It is pretty cool to have comments about things you are least expecting.
I have placed five chapter illustrations in one of the albums on my Facebook author page, and I received a comment on one of the illustrations that I really like a lot, but never really thought of it as an eye-catcher. That chapter is number 4.
It depicts JT standing under Gregory's big, old, oak tree looking out over a field that he farms, and by his right foot, the first leaf of Fall tumbles to the ground.
In the book, the scene is used as a visual cue to let the reader know that this is where the adventure starts to get interesting. Have you ever wondered about the very first snowflake that falls from the sky on a winter's day, or for that matter the very first of anything? I have often thought about those things.
I do believe (and she may correct me) that Lauren Gallegos, my illustrator for The Mahogany Door, mentioned that the leaf falling stuck in her mind and just seemed pretty important.
It's interesting as well to play your life in "rewind" to see some of the decisions that you have made to get you to that one particular point. In that context, it IS very important. For example, one day two very dear friends of our offered to let my wife and me use a time share in Alexandria, Virginia. At first I really wasn't so sure. We had studio time to prepare for, and, if you know me, you'll understand my disdain for driving around Washington, D.C. In fact, by taking the trip I would have driven through the area twice within the last month. But I digress.
My wife immediately wanted to do it, but I really, kind of, maybe, not so sure, maybe, wanted to say no. I really didn't want to have to drive back from D.C. at night and then have to go to work (wow, I am just too exciting). I then remembered how much that our friends mean to us, so I said yes.
As I barely got the word "yes" out of my mouth, my wife immediately says, "So do you want to go see your uncle and aunt and cousins? They do live in D.C., right?" Granted there are many personal things in my life I do not talk about, so for the chance for my wife to corner ANYONE from my life and ask questions about me, she's willing to do it at the drop of a hat.
When I was younger, my family was pretty close. But things in life happen, and the separation of time takes its toll. I think we can all relate to the "I love my family, but there are some things I just don't want to do with them." I confess: I am one of those people. Yet as a gesture to my wife, I said, "I think that will be nice."
Again, if you know me, and you know my wife, you know I will say that I will be glad to do things. But it's the "doing" that is the problem. My wife promptly sends a note to my aunt, knowing that I will probably forget or wait until the day before we should show up.
Long story short: I got to meet my uncle, aunt, and cousin again and meet a couple of first cousins once removed (so I am told). I was told a hundred times that I need to get a dog, I was encouraged to talk about my book with people very interested in it, and I got to look stupid wearing a head thingy while they guessed "What I am?" And Jill got some of her questions answered. She found out that the Hunter (my mom's maiden name) apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, and that we all - I mean ALL -- have the same eyes (squinty inset ones). It was not only a nice seven hours - it was fun! Something I hope that I can do again soon.
It was a good lesson for me to revert back to the real reason I wrote the book. There are some things we have no control over, but there are some things we do. We don't have control over the first leaf of Fall making its way to Earth, but perhaps we have control over what takes place after it metaphorically floats to the ground in our lives. Saying "yes" sometimes may just be a good thing.
I was reminded a couple of times during the process of creating The Mahogany Door, the first book in my series of fantasy books for young readers, that I really need to try to do some of the things I write so eloquently about. I think those people who have reminded me of this were right. (Of course you can probably guess who that person is.)
Always,
Mark
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