Well, for starters, I’d never have supposed the writing of my novel could be a story as good as the novel itself. But it very nearly is. I embarked upon what eventually became Stefan’s Promise in 1971. Seems impossible, but it’s true. When I finally found a publisher, it was 2019.
I never quit on it. I wrote it when I felt like it and when I didn’t. I wrote it in my hometown, El Paso, and in Minneapolis, where I practiced law. I wrote it in Midland, Texas, where I found myself once upon a time. I wrote it when I was single, and I can’t remember ever not having been married. I wrote it at the sidewalk cafés of Madrid and on the Grand Place in Brussels. I wrote it in London and in Edinburgh, where you’ll shiver at an outdoor café. I kept pressing ahead, and when, after two years, I realized I was wasting my time with literary agencies, I started on the search for a publisher. I was lucky enough to find an independent publisher after plenty of effort. The book was now in print, and the task of selling it landed squarely on my shoulders. I realize such travails are common to writers. They are travails nonetheless.
Stefan’s Promise is divided into two books, and the first focuses primarily on Alan Young, the second on Stefan Kopinski. These are my protagonists. The two books read a little differently because, for so many years, the manuscript gathered dust in a drawer while I addressed more urgent matters, like career and family. I doubt the average reader will pick up on the difference, but it bears mentioning. Many novels are divided into two parts, and nearly always, the latter is inferior. The author tries to “milk” a good thing, which the reader notices. The second parts usually are shorter and have a way of ending hastily. Not Stefan’s Promise. The second book is longer and far more sophisticated, with many more characters and plot twists, and my prose is stronger because I have become a more mature writer. Indeed, Chapters 25 and 26, the last two, are the best.
Four things go into a work of fiction. Plot, characters, theme (if any), and the writing. Of the four, I regard characters as the most important. When I think of the books that have meant something to me, it is a character I remember first. Accordingly, I devoted much effort to my cast. Book Two’s biggest contrast, arguably, with Book One is in the female characters. There are many, but four stand out: Jeanne, Debra, Sharon, and Charlotte. Only Jeanne figures in Book One as well as Book Two. If the author may make a choice, I love Sharon. It’s impossible not to.
Both books contain advocacy, both are concerned with the law. They are not alike otherwise. The one in Book One is hypothetical versus a much more pragmatic advocacy in Book Two. Now, this might sound dull, but it isn’t. My objective at all times was to write an absorbing story. The result is my reader can enjoy Stefan’s Promise thoroughly without ever bothering with either advocacy. But it’s more rewarding if you do.
I learned everything I know about English grammar from Marguerite Iverson. I was in Eighth Grade. She was the best. I was also taught a novel is transcendent. This seems at odds with the various categories books are shoved into these days, like women’s fiction, upmarket adult fiction, and middle-grade fiction. I don’t really know what these things mean. A marketing strategy, I suppose. My book, in any case, is for everyone.
If there is an overall theme, it’s unselfishness. Pathos is not in short supply, but I elicit a laugh every now and then, and — spoiler alert — my ending is a happy one. Who doesn’t like a happy ending?
By Sam Rennick
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