I’ve been intrigued by the land in the mirror ever since I was a kid and met my friend in the glass. She was always waiting, the silent, trapped version of me on the other side. She only appeared when I came looking and never moved without me. She would look me in the eye no matter how closely I approached and never showed me the back of her head.
So when I began writing The Rule of Mirrors, even before I had the title, I was ready to play with the idea of a mirror character. After yet another intense round of revision, I sent the latest draft of my novel to my editor this morning, and frankly, I’m beat. I feel, once again, like I’ve taken on a project that’s bigger than I can handle. As my mind keeps working over the loose ends I still haven’t resolved, I’m gazing into a reflecting pool where the creatures below the surface are more majestic and mysterious than ones I’ve ever known here safely on land.
And I wonder: isn’t a novel, in a way, a reflection of its writer? Or better still, a reflection of the world we live in? I’m simply creating a new mirror, and a new world on the other side, but the answers to that world’s problems must exist on my side, if only I can touch the right tools.