14 July 1788. The Borrowdale, Alexander, Friendship and Prince of Wales sail for England from Sydney Cove. Three of these ships carried convicts, and the fourth brought stores for the settlement. In my historical novel Letters of Duty, the Prince of Wales transports the heroine to Australia, and sails away with her hero.
Though the story is fiction, the event actually occurred 221 years ago today. I actually felt sad thinking about it. I feel for the heroine and everything she has to endure without her beloved. I feel the sense of pride in the hero as he takes his dutiful place in the ship's command.
This story has become a part of me. The characters are my friends. And my enemies. Their actions make me worry. Will they be happy with their choices? Who will comfort them? How do I help them?
What's more is that I am somewhat cautious of completing the story. It feels like I am getting ready to move house, shifting my gear to another far off location. Once published, I will only be able to visit my friends, and not really be a part of their lives. This is my only chance to be an influence on them and make a mark for the rest of my life and theirs. I'm not ready for them to be out of my life.
But they need to move on and so do I. They have another 6000-7000 words left to tell their story. Then I will shift house to another task of getting them published. Their fate in the hands of editors and agents.
I wonder if anyone else has assimilated their characters and story so much that they found it hard to let go. Share your comments.
