With every new genre I’ve tackled I had to learn new things, and that is one of the most rewarding things about my art. Not only do I learn more about the human condition, but I also get to become a better writer in the process. So far, my editors seem to agree with that assessment.

As a writer, we live very closely with our characters, for months on end. I’ve lived with Michel for over eight years, and ever since I wept after writing the following line, I’ve felt I need to redeem myself in his eyes:

“Michel’s head was starting to feel heavy on Haakon’s shoulder.
“Michel, do you mind?”
There was no response. Michel was no more.”

We never really find out how Michel was infected, and I was curious to learn how Michel’s youth was. How would HIV show up and rear its ugly head? I don’t want to give away the plot. You have to wait another three weeks before the book is released. But some things were obvious even before I picked up the proverbial pen. I had no intention to write a novel about AIDS, to spend page up and page down on symptoms, nor did I intend to ignore it. The only thing I knew for sure was where, when, and how Michel would eventually pass away.

Eight years ago, I had been inspired to write a travel epos. I still remember reading a friend’s book that included beautiful descriptions of traveling, and I began to wonder what it would be like if I tried the same. I have, after all, traveled extensively in my life. I figured that I had plenty of imagery and emotions to draw upon. That’s how Haakon’s story begins, his longing for travel, focusing on the smells and scents we encounter while elsewhere. But something happened on Haakon’s first trip abroad that wasn’t planned. He fell in love, with the perfect guy, and my pantser brain began to panic. I pressed on, and given the era, Michel’s fate was quickly sealed by my subconscious: he’d have to go, and AIDS would the tool to rid myself of this interference so early in the book.

Every author has their own way of tackling their stories. I for one have always been driven by the voices of my characters, as they talk to me in my head. No, I’m not crazy. At least I don’t think so. The story of Haakon and his fallen angels has many real-world roots, inspired by a novel by Larry Benjamin, What Binds Us, a pedophile I once knew, my experiences from India, and my love of travel, all contributed to this dark tale. I did not foresee Michel though. When he appeared early on in the story, during Haakon’s first trip abroad to London, on page twenty-three of the printed novel, I didn’t know the impact the character would have on me, until he, Michel, passes away from complications with HIV on a park bench near the Eiffel Tower. That’s on page sixty-four.