When I sold my debut Midnight Thief in 2012, I thought I’d be writing young adult fantasy forever. After all, I’d grown up reading Tamora Pierce, Lloyd Alexander, and C.S. Lewis. I reveled in magic powers and high-stakes action. As a reader and writer, what more could I ask for?
But as I sat down to outline YA fantasy number five, I felt restless. I found it easy to fall into autopilot. Also, while I loved the books I’d written, they were limited to a small portion of my personality. In other aspects of my life, I was the quirky gal. I wrote funny family newsletters and joked around with friends on Facebook. My novels, however, were largely serious—more Lord of the Rings than Zoolander.
“I worry I’m
