They say every author must write at least four or five novels before they write one worth publishing. This is a generalization, of course, and disheartening to the person burning to write. But for me, it was true. I wrote a number of novels, all good stories, but not all worthy of being published. Like a toddler finding his stride, those novels were me finding my voice. I have it now, it’s full and rich in everything I write, “Sonata Contineo” being the end of my writing puberty where my voice warbled a bit just as it took on its final rich tenor.
“Sonata Contineo” was written from my head more than my heart. It shows if you know me, and many friends have smiled over this, saying I was throughout the book, exposed in every phrase.
This story was built around two opposing temperaments – a black and white logical person, and a person of heart and soul. Pit those two against each other then bring each to a situation that forces them to look at love from the others’ point of view. Ouch. Rachel, the logical scientist, finds herself on unfamiliar ground as her heart emerges, her emotions well up, and her logic fails in the face of love. Lane, as well as his great-grandfather, leave logic out as they follow their hearts, the consequence being devastating to each.
“Sonata Contineo” explores natural affections in unnatural situations. Is love right when it’s out of context? Is it right when it’s repressed? Is it right when others take charge of it and try to destroy it because it threatens their world? Not every love story ends happily, but is the end really an end? Or is it an avenue to new hope?