So I know it’s been quite a while since I’ve posted anything, so sorry if anyone was actually waiting for my exciting post that I promised. But I just had a thought that I felt defined me in a rather interesting way. As anyone who knows me would tell you, I am a major bookworm- always have been, always will be. Right now, though, I’m avoiding my current read. Yes, you read that correctly. I am afraid of finishing my book. Before you run to get the thermometer, let me explain. This book is the final in a quartet that acts as a companion series to another set of books that rank really high on my list of All-Time Favorite Book Series. (The original series is the Weather Warden series, the set of four is the Outcast Season series, both by the fabulous Rachel Caine, in case anyone is interested). When I finished the last WW book, I mourned. Like seriously. I moped, I listened to the playlists numerous times, I painted my nails black (which my sister thought was terribly strange). I was so sad that the characters and world I loved had come to an end. So when I found the companion series, I was ecstatic. And now I’ve reached the end of this series, too. These novels, like I said before, are some of my absolute favorite books. The main characters are both really relatable to me, and the more I work on my own story, the more I realize how they’ve influenced my own characters. (Granted, that can be said for any of my favorite books, but Cassiel in particular is a lot like my Callie. Except for the whole Djinn cast down to Earth bit, but whatever).
And now I sit here, about to end the journey once again. To leave all the craziness behind me, never to experience the magic for the first time again. (Unless I get amnesia. Or Alzheimer’s). I don’t know how I do this. How do readers deal with this?! How do we handle the end of stories? How do we turn the final page of the final book, realizing that our lives will continue while the characters and worlds we fell in love with are finished? They will always live on in our hearts and memories, but is that enough? I may never have answers to these questions.
I guess what I’m really saying is that books are powerful things. They have the ability to take you to magical places, introduce you to a menagerie of people, let you escape from the often harsh realities of our own world. But they also have a dark side, a side that can force you to face your deepest fears, make you rethink your own dear truths, and rip your soul into tiny, bleeding fragments. When you open a book, you really open up yourself, to both the good and the bad. Never forget that.