Rebecca Chastain: A Gift for Eva

Kyoko atop the
complete Eva manuscript

I have often fondly mocked Laurell K. Hamilton, despite being her devoted fan. I know from religiously reading her blog that she embraces a melodrama in her daily life that would be exhausting for me. To her credit, she seems equally as exuberant in love as she is in her darker beliefs. None of this I mock. I imagine her family loves her dearly for her intensity, and I know I benefit from it when reading her novels.

To be specific, I mock the fact that every Christmas, she blogs about purchasing gifts for her characters.

For. Her. Characters.

For the make-believe people that exist in her head. Yes, I understand her logic that the people are so real to her it feels like they exist, and since they are the manifestations that perpetuate her livelihood, it's great that they're so real to her. But to buy presents for them, or to get up to the register with an item in hand, only to realize the person doesn't truly exist, seemed just shy of insanity.

Until yesterday, when I bought Eva a tiny glass elephant.

Okay, maybe I didn't first think: This would make a great gift for Eva. My first thought was much more crowlike: Ooh, look! Shiny glass! Followed by: So cute! It's a baby elephant! I want!

So let us be clear that I wanted it first because I am inevitably drawn to colorful glass things. It's the reason why despite not particularly needing or being overly fond of gas lanterns, I have three, which share shelves with a large glass fuse that reminds me of a lighthouse, an antique painted-glass perfume bottle, and a green glass heart.

My second thought while staring at all the tiny elephants was that buying one would be a great way to put out to the Universe my aspirations for Eva: Every time I looked at it, I could picture Eva being published and becoming a New York Times bestseller. A rather happy thing to contemplate throughout a workday.

Jeff Geren, the artist, has many more glass creatures here.

Of course, I've made a few purchases based on my crow-brain and later regretted the impulse. So I made myself walk away from the elephants.

Twenty minutes later I was back. Not because of the two reasons I've listed, but because, while roaming through other vendor's stalls, I was thinking of Eva—Eva who had her house vandalized and her memorabilia shattered. Eva who spent the last week trying to protect the life of Kyoko, an elephant. Eva who is rebuilding her life and her home based on some pretty amazing things that happened to her. After all the trouble I put her through, the least I could do was buy her a twelve-dollar glass elephant to sit on her library shelf and remind her of Kyoko.

I'm not sure what conclusion to draw from this. I'm either borderline insane, as I accuse LKH, similarly melodramatic, or perhaps LKH is on to something good, and I've finally reached the right level with my story, where the character is so real to me that I think of her like an absent friend. In which case, dear Universe, may I please follow in Hamilton's footsteps and become a New York Times bestselling author? Please?


My cat, who does not care that I've decreed this figurine to be the physical representation of my writing aspirations, interrupts the photo shoot to see if Kyoko tastes good. Verdict...