A Book, Delayed
~ but not denied
Last month, I took a hiatus from writing Substacks so that I could focus entirely on writing “Crown Ascendant”, book three in “The Meridian Trilogy”. Also last month, I posted this video on Instagram, announcing there would be a timeline shift for completing that book.
It took all my guts and energy to make that Reel. I’m fairly certain I laid down for a nap after.
I ruminated for a while until I felt at ease with my decision to indefinitely delay the publication of this book. The choice was one I’d been struggling with for several months. I was behind — way fucking behind — on my manuscript. The story was becoming forced, and I was becoming resentful of it. Gone was the purpose in putting all these words on all these pages. My internal conflict came to a head when I tearfully confided to several close friends that I didn’t want to write this book anymore. In reality, what was going on inside my head, heart, and soul the past year was so much deeper and more nuanced than simply not wanting to write “Crown Ascendant”.
At some point, between the trauma of losing my partner, my cat Captain Morgan dying, my grandmother’s worsening dementia symptoms, and the world (but mostly America) becoming a deepening pit of despair after this administration was elected, along with work stress and taking on laborious, time-consuming professional projects, I not only lost the will to write. I forgot how to dream.
Perhaps other indie authors can still create good books in the midst of their bad days, but I could not.
There were flashes of writing spurts. I didn’t stop entirely. But by the time I was starting to hit a rhythm again of sending chapters out to my test readers, it was already a month past my self-imposed manuscript completion deadline. I began to panic. I knew, in my heart of hearts, there was no way this book would be ready for publication in November 2025. After breaking the news, intermingled with as much shame as I felt for announcing to my minuscule fandom that book three was indefinitely delayed, I felt peace. This was the right call, no matter how much I despaired while thumbing the Yellow Pages for the phone number.
A phrase that came to me while I conceptualized my news is, “A dream delayed isn’t a dream denied.” I heard those words over and over again back in the days when I was actively building my Mary Kay business. The origin of the quote eludes me. I heard it from a national sales director, but she could have heard it from another company leader, from Mary Kay Ash herself, or from a religious scripture. By “dream” I want to clarify that this was always talked of in the context of like, dream life or goal setting, not the “I want to be a princess when I grow up!” kind of unrealistic pipe dream.
My particular dream, having a third indie fantasy novel out, the trilogy complete, on a particular time schedule ain’t gonna happen. There’s the delay. But “Crown Ascendant” will see its pub date. I haven’t quit writing, only stopped squeezing this story out like I’m trying to juice a slice of potpourri orange. It’ll get there when it’s meant to, not when my preconceived notion dictates.
I do, however, promise not to be George R. R. Martin with decades between novels.
Though I wish I could end this issue with the proclamation of a revised publication date, the reality is that I can’t. It is far, far too premature still for me to do that in good conscience. So, here’s a little consolation prize: a spoiler-redacted sneak peek at the upcoming third and final book in “The Meridian Trilogy”.
Enjoy.
~ From Chapter 6 ~
“I have a partner.”
The four words stuttered out of Sheridan like if he didn’t say them quickly enough, he’d continue hiding them from her. What little of her lunch she had eaten threatened to work its way back onto her plate. She laid her fork down on the table and put both hands in her lap, willing herself to not shake.
“I have a partner,” Sheridan said again, slower, “and it’s complicated. We’ve been together for a number of years. We built a life together, and she’s my best friend.”
He took a sip of beer, as though the liquid might fuel him to fully explain. She looked as though he’d reached across the table and slapped her. He felt such an urge to clamber across the wood barrier between them, to comfort her, to take back those words and say they were a joke, poor form, anything to take that expression off her face, to warm the chill that slid through the air.
But that would be lying. Lying to her, the way he had been by way of omission, would hurt her more than knowing the truth.
“About two years ago, maybe three by now, she expressed to me that she would like to have a female partner.” Sheridan’s words came more thoughtfully now, though he crafted them on the fly, anxious to say the right thing — or as right as he could, given the circumstances. “I knew when we first met that she didn’t have a preference, but this was the first time she told me it was something she wanted in our relationship. So, we keep a home together, share responsibilities, but we are not intimate with one another anymore, and lead separate lives in that way. Her female partner is welcome at our home, and they split time between ours and her partner’s.”
“Oh.” Her body had stopped responding to stimuli. Whatever she thought she might have heard from Sheridan, this wasn’t it. There was a lengthy, pained, confused moment of silence before she asked, “And what about … your partners?”
Sheridan’s mouth was dry, and it had nothing to do with not drinking enough. This wasn’t the first time he’d revealed any of this information, of course. But it was the first time he understood that there was consequence to sharing it, to this unfettered honesty, to this woman. There had been one other, not so long ago, that he thought perhaps could be someone else in his life, but she had been too anxious — more even than he! — and it imploded despite his best efforts to the contrary.
Why does it feel so wrong? he wondered. This is who I am. This is my life. This is my partner. It should not feel so damning to be open about our relationships, and yet …
A part of him had hoped Emi-Joye might have told her. Saved him from having to do this, from having to put up what he knew would be some kind of strange boundary before they even really had a chance to get to know one another. Apparently, Emi-Joye hadn’t said a word, but in her defense, Sheridan supposed it had been a long time since he’d spoken to the Fairy about this aspect of his personal life. Perhaps Emi-Joye thought there wasn’t anyone else anymore.
Across from him, she still waited for Sheridan’s overdue explanation. He thought he heard her heartbeat, hammering through both of their chests.
“My partners,” Sheridan repeated, forcing himself to meet her injured stare. “It took me a long time to feel like it was something I was open to, having an exclusive partner other than Fara. That’s her name — Fara, short for Farquhara. I’ve spent time with women and females, but never anyone serious or committed, the way she is to her female partner.”
There was the tiniest bit of warning at the back of her mind. This man, this beautiful, wonderful man, would not ever be fully hers in the way she had known immediately upon meeting him that he was supposed to be. Not “hers” in the ownership sense, but hers like rídend was to annwyl, equal and there for one another. A connection soul-deep and destined. In anyone else’s concept of time and timeline, she barely knew Sheridan, hardly any more than she knew herself. Anyone else would not recognize it.
She, thankfully, was not anyone else. Far in the depths of her soul and subconscious, she understood that the Astridsí was not meant to be kept from this man. Had she not been shielded, had she not been controlled, had she been allowed to grow up and develop into her Maylemaegus and powers of witchcraft, the two would not be having this conversation.
They’d be preparing to both be coronated one day.
And yet, despite the best preparation of gods and goddesses and Universe and other such powers that went so beyond what either possessed, there had been interferences. What was supposed to be, meant to be, had run into an untenable blockade. Something in those dancing butterflies started up again, anxious and ancient.
I am meant for this man, she knew. She couldn’t say that out loud. She understood, in that precise moment, that such depth of feelings must be kept to herself until — until some day different. Not now, not in this crowded tavern where a table was positioned between them and when Sheridan was being so honest, she couldn’t tell if her heart hurt more for herself or for the vulnerability he was showing her. And it would hurt. It would wreck her, this unreturnable ocean of emotion she wanted to drown them both in.
Sheridan hadn’t said it aloud in his admission, but she had been given a choice. She could walk away, or she could be this other partner to him, though the idea of her being his other and not his only made her skin crawl.
“What would you like me to do?” she asked. She tried to keep these roiling feelings from inserting themselves into her voice, but Sheridan’s biting of his lips indicated that was a failed attempt.
“I would like you to do whatever it is that you want,” he replied, hedging once again.
“Well, I want to do what you want,” she said stubbornly. “So what is that, Sheridan Ifans?”
Sheridan’s hand reached across the table for hers. “I would like to spend more time with you. At your committee meetings, and outside of them as well, if you would like; if my situation doesn’t bother you. If you’d like to try it. To try us.”
The butterflies soared in relief, in joy, in terror of all the what-ifs.
~ What are you waiting for? the vademecum interrupted in her mind.
She mentally swatted at the book. Then she looked up into those brown eyes, looked down at the calloused palm that held hers. Her hand looked tiny, child-sized, in comparison. She took in every inch of that connection, those hands that could be of an artist or a musician, a being of such creativity and brilliance, just as easily as they were the hands of someone strong and unwavering and a lover of hard work. She’d read once, in a book of the deceased, that unless a magical being glamoured their appendages, one could tell quite a lot about an individual based on their hands.
She hadn’t understood that. She did now.
Her smile warmed and the stars slowly returned to her eyes as she raised her gaze back to Sheridan’s, where he looked at her with a mirror of anxiety and hope.
“Sheridan Ifans, I would like nothing more than to be with you,” she murmured.
An actual butterfly, a very large one, appeared in midair and fluttered above their table.
The barkeep grinned. “Then I would very much like to kiss you right now.”
Thank you for reading — and for the grace in understanding as I navigate the emotional behemoth that is “Crown Ascendant”. I would love your thoughts on the sneak peek if you feel like sharing them!
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