Guinevere Prudence Thompson hated her name. Hated it. Never mind that she was named after an Arthurian queen and a Beatles song.
“Call me G.P.,” she insisted.
“Jeep?” asked her incredulous mother the first time.
“No! G.P.”
“OK, Jeep,” Mom grinned.
She told her friends just to call her G.P., too, but it wasn’t long until — just like Mom and the military’s “general purpose (G.P.) vehicles” before her — everyone just shortened it Jeep. And that kind of grew on her. Eventually.
Blaine was her best friend. Blaine was a vampire, although vampires on Jeep’s Earth are not like the vampires on ours. Blaine was nothing if not droll. He had a droll smile, a droll sense of humor, a droll attitude about life. Only one word could perfectly describe Blaine: He was droll.
And Guinevere Prudence Thompson a.k.a. Jeep?
She saved the worlds. She saved them from a threat so serious it can’t be contained in a single book. It’s still a mystery how many books the saga will need, but rest assured the story will be told, because a story like this cries and screams in the night to be told, and told it shall be.
Sometimes telling the story is hard and the words trickle out. Sometimes there is a flood. Sometimes the author giggles uncontrollably and says, “I can’t wait until this story is out there.” Sometimes the author moans in frustration and says, “I can’t wait until this story is out there.” And out there it shall be.
Because Jeep Thompson saved the worlds. And that story must be told. And so it shall be.
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