Before We Begin

before we begin

The second Leo flew out of my fingertips, I knew I had a character I'd follow to the ends of the earth. And yet… it was surprisingly difficult to commit his story to paper. I couldn't figure out why I was so hesitant to begin—this is Leo we're talking about, after all. He's naturally hilarious, and I had no intention of belaboring his awful history.

I eventually realized that Leo's story represents the true end of this series, and something about this ragtag group has completely stolen my heart. Yes, I know they're figments of my imagination, but that doesn't explain why I want to drag my wife down to Seguin for a cup of coffee. You know, just in case.

Writing Leo's story means that I have to say goodbye. Like, for real this time. Of course, these beloved characters will get folded into future stories (the seeds of which have already been planted.) Still, it is bittersweet to close this chapter.

A note on language and genetics: In this story, I refer to Warwick as the cover whisperer. When a stallion, er, covers a mare, he's making babies. Wick's especially good at facilitating that.

I also mention a concept I learned from Brené Brown: chandeliering, or hitting the chandelier. She uses this term to describe someone jumping out of their skin at the slightest provocation. It happens when someone has been storing unresolved pain for a long, long time. In this story, our sweet Leo is anxious to prove that he has worked through his rejection sensitivity and is ready to come down from the ceiling.

We like to make up words in my family, much to the chagrin of my editors. I'm not even sorry. #impassedaf

As for genetics, please note that some of the children mentioned have parents who work for a mysterious—ahem— company in Wimberley, Texas (if you know, you know), where they have access to advanced reproductive technologies.

Content note: Brief descriptions of human trafficking (mostly in Leo's blunt, unintentionally funny style) and resulting trauma responses.