Interview:
1. How long does it normally take you to write a novel?
I’d say the first draft takes a few months. My shortest turnaround was 3 months and longest a full year. But that’s only the first draft. Then the hard work begins. Revisions and editing can—and usually should—take years.
2. What inspires you to write? 27. Is there any book that really inspired you as a writer (fiction, craft, etc.)?
Good writers! If I read a book that takes me to another place, makes me cry, or helps me see the world differently, I take notice. Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl wowed me with her mastery of voice. Stephen King is the quintessential suspense-builder. Hunger Games series gave great examples of pacing. The list goes on. I’m always reading. Always a student. There’s always room to improve.
3. When did you know you wanted to be a writer?
I wrote all the time as a child. Stories, poems, journaling. But it wasn’t until my late twenties that I felt driven to try writing a novel. It was a cathartic experience that helped get me through a hard time. I’ve been writing ever since.
4. How do you handle the editing process?
I put my ego aside, make sure I’m well rested, and dig in. There’s nothing more rewarding than taking some tough criticism and seeing major improvement in your story. When you get the “nailed it!” from your editor, you’ve arrived.
Excerpt
Finally,
the time has come. I ride the giant wave to the locker room, letting myself get
sucked into the energy. It’s like every single freshman girl is going to
tryouts. The excitement is contagious. The locker room has transformed into a
sort of primping party. It’s a more amped up version of backstage before one of
my piano recitals. I’m giggling as I change into gym clothes and follow the
others onto the court.
But I
stop short on the sidelines.
Payne
has the girls running the court lengthwise, tapping the endline paint with
their fingers, and running back. What’s this exercise called again? I see
Maddie, Shaunie, and Thalia. Pixie is here too, looking miserable. She’s not
awful, though.
“Nice
work, Maddie,” Payne calls across the gym.
Okay, so
Payne has favorites. No biggie. Has she already made the cuts? I have better
chances trying out for the New York Philharmonic. What am I thinking? I’m no
athlete. They’re all going to laugh at me. Maybe it’s not too late to make a
quick exit.
“Are you
playing?” asks a voice beside me.
My eyes
don’t leave the court. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just watch.”
“Me,
too, then.”
“Why?” I
turn and am startled to see it’s the girl with the scarred neck.
“I
thought you might want a friend.”
The
scars look terrifying up close—shiny, raw strings of bumpy tissue that used to
be skin. My mouth is stuck open, and I blink like mad.
“I’m
Brenna,” she says with a huge smile. “Sports aren’t really my thing.”
“Sami.”
A tiny wave. “Me, neither.”
“What
are we doing here, then?” She laughs.
“You
have a really nice smile.”
“You
sound surprised,” she teases.
I must
turn redder than her scars, my face is so hot. Because it’s true. I was
surprised. Am surprised. It’s wrong, but I can’t help it.
Payne’s
whistle interrupts us. “You girls joining tryouts or just socializing in your
gym clothes?”
No time
for apologies. Payne’s eyes are focused solely on me. “Come on. You’ve missed
the warm up. On the court now. Let’s go.”
A
nervous laugh with Brenna, and I concede. Whatever. This tryout is another
orientation thing, right? A rite of passage for the new girl. It will be over
soon, and I’ll go home and use my fingers the way they were meant to be used.
Piano. What kind of tune will I conjure, what will my muse inspire? I’m
daydreaming as I wander into the middle of the court.
Payne’s
voice rings louder than her whistle.
“No,
Sami. Right in front.”
In
front? Me?
Payne
grasps my shoulders to place me at the net when I feel something strange. My
chest tightens with panic—a force enters me, making my insides quiver. What’s
happening?
Zap!
A jolt,
vibration. A charge surging out from my chest to my fingertips, my toes.
Zing!
The
faces around me blur, but the ball is radiant. A blue glow. The ball sails over
the net. Bumped. Set. To me? I leap, and it’s like my feet sprout wings. Out of
nowhere I reach and—
Pow!
It slaps
the opposite court untouched. A clean strike.
“Point,”
Payne cheers.
My body
tingles. How on earth did I do that? And then I do it again.
I zone
in. That neat leather ball leaves a laser-blue contrail as it’s punched into
the air. I know what will happen next. I can predict its path! Am I the only
one who sees it glow like that?
Bump,
set, spike!
Wahoo!
I’m a giant, tapping a ping-pong ball with my big paw. Easy. I’m above
everything. Everyone. Even Brenna—the one person who’s tried to be my
friend—now wears a worried grin. Something has separated us.
I’m
separate from everyone.
The ball
comes again. Soaring, my hand curved in perfect form, I guide it over at
cheetah-speed that somehow feels slow. My arm retracts within a millimeter of
the net, but it feels like yards away.
Pow!
Everyone
cheers. For me.
How did
I get so good?
My eyes
go to Payne, who’s already studying me. As much as I want to, I cannot turn
away. My arms and legs tingle—itching to move, to play ball. The veins in my wrists
pulse like a heartbeat. My birthmark throbs on my hand, ready to throttle that
volleyball. I make fists, trying to contain it.
I stare
back at Payne, the question ringing loudly in my mind: Did you do this?
She
gives me a slow, wry smile. Goose bumps rise on my suddenly-athletic arms.
I think I’ve just made the team.
Senior Max Sanchez has it all. He's the star pitcher for Port Fare High's baseball team. He's dating the head cheerleader, Emma McKay, and he has a great group of friends. Junior JD Miller's life is Not So Easy. Unlike Max, JD struggles with making friends. He's a social misfit, and he's being bullied at every turn. He's also barely surviving. A tragic accident changes everything, merging their lives together, and Max soon learns that life is NOT SO EASY.
