The Perils of Publishing
Having released my novel, Children of the Gods, I am now the grateful recipient of comments from readers. Happily, they are mostly very positive, and I am delighted to receive feedback. But, occasionally, I'm baffled by the capacity of readers to view the book through their own filters, totally disregarding my careful explanation of the intention behind the story.
Total strangers have reproached me for not crafting a feminist manifesto, or have chided me for meddling with myth. But by far the most amusing was the earnest question from a very elderly lady who had attended the first book launch. When I saw her recently, she informed me that she had read the book and liked it very much, although she found certain parts difficult to accept. She then proceeded to ask me, "and did all those things happen to you?" For a moment I was so taken aback that I executed a fair imitation of a startled goldfish. Recovering myself with admirable dispatch, I reminded her that I had emphasized the fictitious nature of the story when speaking at the launch. Alas, despite its moments of glory, my life has never been as colorful as the lives of my protagonists, but I was left with the lurking suspicion that she didn't believe me.
I'm not sure whether it enhanced or detracted from my image in her eyes, but I expect she won't be the last person to wonder.
Suffice it to say that I have known people who resemble all the characters, but I have never been seduced by a bearer of the Minotaur myth, so I apologise for disappointing you. Do feel free to pursue your fantasy, however; I shall do my best to wear it with pride.