|The Lady and the Unicorn: À mon seul désir (Musée national du Moyen Âge, Paris)|
I've put the whole thing together from the unicorn poop to the Eater of Souls to the cannibals to the bee-stung lovers. (Sorry, no hermaphrodite giants in this one.) It's in the hands of a final round of beta readers so I can polish it up as shiny as possible before querying this winter.
I conceived this book when I was pregnant with my daughter, who is now in preschool. Through these early years of parenthood, I've done a lot of daydreaming, thinking, and reading musty old books while breast pumping or rocking a small person to sleep. And somehow in there, I managed to squeak in an hour here or there to get my imaginary kingdom of Vepres down on paper. Now the slow-cooked drama of blood, sweat, tears, and unicorn poop is having its final taste-test.
That's not as gross as it sounds. Unicorn poop is really tasty, haven't you heard?
Now for an important message. (I am in no way affiliated with the brilliant marketers of this product.)