Friday, November 02, 2012


so far, my novel is skewing towards the Young Adult side of the spectrum, which is leaving me with one major problem: Not only am I no longer a Young Adult (at least, not as far as publishing standards go), when I was, I didn't do anything that would be considered 'typical'.  I have no idea what "teenagers" did: I know I spent most of my time sleeping and visiting doctors offices.  Trudging my way through home tutoring and pretending that missing out on social events wasn't a huge deal. (Jr Prom vs. Star Wars marathon with your mom?  As much as I appreciated the effort, I probably still would have preferred the prom.) Busting my butt so I could graduate on time, even though nobody else thought I should even care about that.  Trying to get my family to realize that I was neither a)on drugs, b)pregnant, c)faking it or d) being overly dramatic. 

And so, somehow, I find myself writing (and researching) about a chronically ill teenager - one with more of a social life than I ever had (otherwise the book would be both boring "Today she slept for 18 hours" and too short to meet the 50,000 words), but with some of my experiences and emotions peppered in.  And I'm loving it. 

Even though I had 1330 words yesterday and today I only have 950.  But they're a good 950, and that's more important, right? 

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