There is a book that sits on my shelf. I see it every day. It is the first print copy ever made of my published words.

It has a cover full of scuffs and scratches. The spine is cracked, its edges worn away into tiger stripes of white. The protective film is beginning to peel back from wear . . .

I’ve been working on Kestrel, the first installment of my m/m sci-fi romance trilogy, Starhawk, for just over a year now. That includes conjuring up ideas from the ether, fitting and re-fitting those ideas into something logical like a neatly completed puzzle, outlining out nineteen chapters worth of content, writing, re-drafting, editing, working in beta feedback, and on and on.

But the idea for Kestrel existed long before that. The weird but true origin of the story began as . . .