Peter
I’m betting you thought I was dead. That my soul had joined the wandering, that I spent nearly half a century seeking immortality only to be thwarted at the very last moment. That Peter Pan was no more.
Sorry to disappoint. Other than a burned hand and fingers, I’m very much alive. The souls left me alone the moment my companions were gone and haven’t bothered me since.
I can hardly blame you. They all think I’m dead, because not a single one of them came back for me, or even tried. I know because I waited. Walked all the way back to that grotesque pile of bones, plopped my ass down, and waited for what felt like days. They had a mission to complete, but surely they wouldn’t forget about me. Surely they wouldn’t leave me.
It’s my mistake, really, and I should have known better. Everyone always leaves, even if they make it seem like they won’t. Even if they share your bed for weeks, even if they hold you when you cry, even if they guide you through the worst of your anxieties and self-loathing.
Even if you love them.
Tinker Bell, are you listening? You were right. I love Wendy Maynard, though I had good reason for not acknowledging it sooner. It’s a very unique kind of love. It’s not romantic, not exactly, but what I feel for her is definitely deeper than a friendship. It’s why her betrayal cuts deeper than any knife that’s ever stabbed me.
It’s why I did what I did.
I expect she’ll hate me once she finds out, and that’s fine. I probably deserve it, even if Hook deserves what’s coming to him more. But Wendy will see sense eventually. She’ll see that I’m doing her a favor and realize she’s better off without the man who made her life—and mine—a living hell, even if he does happen to be her father, because aiding in her creation was the only decent thing Captain Hook ever did. I don’t for one second regret tearing off my shadow and ordering it to kill him.
I do, however, regret that I won’t be there to watch.
***
Author’s Note
You made it! Welcome back from the Sea of Eternal Woe. I’d apologize for putting you through such an arduous journey if I hadn’t also felt every one of those highs and lows daily (and nightly) for the past, what, eight months? I poured so much of myself into this book, and while the final product was more than worth it, I have a lot of feelings now that I’m sitting and reflecting back on what it took to get here. I wish the story behind writing this book was as joyful and triumphant as A Land of Never After’s was, but it wasn’t; writing A Sea of Eternal Woe was pure, unbridled chaos, and while I’d do it all again in a heartbeat (and I’m sure I will when I go to write A Forest of Blackened Trees), I think it’s important to be one hundred percent honest with both you and myself, possibly for the first time in my life now that I have the answer I’ve sought for so long.
(I’m going to discuss mental health in moderate detail in the section below, so if you’re not in a space to read that, skip to the final section.)
I went through an extremely tough time after finishing my master’s degree in mid 2019. I remain in a transitory phase in my life, certain things weren’t moving along like I hoped they would, and then the pandemic hit. By January 2021, I got a new job that had me working completely from home, and I’d never been more excited for such a mundane job (I work in 401k’s). I thought I’d get on a nice routine, have plenty of time to write, be able to take better care of myself and my pets, and just all around have a better quality of life. And in a lot of ways, I did (and I wrote A Land of Never After before things started to take a serious nosedive), but in a lot more ways, it highlighted that something was very, very not right with me. My anxiety was through the roof, I became terrified to leave the house, chores were piling up despite me spending more time at home than ever before, and the only way I could be any semblance of productive or meet a deadline was if I worked myself into a panic-induced frenzy. I’d get it done, but wouldn’t feel any sense of accomplishment afterwards. If anything, I’d feel completely exhausted and borderline worse. It was beyond humiliating, and it took me longer than I want to admit to get help because I tried and tried to ‘just push through,’ but of course that didn’t work. The more I tried, the harder I failed, and it made no sense to me. How was it that I’d been running myself ragged for years, jumping from accomplishment to even bigger accomplishment, working insane hours (including a full time job while pursuing my master’s degree, yes, I am serious) and hardly ever being home, to not being able to bring myself to wash the massive pile of dishes that were stinking up my kitchen or even take a damn shower?
Sound familiar, my fellow ADHDers?
It sure didn’t to me, because until I was diagnosed in March of this year, I knew next to nothing about ADHD. The picture I had in my head was of the stereotypical hyperactive adolescent boy always fidgeting in his chair and completely unable to pay attention in school. He had bad grades, didn’t get along well with adults given his behavior, and he certainly didn’t achieve things on the level that I achieved when I was his age. That wasn’t me.
Except it was, because not only does ADHD present differently in every single person who has it, it often looks wildly different than the example above for those of us who were assigned female at birth. Like so many of my fellow AFAB folks, I flew under the radar for the first twenty-seven years of my life because I was quiet, compliant, and accomplished. I got through grade school, a bachelor’s, and a master’s with decent grades, could hold down a job, and finish projects when given a deadline. Never mind that doing all of these things ran me into the ground, forced me to mask the majority of the time, and caused me to develop destructive habits and coping mechanisms that to this day I’m struggling to identify, let alone unlearn (and probably will for the rest of my life).
While all of that is of course terrible, I think the worst part, for me, is the complete lack of a sense of accomplishment, and it sneaks up on me every time. As I neared the end of writing this book, I used the thought of getting to write the Author’s Note as motivation to see me through those final chapters. It will feel amazing to finally be done! I reassured myself with glee. You’ll be basking in the glory of having finally finished your best book to date, and you’ll get to reflect back on what you’ve achieved. I pictured writing this note as a reward, a celebration, and couldn’t imagine feeling anything other than relieved while I did so.
That’s not what happened, because of course my dopamine-deprived brain said, ‘You wrote an entire book? So do lots of people. You’re nothing special.’ When I should have been assembling this book for my ARC readers, I’ve instead spent the past week procrastinating, catching up on shows and movies I haven’t been able to watch until now, and eating copious amounts of ice cream, all while wondering why this tightness in my chest won’t go away (I knew why, deep down, I just didn’t want to admit it). Part of it is no doubt a habit given that I’ve spent the past several months in a constant state of panic and anxiety as this deadline hung over my head, but the rest is a delightful cocktail of so many things: doubt, guilt, grief, and really awful impostor syndrome to name a few. The main thing, though, hurts worse than Elvira punching me in the gut (because we know Cedric would never): ADHD often makes your accomplishments feel like accidents.
Am I calling A Sea of Eternal Woe an accident? No, of course not. Logical brain knows full well I worked damn hard for this, and that I deserve to feel proud and accomplished. ADHD brain is loud, however, and given that I managed to mute it while I marathoned finishing the book, it’s been screaming this week.
Good thing I finally invested in noise-canceling headphones.
(Mental health stuff over!)
I said at the beginning of this note that the story behind writing this book wasn’t a triumphant one, and in many ways, it wasn’t. I missed multiple deadlines, my poor editor had to edit in chunks, I didn’t take care of my health or my house for days and sometimes weeks at a time, I neglected relationships with a few of my friends, pulled all-nighters and wrecked my sleep schedule in general, and these are just to name a few of the uglier things.
But I made it. And it’s all thanks to you.
No, seriously. If I didn’t have so many people clamoring for this book, commenting on my social media posts, sending me kind messages, and taking pictures of their books in the wild, my books, I’d not only have burned out a long time ago, I’d have probably given up. It’s what happened with my music career: I loved it, but love wasn’t enough. I needed to know that my performances meant something, that I was making a difference in this world, a meaningful impact, and I simply wasn’t getting that. Not the way I do with writing and telling these stories. These beautiful, raw, dark, LGBT+ positive and diverse stories that so many of you love so much and that you beg me to keep writing.
I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty triumphant to me.
If you made it this far, thank you so much for not only reading my book, but for caring about me as a human being! It would mean the absolute world to me if you could take a quick moment to leave a review. Even a rating helps, but if you’re willing to write a line or two, that’s even better! To show my appreciation, here’s a sneak peek at the third book in the Curses of Never series, A Forest of Blackened Trees, where we return to Neverland… but as before, Neverland is not as any of us remember.