I can’t help but think of him that way, after reading King Perry. To create the world he writes about, he must be one.
AJ and I met Edmond Manning him yesterday. He graciously invited us to his home, where we got a tour (it’s terrific and beautiful, and there is something amazing around every corner) and then sat in the backyard under a canopy, drinking and eating food he’d prepared especially for us.
I don’t eat meat, but I never told him that. I didn’t have to; there was none on the table. A king would know that about me, wouldn’t he?
We talked publishers and royalties and how we write, and although I kept asking him questions about the sequels to King Perry, he wouldn’t tell me a thing. Oh, he gave me hints, eyes sparkling. Little easter eggs of information with no clue as to how to open them! But I didn’t get one solid fact out of him.
A king never answers questions. All you get is “You’re probably right.”
It was a magical afternoon. We talked as if we’d been friends forever, but always, always…I wanted to peel back the layers of this lovely man and go deeper. I wanted to know more.
Laughing and smiling, we recalled special moments on the drive home, but in bed last night, fighting exhaustion, we talked about the book, King Perry, and wondered which king Edmond was. Was he Vin? How about King Aabee?
After AJ fell silent and dozed off, I decided Edmond was all of them.
I had the strangest, most satisfying dreams last night.
This morning, before we even got out of bed, we read the three chapters of Book 6 he gave AJ as a present, passing the pages between us. Our reactions were exactly the same: We want more.