And a snippet to torture you with–the opening to my YA novel, Red, so you can see what’s been keeping me up at night (and yes, I made the text green just to be contrary):
I was thirteen when I found out why my mother left me.
The letter that came on my birthday that year was such a shock to my poor dad. Given its contents, if I hadn’t been the one to snag the mail that day, I doubt he would ever have let me see it.
Given how he looks at me now—as if his beloved daughter has been replaced by a monster, one that can’t be evicted from the house because it still bears her face—I wish I hadn’t let him see it.
But at thirteen I couldn’t wrap my brain around the enormity of what my mother was imparting. I thought it was a joke. Dad thought she’d gone mad. But everything has unfolded so much as she predicted that it’s hard to ignore the fact that she could be right. That I am a monster, just waiting for the proper catalyst to be unleashed.
That I am cursed, as she was.