The Author Speaks

The Author Speaks: About a Girl

Author's Note: Spoilers for later chapters.

So here’s the thing about Milly Parker. I wanted to save her. I really, really did. From almost the start I knew something bad would happen to her, but I was sure we’d be able to pull out of it. Regan would swoop in to save her, and all would be well.

But as we got closer to the cliff, I realized that wasn’t going to happen. I even, for a moment, thought she might die outright. There were numerous reasons I was anxious about this. Milly is made up of some of the people nearest and dearest to my heart. My fag hags—my very best friends, my sisters—all have a piece of her. Harming them, even in effigy, was a wound I wasn’t sure I could open.

Also, my inner feminist was weird about it. It’s a classic sexist troupe to have the woman of the piece suffer harm so the man can respond to it. That Milly and Regan weren’t dating really doesn’t matter, the context was there. I tried to make up for this, tried to make Milly an intelligent, capable person. A character in her own right, not just a plot device. Recall that early in Regan’s investigation of Zo it was Milly coming up with most of the grand plan. She was more than just a plot point, she was real. She mattered, to Regan and to me.

I made up the blood coma situation pretty much on the spot. It was looking like she was set to die, and I just couldn’t handle that. As I was writing it turned out her body lived, a small respite from that big, final end. Maybe it was my subconscious’ way of giving me hope, of saying things weren’t totally lost. There was still a chance that Milly could come back, but I doubt it. I feel like she’s lost to us.

The story of Milly Parker was tragic and senseless. She was the first casualty of a campaign that had nothing to do with her. I felt like there was something very true to life in that. Oh, sure, she was attacked by a vampire because she’s best friends with a hunter, and all that. But sometimes bad things happen for no reason other than the people you know, or the place, or your name. Some of the things that happen to us are beyond our control and understanding. This is what Milly’s story was meant to portray, whether I had the chops to pull it off remains in the hearts and minds of the readers.

That’s what her story was, but what Milly was is something grander, and simpler. She’s that person that loves unconditionally, the one that counsels and warns, but, in the end, accepts. Sometimes smart, sometimes funny, always there.

I’m not Shakespeare, I’m not Chaucer, I’m not any of those fine, classic writers. I don’t write things that “matter.” I write popcorn lit about hot vampires and pretty boys. Most of the time I don’t take myself too seriously.

So here’s the thing about Milly Parker. I took her seriously. She mattered to me. Rest in peace, Mills.