Rising Star: Book 3 of The Orion Series

Sarah's Note

If you're reading this I want to first and foremost give my utter, profound, deepest thanks. If you read this as a stand alone book, or if you've read the entire The Orion Trilogy book series, I thank you. I am humbled and ever so grateful, indebted, to your dedication.

I never thought in a million years would I do something that a thousand people would see. (The Orion Star was my first novel to hit 1K, hopefully more to follow). I never thought one thousand people would ever pay attention to me. I never thought I'd "know" one thousand people in my lifetime.

It's touching to say the least. I mean, hell, I'm not stupid. I know some of those reads are just people clicking on a chapter or two, deciding they're not interested, and moving on. But I also know that some of you really stuck with the story. I know some of you--for reasons absolutely flabbergasting and unknown to me--looked forward to my daily installments.

I know it's not perfect. I worry, and will continue to worry, that people will see Orion as a glorification of mental illness. That's not my intent, and that was never, ever, my intent.

I wrote The Orion Star originally as a dissection of my own morbid curiosity. I was completely unaware that it was going to morph into this beautiful thing, this thing that I have spent weeks and months on creating. I didn't know it was going to be an all-consuming, literal obsession.

I have always liked rock music. I grew up in a household where music was a constant. There was always music in the background. Since I was a kid with siblings, it was always sort of "tame" music, rarely contemporary. The soundtrack of my young life was filled with Queen, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Tom Petty and the Heart Breakers, etc. Saturday nights were Beatles nights, where myself and my siblings with my parents would listen to one Beatles album to completion, singing and dancing along. Beatles nights are one of my favorite childhood memories (and one of my only pleasant ones).

I loved rock music, I was obsessed. While my contemporaries were sticking Backstreet Boys mini-posters from magazines in their lockers, I was listening to Zombie Zoo (Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers) on my walkman, trying to avoid their nasty glares and just focus on the music. Music became a staple in my life, my retreat. Music saved my life on multiple occasions, literally.

As I got older I began to realize my idols were absolute wrecks. David Bowie was a coke addict (which made SO MUCH SENSE once I was old enough to know that). Elton John was a wreck. I saw pictures from the wild parties Freddie Mercury threw. It was all so depressingly fascinating to me.

I learned once that Tom Petty had punched a wall in a rage and shattered his hand. He was told he might never play guitar again. At the time I was...Well, naive. I was going through my own shit, but hadn't reached my own punching wall phase (yet). I wondered how this man who was SO talented, and SO famous, and who seemed SO sweet in interviews, also held such deep, dark demons. I learned about James Taylor and his struggles, another man I loved so much I even saw him in concert once. Then, of course, the list of tragedies; Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Amy Winehouse... the list goes on and on.

The Orion Trilogy was my attempt at giving a life and answers to my questions. I did research--watched/listened to interviews of various bands. I've read Elton John's biography, which was the final catalyst in creating The Orion Star. (By the way it's a wonderful book, I highly recommend it). The Orion Star is also my attempt to purge some of my own baggage.

I'll always be up front with the fact that I weave my stories of fiction with a heavy dose of non-fiction. I inject truth. I don't think I'll ever fully reveal what's real and what isn't, partially in fear of someone I know (aka nuclear and extended family) stumbling onto this. Partially because it's *my* truth. I know *my* truth is no one else's.

I'm not looking to be hurtful with my words, that's the last thing I want. I'm not looking to be Jenny from The L Word. And if anyone ever compared me to her I'd...Well, at the very least I'd immediately pull all my work down and give a heavy re-assessment of my life, if not something much more drastic.

But the fact of the matter is I use writing as a coping mechanism. I tried purging my demons via journaling and it never worked. It always came out wrong--bitter and ugly. It would make me depressed, the OPPOSITE of my goals, and everything would stop half-finished and broken. It was pathetic and was making everything ten times worse.

So, partially, this is all selfish. I am trying to be a better person. I am trying to be better for myself as much as those around me. I've hurt people, and somehow they miraculously have forgiven me. Of course, not everyone, and I am undeserving of forgiveness in some instances. But now that I know that, in hindsight, I just need to be better. Writing makes me better.

Jamie (from The Human Experiment) is me. Orion is me. I am baring my soul to you. Perhaps it's foolish. Perhaps I shouldn't leave myself so very vulnerable. Perhaps I am wrong in writing from such a raw, visceral place.

Perhaps people see this all as gratuitous. Perhaps people think I'm making the things I write about grossly romanticized. I am here to tell you otherwise, though.

There is absolutely nothing romantic about suffering from mental illness. There is nothing romantic about having addictions. There is nothing, nothing, romantic about waking up and being afraid of yourself; afraid because you don't know what the day is going to hold, afraid because you don't know if you have the right tools in your toolbox to handle what life might throw at you, afraid because you know you're one bad day from literally ruining your entire life (been there, done that, not fun).

I'm doing this because I have to. Cliche, perhaps, but true. But since I have to-- since I have this compulsion to have my tale be heard, this need to be seen, to have the child within me validated--I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being there.

My only hope is that it helps someone else. I hope reading my mess can help people through their own struggles. If I can make the world feel just a little smaller (or bigger if that's what they need), a little less lonely, a little less scary for people, then my stories have fulfilled their intended purpose.

Yeah, it's just a story. Yeah, they're just stories. And while there's a shit ton I'm never going to write about, because it's too painful, those little bits I keep close to me and hidden away in the shadows, a lot of it is out there already. And it's fragile.

You're all handling it with gentle gloves, and for that, I thank you. I cannot thank you enough. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The world needs you. Please, never forget that.

All the love in the world,

Sarah Strix ♥️