Blogging has eluded me all day. Ugh, trying to sound interesting is painful most of the time. Especially when my brain is nothing but Part IV right now. It's taking up so much space in my mind that some of it has to leak out into a post.
Writing the last installment is a little bittersweet. I love Mercy and I love Ava. Is that wrong? Am I supposed to be more impartial? Writing them together is the most fun I've had writing in years, no lie. At this point, Ava's whole life has been laid out; she's an open book. In Part IV, we get to go to New Orleans and open up Mercy's life. His was a terribly modest upbringing, and it's complicated, and I love the way New Orleans is one of those Southern cities that gets in a person's bones.
He grew up in a tar paper shack that looked a lot like this shotgun house.
And it was perched right on the water, like this bayou house.
And the dark water and the trailing moss that evoke tangles of ghosts and monsters - that was home for him.
I love, as always, exploring the non-glorious, non-spectacular, achingly normal and minimal world of a character with nothing to offer but himself. Anyone can love money, fame, prestige. It takes someone special to love a person's truth.
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