No, William is not Bill. But Bill is William.

Facade’s dedication page.
Aha! Bill! William! I get it!

I’ve gotten a few emails from readers who’ve noticed the dedication page in the front of both Facade and Unleashed. 

For Bill.

These readers also noticed that my books have a pretty dang important male character named William. At which point they had one of those awesome “AHA!” moments.

Bill…!

William…!

Clearly this R. M. Webb character named the main love interest in her books after her main love interest!

And I get how you’d think that. ‘Cause it seems pretty cut and dry. Nothing left to the imagination there, right?

Well, actually…

William is not Bill.

I started writing Facade many years ago, before Bill — otherwise known as Mr. Wonderful — came into my life. I chose the name William because it happens to be one of my favorite male names.

I didn’t finish the book all those years ago. I put it away and I’d like to say that I forgot about it, but I didn’t. ‘Cause, you know, life-long dreams that you start and never finish aren’t that easy to forget. They just kinda hang around your mental space, making you itch and sneer as you try to shrug off the bitterness.

And then I met Bill.

And my life got flip-turned upside down.

*Smiles sweetly, eyebrow arched, and waits to see who gets the reference.*

He entered my life with the force of gale winds and hurricanes and I’ve never been the same since. Bill has brought me happiness and shown me joy and he plucked me out of a life that was spiraling out of control and plopped me into a Happily Ever After. Sometimes I still find myself staring at the landscape of my life, dazed, blinking rapidly, afraid that if I move too quickly, I’ll chase all this away.

I think I loved Bill before I actually met him.

You see, before him, I’d always felt like something was missing. There was just this nagging, almost-but-not-quite feeling attached to each and every one of my days. I’d actually started to think there was something deeply flawed about me, that I was some self-sabotaging mess of a woman who was too difficult to please and was somehow unable to accept happiness.

When Bill and I started dating, it was like suddenly I was taking full breaths after decades of not enough air, and the light was so bright but didn’t hurt my eyes, it was just warm on my skin, and my own laughter surprised me because it showed up on its own and not because I made myself laugh when it felt appropriate.

I’ll be honest, it’s still like that. I love this man and somehow that makes everything in my life make sense. The things about me that I used to hate, he loves. The things about me I thought were flaws, he sees as strengths. And through his eyes, I’m learning to accept that I’m not flawed. I’m intelligent and hard-working and quick-witted and certain to break into dance in the middle of the grocery if I like the song playing over the speakers.

And that’s OK.

In fact, it just might be awesome.

Early in our relationship, during one of our many conversations that lasted well through the night and into the next morning, I mentioned that I’d started writing a book. I was also quick to disparage the book and myself. The book was dumb and I was dumb for writing it and dumb for not publishing it.

Finish it.

That’s what Bill said.

Finish it and publish it.

I scoffed. Nah. That ship has sailed. The book is dumb and I’m dumb and no one will want to read it.

And then he filled my head with the most amazing nonsense. He called me beautiful. He called me captivating. He called me wonderful.

And I started to believe him.

So I finished the damn book.

And then I finished the second one.

And now I’ve started a third.

When I started writing Facade all those years ago, I was captivated by the idea of a love so strong that it would survive for the rest of forever. So I set out to write about it.

Now…? I get to live it. There’s no doubt in my mind that I was designed to love this man and that he was designed to love me. He’s the answer to questions I didn’t know I was asking.

So, for those of you who’ve asked:

No, William isn’t Bill. But Bill sure is my William.

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