The other day when leaving my apartment, I saw a rock. Not just any old rock. A nicerock—like smooth. Right now some of you are nodding along and others are suspecting neurodivergence. However, I resisted the urge to pick it up. After all, I can’t pick up a big, dirty alley rock that’s probably covered in engine grease and worse. So I left it, feeling very proud of myself for my excellent impulse control.
So much so that several days later, I was feeling like I deserved a little treat. Leaving the apartment again, I was privy to the horrifying experience of getting an old cigarette butt in my sandal. Now I really deserved a little treat.
Anyways, that’s the story of why I’m definitely neurotypical and also how I got this really good rock.
P.S. Don’t worry, I scrubbed the unholy shit out of it. I know you were wondering.
Those of you who have read the acknowledgements section of Handsome Devil will be aware that my partner and I became parents relatively recently—our toddler just turned 1 this past June. There are certain aspects of parenthood that you know intellectually going in, but don’t really understand emotionally until you’re thrown into the experience. One of those things is how much of your pre-parenthood self has to be set aside.
This was especially concrete for me. Before becoming a nursery, our second bedroom was my office/library/sanctuary. I’m a very introverted person and after coming home from a day of working with the public, it was my safety space. Bringing a new person into the world was already overwhelming and on top of it, I had to dismantle the one room that was always my port in a storm.
But we did. My six bookcases were whittled to just the two that I could fit in our bedroom. The big green desk that I adored had to be replaced with a compact one that is overwhelmed with my tendency towards clutter. And the Star Wars figures that were displayed had to go into storage.
It’s weird to assign that sort of emotional weight to little lumps of plastic. But they are objects that were brought into my life for no greater purpose than enjoyment. Specifically, the enjoyment of the person I was pre-parenthood. We’ve made it through our first year. I’ve published my first book. And I finally felt the motivation to put up the first shelves to display these little guys again.
It isn’t much. They aren’t particularly well posed or grouped, and I haven’t quite found the motivation to match them all with their accessories. But it still feels good to reclaim this small part of myself. It’s a start.
Until next time, travelers,
Gael
P.S. Do not at me about how I have a shelf devoted to shirtless zabraks. You don’t need to tell me about my problems.
It’s officially been 1 week since the release of Handsome Devil and it’s still hard to believe that we got there in time. I think it’ll finally sink in once I actually get the physical proofs of the book—hopefully there are no glaring whoopsies in the copies that have already shipped. We like to live life dangerously. But seeing people around the world ordering has been the most gratifying feeling of all. I see you, single copy sold to someone in Germany.
Being able to jump back into writing again feels like coming home after spending the last couple months focusing on the logistics of a book launch. I had already been working on the next book in Quantrin Nights, Rotten Devil, which will follow Rakir Delnul navigating the aftermath of . . . well, no spoilers. Apologies to my beta readers who were all aboard the Proll train, it just isn’t his time . . . yet.
Also looking to start a separate serial set on Quantrin, but outside the main Quantrin Nights storyline. Is it too stupid to structure a romance around hiring a P.I. to get your pet lizard back from your M.I.A. ex? If yes, do you think that would stop me?
