Immediately after I got the idea for Gypsy Song, I started to feel the tiniest twinges of remorse for killing off Frank Williams in Puddleby Lane. My sister Sarah, who is *not* a writer but is a devoted reader looked on my remorse with an "I told you so" look on her face. She had begged me not to kill him. Oh well. An author's gotta do what the story needs done.
But you know we are running these people's lives for them. How boorish of us. ;) It's rather amusing. So my dear Editor, Henry B. Baxter? This is for you...
It was not at all like anything one read about in real life. It was much more bookish than that. If only her father were here. He’d love to see these places and meet Lad, she knew. He’d probably put him into one of his books and then they’d truly be made wealthy, for such things couldn’t help but be interesting to everyone—even the cross old men her father always spoke of and called…what was the word? Ah yes. Editors.
~The Scarlet-Gypsy Song