Hey friends!

It's been a really long time since I checked up on AFF. I had a busy school year filled with extracirricular acitivites (sports and student associations and all that good stuff that makes university life amazing) but I have some good news.

I'm happy to share that the short novel I've been working on is almost complete. I have half a chapter left to write, and a major phase of editing (which I will try to condense to one month because finals will be done by the end of April) and hopefully have it all ready for my publishers by the end of May. I've also began designing the cover and things are looking good! 

My publishers anticipate that if my personal deadline of submission is followed, my book will be fully published and ready for online purchase by the beginning of September. When the actual date of release is I will definitely share with you all when I know for certain!! Needless today I am really excited and all this is completely surreal to me. 

I never imagined that at 19 years old, I would've taken such a huge step in one of my biggest life endeavors. A while back when I wrote the fanfic, Dare to Desire, I wanted to really believe in the words I "preached". It's always easier said than done, is it not? 

Today was my last day of classes of my second year of university, and the next two weeks will be exam-heavy. But before I submit to the lures of my physiology notebooks and biochemistry textbooks, I will share another teaser from The Collector. 

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Excerpt from Chapter 4:

I glanced up at her and closed the scrapbook, revealing the unforgettable gradient horizon her mother-in-law—my grandma—had painted. I’d just finished throwing out old school projects collecting dust in my basement and figured a trip down memory lane was a good idea. I wasn’t reflecting on the sunsets and inaccurately depicted constellations as much as I was using the pages as an empty place to stare, because my mind had drifted completely elsewhere.

                “Just reflecting,” I smiled, placing the scrapbook on the coffee table in front of me. My fantasies were disturbed already and I no longer needed a prompt.

                “Reflecting about what?”

                “Oh nothing much… Just thought about the days when you thought I was a talentless child.” I watched as my mom’s lips curved into an immediate frown. I didn’t actually have derogatory thoughts, but teasing my mom was the best way for me to show affection. We’d long grown past the bear hugs and kisses on the cheeks. Once we stopped, the change became irreversible.

                “I never thought that about you. You have many talents!” She was glaring at me and I shrugged, unconvinced by her weak argument. She often missed the hint of joking in my tone and launched head first into a serious discussion.

                “Name one time,” She mused after my period of silence, dropping the grocery bags on the rug by the sofa and squishing up next to me on the sofa. It was manufactured for one person seating, so I sunk deeper into the back cushion as her back pushed against my shoulder, and then I raised an arm to point at the violin propped up on display over the fireplace. I never understood why she denied me violin lessons when I begged. She gave me the option of piano or nothing at all, and out of half stubbornness and half ignorance I ended up choosing nothing, so I learned nothing. I grew up completely detached from music, and I believed it was because my mom had no confidence in me learning the violin. Perhaps she was preventing me from shame of never being able to match up to her.

                If I could choose one talent to define my mom it would be her ability to play the violin. I’d seen the instrument on display in our living room for as long as I could remember, but never once did I catch her playing it. Sometimes I would find myself contemplating the state of her mental health as the reason behind her stopping. Depression was the most comprehensive excuse I could come up with. Another problem lied in the fact that I couldn’t think of a reason for her to be depressed.

(c) Esther Lac 2014