The world is full of unexpected symmetries.
Take "bangarang" for example.
For those of you gifted with selective memories or perhaps too young to remember when Steven Spielberg made movies that weren't stone-cold bummers, "bangarang" was a nonsense "kids word" the film Hook tried to insert into the Peter Pan mythos and also schoolyard slang. You know. Bangarang.
Boy, there were few things I was more allergic to as an eleven year-old than movies and books that tried to be hip and cool by adding skateboards and made-up words grown-ups thought kids would like to say. I remember thinking Hook's Lost Boys were a bunch of poser punks that I didn't want to hang out with no matter HOW cool their treehouse was. And then I forgot all about them because that movie wasn't nearly as good as the idea of that movie was in my head.
I did not spare Rufio or his Lost Boys another thought for twenty years. Thank you, Skrillex, for the weird reminder.
I was listening to the song and was contemplating writing another novel that would scoot about collecting rejection letters... and darn if it's not a really catchy song. Opinions on dubstep or its obnoxious cousin brostep aside, that song is wild and strange and irreverent and it just reminded me of being a moronic middle school boy - the whole thing kind of spiraled out of that thought in a Starbucks one evening when it was cold outside.
I have since grown very fond of Will, Hunter, Diego, and David. They're reminders of my own "Fraternity" of friends when I was that age. I want them to go on more adventures and I don't (at present) particularly want a publisher's interference with their lives or when they shall see the light of day.
So now I'm about to introduce you all to these boys and their misadventures. In fact, I finished the last pass on the first manuscript just hours before attending a group viewing of, of all things, Hook. As we ate junk food and chanted at the screen (Wait, Maggie Smith is WENDY?!!!) and waited for the infamous food fight scene to commence, I realized that Textbook of the Technomancer is bookended by Bangarang.
I have a sudden anxiety because of this reminder. This book and the ones to follow are a kind of Valentine to a period in my life that was both chaotic and wonderful and also a disquieting long time ago. I hope I got it right. I hope the core of the story, which is all about the limitless imagination and incredible lovable stupidity of pre-teen boys in groups, is still accurate. I sincerely hope that no ten year-old kid finds anything in the book as artificial and pandering as "bangarang." All these years later, I'm still mortified that middle school kids will think I'm not cool enough to hang out with them.