I’m an actor. I’m used to reviews. In fact, I generally don’t read them. But The Tethering recently received a review, and my husband read it to me. It wasn’t bad. On the contrary, the reader said I was a wonderful writer. But mid-patting myself on the back, the reader said that the book was a lot like Harry Potter.
I knew this was coming. Really, I did. The Tethering is about a boy. And he’s a wizard. All YA vampire books are like Twilight. All wizard books are like Harry Potter. It’s just something we have to deal with. Now, I love Harry Potter. I really do. And sure, there are a few wands in my book. But it is not Harry Potter. Now, the part of me that screams, “Do you know how much of Harry Potter is pulled from old legends? Have you heard of Merlin?!” really wanted to reply to the review. Not to say anything mean. Just to ask him to what part of the book other than the gender of the protagonist, presence of magic, and the phallic-ness of wands he was referring. Then we could open up a friendly dialogue about tropes and Greek tragedy. Maybe even throw in some Shakespeare.
Then we would be best friends forever and have regular Skype dates over coffee. And when I finally reach the New York Times bestseller list, he would send me flowers, and I would send him an autographed copy of The Tethering with the loving message of nanny-nanny-boo-boo written inside.
But apparently this is a bad idea. Apparently after spending ridiculous amounts of time writing The Tethering, my job is now not to write. Not to hit reply and start a dialogue. I have to let it go. I’m sure there will be a little girl in an Elsa costume here soon to sing me the song and help me to get through this.
Perhaps she can then come and sing to me. The reason this post is late is due to problems with my computer and car, one of which is now solved. Now, onto the more expensive car problem.