What I Hope You Felt

There is a particular kind of waiting that comes after you finish a book.

Not the waiting for sales numbers or reviews or any of the metrics that tell you whether something is working in the measurable sense. A quieter waiting than that. The kind that asks: did it land the way I meant it to? Did the thing I was trying to say, the thing underneath the plot and the timelines and the characters, did it actually reach someone?

I don’t need validation. That’s not what this is. I know what I wrote, and I know why I wrote it. I know the experiences that went into it, the research, the intention behind every name and every timeline and every choice that might look incidental, but wasn’t.

What I hope for is resonance. The recognition that something true was received as true.

What I was trying to build

The Triquetra Chronicles is not, at its core, a mystery. It is not, at its core, a historical novel. Those are the containers. What lives inside them is something harder to name; the idea that some connections are older than this lifetime, that the past leaves traces in us we can’t always explain, that the woman who lights a candle and isn’t sure why is not irrational but remembering.

I wanted to write something that felt like recognition for the reader who has always sensed the world is larger and stranger than what she was taught. Not a lecture about it. Not an argument. A story that lets her live inside that sensing for a few hundred pages and come out the other side feeling less alone in it.

That is what I was trying to build.

…and the waiting, the quiet after, is about finding out whether I did.

The moment it lands

A friend who has followed this journey from the beginning finished The Enigma this summer and wrote something that told me, in the clearest possible way, that it landed.

She wrote:

“I didn’t just read these books - I lived them. The Harbinger and The Enigma are breathtaking, emotionally gripping, and unlike anything I’ve read before…These aren’t books you simply finish and place back on the shelf. They stay with you. They make you question fate, wonder about the people who cross your path, and believe there may be something greater connecting us all.”

She felt it. She understood what I was trying to build.

That is the resonance I was hoping for. Not because I needed her to say it, though I am deeply grateful she did, but because it confirmed that the thing I intended to put in the pages actually made it through.

The ask underneath all of this

Here is where I will be honest with you.

Reviews are not just compliments. In an algorithmic world, a review on Amazon or Goodreads is infrastructure. It is the signal that tells a platform this book is worth surfacing to the next reader who might need it. It is how the woman who hasn’t found the series yet gets to find it.

If you have read either book - if something in it felt like recognition, if it made you question something you thought you understood, if you found yourself saying just one more chapter at 2am - I would be ever so grateful if you shared that on Amazon or Goodreads.

It doesn’t have to be long. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be honest. That is how the next reader finds her way to something that was written for her.

The waiting continues

The series is still out there. Still finding its people. Still landing, one reader at a time, in ways I will never fully know about unless someone tells me.

I am still waiting. Not anxiously. Just openly.

Hoping that what I meant to say, made it through.