It's been far too long since I last posted anything or replied to the unread messages in my inbox—and I owe you all both an apology and an explanation.
The delay in the publishing date of Spy Dust wasn't the sole reason for my absence. There was another, deeply personal one: my father's cancer diagnosis.
The diagnosis felt like the earth was pulled out from beneath me. Every ounce of strength I had vanished; I couldn't face the world, let alone focus on Spy Dust. Out of sheer self-preservation, I bought back the rights to Spy Dust from my publisher and tucked it away for good. The idea of writing, publishing, or promoting a book while my dad was fighting cancer felt impossible. Then, this spring, things began to look brighter. For a while, it seemed like my dad was getting better. And so was I. I tried to find my footing again and even started seriously thinking about writing and publishing again.
And then, yesterday, all those hopes were shattered.
The cancer is back, and it’s everywhere.
My father is facing his illness with the same unwavering calm with which he has gone through life. Until his diagnosis, I believed I inherited his fortitude, but I haven’t. I'm not ready for this.
While I tried to hide my pain from him, he knows me far too well to be deceived. Yesterday, he asked me to promise him one thing: to not put my life on hold, even as his life draws to a close. I gave him that promise.
And I intend to keep it.
Even though I was crying all day, I tried to be strong and reviewed all my manuscripts: Spy Dust and its sequel, Moscow Winter, as well as the prequel, Mercury. Writing once brought me so much joy, and I hope it will again—at the moment maybe only so that I don’t break my promise to my dad, but I hope sometime in the future, I will also write purely for my own joy again.
Part 1/2
