For The Love Of It.

I began writing this at sea, two days from the New York City harbour I was so anxiously awaiting. I have just closed my … [please give me a minute to count], fourth book, that I’d finished on the boat, fifth since leaving for the city. Which city? THE city. New York City. Of course. This particular book had been transporting me to Victorian England alongside a fiery haired art model hunted by her own addiction to opium and a murdering mother. It was accompanied by my iPod lightly playing Baroque favorites. I tend to do that when it comes to making life have a soundtrack. When I stopped atop the mountain in the stunning vista of the British Virgin Islands [Tortola.], I played ‘Capt. At Helm’ from the Stardust soundtrack. Yet while it became very clear to me that it wasn’t Jana’s insistent voice making me a writer, there was no doubt that it is what I am. I was describing everyone, everything. Every trip on the subway presented a new cast of characters; the very lazy security guard suddenly became a dangerous criminal sleeping off his latest heist. The bitchy middle aged woman fighting for her seat became an anxious mother of five looking for a minutes respite. And everything, everything, reminded me of my own cast.

Of the embittered but deeply lonely Jana, whose sharp tongue is a mask of the deepest crime Damien inflicted; that she can no longer dream or hope. Of the family minded Abi, who cannot reconcile love for her husband and brother alike. Of Emily, who hides a guilty cowardice by being unbelievably sweet, whose wide-eyed grin hides her feeling of helplessness and still she hangs on to dreams. Of Kevin, who struggles with loving a wife that once betrayed him, a fiance he thought he’d lost, and a daughter that might not be his. Of a frantic husband, Tyler, who reads dictionaries and stocklists to analyze and calm himself down, as he can’t seem to listen just to his heart…a heart that belongs to someone who can no longer remember him. Of the wild, yet neat-obsessed Tanya, mad as hell at herself; first for getting married, and then discovering she is somehow losing patients to a muffin-wielding menace. Of the menace herself; Grace, whose psychotic nature sprang from a mother who didn’t love her once she knew what she was. And speaking of family-issues…of Ryan, whose lost pupply behavior somehow won him love. Love that he lives for, but doesn’t think he deserves. Ryan, whose startling turnabout sprung both from a character retrieving his will from his father and a character seizing the pen from his writer, substituting her words for, “No. I won’t do it. I’m writing myself from now on.”

Everything in the world was springing memories related to them, and not just my Phoenix Penna characters, or even my own characters. Kelly definately arose in NYC, and it was Spot who knocked everything over in our cabin. Emy watched over everything that happened. And Lynx was my NYU tour guide, where as Meredith seized my television set [Spiderman, Jumangi, it was Kristen Dunst everywhere!]. I flicked the channel, only to discover Dante being an IDIOT as he LEFT JAYDEN, to rescue Andy, and find out my hero was his half sister. When I realized a little boys name was Calvin, I looked for Keels. Every card game involved Mia, Blu, and memories from real life with Gigi. [I swear to merlin, as I write this, Apologize just started playing...Nora! Jamar!] And I met a real life Angel [Rent], and Daniel Radcliffe was two blocks awayyyyy [*dies*]

At first, by the way, I was mad at myself. Did every Evanescence song HAVE to remind me of Moni? Why couldn’t I see a poster for ‘Wanted’ without thinking of Garrett? Surely, there has to be something wrong with me, that the Met’s display of swords made me think of Skyris. And El Morro became Caerlaverock in Puerto Rico. Spotting Tony Rube, became Tyler Rubin…a little girl dancing in pink was Frella…someone mentioning Thanksgiving brought memories of Ella…It was just RIDICULOUS how obsessed I felt.

When I picked up the flyer for the Teen Dance {Black and White attire}, I put it down, put my hand on my head, and said clearly, “You have got to be kidding me.”

I started thinking, very hard, about what it was that I was missing so much. About what attracted me to a strip of HTML and turned muffins into lethal weapons. What made fixing leaks deadly, what renamed a Horse ‘Moose’, what made ducks limited editions, and Rafiki’s stick a proper weapon / beacon of hope? What WAS it…no, what IS it…that keeps me so devoted? That I mention Phoenix Penna with pride of accomplishment in a college interview, and accept an impressed look with ‘well that’s not surprising..’ passing along credit to the wonderful Lynx, Tim…

And then I stopped thinking, and smiled. It’s you, you all, everyone on PP. That while I love the stories, and I love the late nights, the need to headdesk, or MCCIC/skittles…I love it, I do, I do, I do, it’s you all that I miss. It’s you all that makes it worth everything, of course.

But it’s not just that. You all made this vacation not just someone going to a beautiful place and relaxing. You allowed me to bring my home with me; my characters, yes, but more. A giggle no-one else got when someone asked if I ‘liked ice cream’. A slight tear at passing a broomstick. A wide-mouthed grin hearing different names. The memories you guys gave me..I mean, yes ‘i missed you’, but it’s not enough. Blu, Tim, I plead it being three ish am when I finally got to post my tribute, you are now there with sincere apologies! I wrote it out on MSW first, and tried to pick random people so it was just, totally random with no order of preference. Clearly, I dropped a few in the transfer. I am SO sorry. I love you both a ton.

You all have changed the way I look at the world. It’s for the love of this perspective that I’m addicted.

- Abi. {And So Many More.}