. A friend who came that night, a friend who dragged me out, took me for a drive, and during the course of this blurry night I threw up.
The state police came in the morning, I got sent to the hospital, put in ICU for a day or so, then set to the psych ward for “evaluation.”
I believe to this day that I am alive because of a friend, because I threw up. The doctors said I had taken enough pills to quote; “kill a horse.”
I don’t have this friend anymore. Only in my memories, in my heart, in my head. I wrote a book for her, that she never got to read. It is sweet, and for my writing style; it is incredibly tame. I knew it had to be, because of the subject matter- but also because I had written it with a specific publisher in mind.
When it was finally done, I sent in a sample, and waited. I didn’t expect too long a wait, since I had books published with this publisher.
I didn’t have a long wait.
Three days, as I recall. I was so irate when I read the email that I cried. They rejected the book. Without reading the whole thing, and without explanation.
I knew the explanation, but no one had the balls to say it to me.
The heroine had cancer. She has one breast.
My thought, big fucking deal. Get over it. It fucking happens. It happens to people that you love, people that you need, and people that you miss so much that it leaves a big black hole in your heart.
The book was published, not by that publisher. By Renaissance ebooks. The Luna Moth. Among my works, it goes un-noticed. Not my typical kidnap story, no guns, no page after page of sex (though there is some…)
Just a few days ago I put it out for review. Why am I pushing it now? I don’t know. Maybe because while I was trying to get The Lion Man reviewed I kept thinking about that sweet little book that sits stagnant at the sellers.
I cannot read the book myself, I really can’t. It’s too much, too close, too much going on, right down to losing a cat to feline leukemia.
If you are a fan of my work, do me a favor and buy this book. You might end up hating it, you might think it is too syrupy sweet, too simple a story.
It is a simple story. The story is that it sucks to have someone who only sees your flaws, and when you have someone in your life who sees the real you it is a wonderful thing.
I am lucky to have that, and I guess if I really think about things, I always have had that, even when I was too messed up to notice.
Life is good. Embrace it. Live it.