On the day a book leaves your hands

Dear Reader,

Yesterday I mailed the final signed copies of Wings Like Dust to the last few bookstores that asked. It felt strangely final — like watching a child walk out the door for the first time.

For two years this book lived only in my head and on my desk. Now it belongs to you. Some of you have already written to tell me what Artie Dam’s silence stirred in you, and I find myself rereading your messages the way one rereads favorite passages.

There is a particular kind of loneliness in finishing a novel. Not sadness exactly, but a quiet hollowing. For months the characters have been my most constant companions. Now the house feels a little too still.

I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for reading so attentively. Thank you for carrying these characters with you. And thank you, especially, for the letters that begin with “I don’t usually write to authors, but…”

If you’re new here, welcome. The door is always open.

Until the next letter,

Claire