I want to welcome Imber Garrison, of the City of Solace Series, to our guest chair as he dishes on P.K. Gallagher, Life as a Supporting Character, and His Own Underappreciated Awesome
As a vampire, I see a lot of what humans would consider “some seriously weird ish.” I’ve seen people transform into things that science says shouldn’t exist, and these aren’t pretty transformations, either. There’s typically blood and snapping bones involved—the sort of thing you’d see in the rated-R horror movies I’m technically too young to see.
And yet, I have seen them, up close and personal. Of course, none of this really bothers me—weirdness has always been a part of my life. I realized, however, that that’s not necessarily a good thing. I’ve seen more people die in gruesome ways than most people my age. Heck, I’ve seen more people die in gruesome ways than most people in general, and this isn’t because of bad luck or cruel twists of faith. It’s because my life is dictated by a sadistic 22-year-old with way too much time on her hands.
Yes, I am talking about P.K. Gallagher.
She cried at the beginning of that movie Up but can’t seem to let a single one of her characters live calm, happy lives. Something about showing the harsh truths of life in a world that’s purely fiction—some crap like that. But, you know, I’d be willing to let that slide—she’s a writer, after all, and happily ever after only works for certain demographics—if it weren’t for the fact that she’s nearly insufferable the entire time she’s decimating all our lives.
First of all, P.K. writes our sorrows the way 2001: A Space Odyssey got to the point: slowly. Eight years is a long time to write a book, and even longer to wait around for your moment in the spotlight to roll around. I sat twiddling my thumbs for years—literally years—while she plodded through the first few chapters of Cerberus, trying to perfect every syllable and letting Kaeden and Artsen hog all the screen (page?) time. Plus, she’s got the attention span of a goldfish and is just as likely to start a new project as agonize over minute details of the current one. It’s because of that tendency that a couple of other characters have it a lot worse than I do. You all don’t know Ariel since he’s from a shelved work-in-progress, but he spent three years dying in a desert. And then, after P.K. finally decided to revisit and rewrite the book, she ended up shelving it a second time at the same spot, and he’s been dying in the desert (again) ever since. It’s extremely frustrating.
Equally frustrating, and a little bit hurtful for those of us who are a little more sensitive, is her lack of faith in us. P.K. is given to existential crises (funny, right—we don’t exist, but she’s the one freaking out about how nothing she does matters in the end). Every now and then, she’d read another paranormal YA novel and be overtaken by : there are way too many vampire novels in the market for anyone to care about hers anymore; people won’t read deeply enough to notice the painstakingly planted Easter eggs anyway; what if there actually isn’t anything substantial that Cerberus is any different from its peers? I mean, for Christ’s sake, what are we, dryyd guts? We’re busting our asses over here, trying to fend off a pending apocalypse, and she’s worried that we’ll be set in the same category as sparkly people in a town where it rains a lot? It has rained blood in Solace, for crying out loud! Or it will. Oh crap, I’ve said too much.
Doesn’t matter. The point is, there are always a lot of setbacks when working with P.K. She’s temperamental with quirky proclivities (like the one that landed me with the name Timberlake) and whims that sometimes get us all way off track. When it comes right down to it, though, I can’t imagine doing this with someone else. Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome, but we’ve all been at this for a really long time. It’s hard not to be as attached to her as she is to us. At any rate, we’ve made it this far, together. It’ll be fun to see how much farther we can go.
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