I finally finished Thundersnow. I changed the ending so it took me a little longer than I anticipated to make the ending seem natural.
The ending definitely leaves room for a sequel.
My emotions took me by surprise when I read this last chapter out loud to Carl. I didn’t cry while writing it (which I’ve been known to do) but cried like a baby when reading it.
It’s not a sad ending—not entirely. The whole book is sad as it deals with child abuse. Mainly psychological abuse.
And it has been gut-wrenching to get the story on paper.
I am so happy I’m through!
But the wave of emotions washing over me caught me off guard. I know this comparison has been made before and with good reason. But it was like having a baby. And you look down at your baby in wonderment, delighted the baby has ten fingers and ten toes—no matter if others see your baby ugly as sin—and are humbled that you played a part in the child’s birth and know, really know, the birth was a miracle.
And I’m reminded of perhaps my favorite poem, “On Children” by Kahlil Gibran, and have rewritten it, with apologies to the original:
It came through me but not from me.
For, perversely, they had their own thoughts.
In the eyes of the readers
as arrows were sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends me with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let my bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.