Ants In My Pants/My Epiphany

Aside from having ants in my pants (as I await the announcement of the winner of the flash fiction challenge AND the SCWC in Newport this weekend) I’ve been a little busy beaver plotting and scheming the sequel to my debut novel. Now that The Descendants has officially graduated to the line editing process, I feel more comfortable moving forward with the storyline. I sort of had to put that process on hold for a while as I reworked pieces of the book. I couldn’t continue to write the sequel until the major plot points of the first novel were nailed down. Now, I am having so much fun coming up with what happens next.

Being in book world got me thinking. What was it that made me fall in love with YA novels? What book opened up my world to its awesomeness?

When I think back to a time when I actually was a young adult, I can remember the exact moment it happened. I used to think I hated reading. I tried to like it, but every time I picked up a book, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. As my friends began to discover books and lose themselves in stories, I kept my secret to myself. In Jr. High I toured around with the smart kids…you know, those over achievers? I was one of them (still am, really). So the fact that I hated reading made me feel ashamed and embarrassed. What was WRONG with me?

Then one magical day in San Francisco (oddly enough…in the exact apartment my debut novel takes place) I picked up a book called Harry Potter and the whatever….(okay, Sorcerer’s Stone).



(From here.)

I didn’t have a clue what I’d found, no idea that once I opened it my life would change. I looked at it with indifference.

“Have you read that?” my friend asked.

I shrugged. “No.” Of course I hadn’t. I didn’t read.

“Take it. It’s good.”

I didn’t want to be rude. “Okay, sure,” I said, feigning excitement.

Little did I know it would be my epiphany.

You can probably guess what happened after that. Once I’d read the first chapter I couldn’t put it down. Turns out I DIDN’T hate to read, what I hated was being forced to read things that didn’t appeal to me. My mom never understood how she could be such an avid reader, and her smarty pants daughter couldn’t get past the first ten pages of her favorite books. We both know the answer now. She reads realistic and very depressing books! That just isn’t my thing. I want to be carried off to a new world, or at least a world that’s fascinating and different than the mundane happenings in normal life. Hence my love for YA (Specifically YA Paranormal/Fantasy etc.).

What’s the moral of the story?

Read what you love, and you’ll love to read.

What was your epiphany? Do you remember the day you found your favorite genre? What books have inspired you?