A New Book: Celebration in Song

The working title is The Nameless Land, though it’s known affectionately in the Nelson household as “Brad 2”. ’Tis the second of five in a series chronicling the adventures of one Brad Kendrick, a failed musician battling the forces of evil (and nearly thirty years’ worth of sundry emotional issues) with the help of his telepathic guitar. 

Finishing the first draft of a book is always a momentous occasion—at least, it should be.

I’m developing a bit of a routine with the final day of drafting: I set a day on which I believe I could (reasonably) finish, throw all other concerns out the window that I may devote most of the day to writing, and then celebrate somehow. With both Brads, the celebration has involved going out to dinner—a rare treat which the hubs and I thoroughly enjoy. We toast the book and its characters, and he is kind enough to let me rattle on about the ins and outs of a story he hasn’t read yet (and how it fits into the larger story—to which he also has no access, as it lives only in my brain at this point). ’Tis a time of celebration and deep, almost painful gratitude. 

Brad 2 was no exception, but it did feel . . . different. When I penned the final words, I didn’t have that same sense of satisfied completion I felt with Brad 1—and with The Ancient, going even further back. It took only a brief period of reflection to identify two key reasons for this difference:

1. With both The Ancient and Brad 1, I had a plan for publication. I self-published The Ancient a mere four months after finishing that first draft. (It was an incredibly busy four months.) With Brad 1, I knew I would be embarking on the journey of querying agents in an effort to pursue traditional publishing. Over two years later, I am still on that journey. Ergo, until Brad 1 finds a home, Brad 2—alas!—has nowhere to go. That puts a bit of a damper on things.

• Brad 2 doesn’t have the same finality in its ending as any of my other books. A few years ago, when I was reflecting on the writing of Gatekeeper II: The Leaving, I discussed the disadvantage at which the second book of a trilogy often finds itself. The first book can usually be a standalone, and the third book gets to be the rousing finale, but the second book is, partly, just a bridge between the two. 

I was amused when I realized how my memory verifies this “disadvantage”. I vividly remember the setting of the completion of each book I’ve written, EXCEPT Gatekeeper II. 

With Gatekeeper I, I was curled up on a couch in my dorm lobby, having stayed up all night. I’d eaten more instant oatmeal and Easy Mac than I care to admit, listening to U2’s The Unforgettable Fire on repeat for hours. 

I finished Gatekeeper III in my house in Fayetteville, sitting in my special writing chair by the window, while the hubs brought me cups of tea and provided silent encouragement. I had to rush off to rehearsal for Measure for Measure as soon as I finished, so our celebration was brief—but my friend brought cookies to rehearsal, so all was well.

The Ancient was a special day. I had planned to finish, so the hubs and I both took the day off and did a one-day retreat at a nearby monastery. I wrote all day, breaking only for services and meals, and penned the final words just as the evening bells were tolling, calling all the brothers and guests to Compline.

Brad 1 (also known as The Land of Loss) was born at Blithewood Mansion, helped along by chilled white wine and a resplendent view of the Hudson River and Catskill Mountains.

Gatekeeper II? . . . no idea.

In a five-book series like I have planned for dear Brad, the middle three books are sort of like one big book—the second book in a trilogy—split into three. Brad 2 does wrap up its own story, but it ends on a cliffhanger. I only have a few notes about Brad 3 at present, but those notes do include the ending—another cliffhanger. The ending of Brad 4 will, similarly, just catapult us into the final book. 

A story with no publication home that ends in the middle of a scene, just after a shocking reveal? No wonder I didn’t feel quite so satisfied when I completed mine/Brad’s journey through The Nameless Land—but, still, we celebrated.

In fact, ’twas an excellent exercise in the discipline of celebration. 

Henri Nouwen, one of my favorite spiritual writers, makes an important point: “Celebration is not (only) a part of special occasions, but an ongoing awareness that every moment is special and asks to be lifted up and recognized as a blessing from on high.” To celebrate is, in one way, to build an altar—to mark a moment as a signpost, that when we look back on our past, we may be strengthened to press forward into the future.

So, I celebrated. Hubs and I went to dinner at a French restaurant down the street (literally; three doors down), and we raised a glass to Brad and his kin. I gushed about plot points and character arcs and thematic imagery of which he has not yet read (I gotta type the thing first), and he listened patiently, and entered into my joy—and ordered us dessert and brandy to further honor the occasion.

I also want to celebrate with you, dear reader. You can’t meet Brad yet, but I thought it only fitting—especially since music is at the heart of Brad’s soul and his tale—to give you the gift of song. Specifically, for each novel I have completed, I have selected a song—one song that represents that book to me. It may be the song I was listening to when I planned out or penned the end; it may be a song I listened to over and over while in the throes of drafting. 

It is the best gate I could open for you into the world of these books.

Thank you for entering, dear reader—and thank you for celebrating! What are YOU celebrating today? Leave me a comment, and I shall celebrate with you!

Gatekeeper I: The Finding – “Bad” by U2