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The dead are meant to stay dead. Eighteen-year-old Albert Frank Young knows because he’s one of them. He had his life planned out with intentions of attending college in the fall with his brilliant girlfriend, Mary Shelley. What he didn’t plan for? Dying before his dreams were realized.

Over the course of one night, his life, and Mary’s, change forever. Mary’s brilliance quickly turns into a maddening obsession fueled by the death of Albert. Death took her mother away. She’ll be damned if death takes her boyfriend away too. In crossing the line between life and death, Mary damns them both before she realizes the realm of the living and land of the dead is an arena she has no right to meddle in.

A story of young love, the depths grieving drives the heart to, and the consequences that follow. This gothic tale proves love lives beyond the grave.

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Awareness by Amanda Lance

Eighteen-year-old aspiring painter Eliza Harper doesn’t believe in hell. When she wakes up in the middle of surgery, however, she learns just how wrong she was.

After attending a party with her three best friends, the night ends in a terrible accident that puts Eliza on an operating table. Awake yet paralyzed, in a condition known as anesthetic awareness, Eliza leaves her body and begins a desperate search to discover the fate of her friends.

Though unable to make herself seen or heard, Eliza still experiences a journey unlike any other. Torn between life and death, Eliza begins to understand the importance of the people in her life—and what it really means to love unconditionally.

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SHATTERED by C. Lee McKenzie

I have a strong conviction that we should all have a place at this table of life. One of the ways to help that be a reality is through reading. If we read about people who are different from us, there’s a chance we can come to understand them and appreciate them for who they are.

The other side of that coin is reading about people who are just like us, and through their stories, identify with their struggles and come to know we’re not alone after all. People who identify as "disabled" need those stories as much as any of us, and those stories should be as honest as possible.

My grandmother was disabled, and I drew a lot on her experience while writing this book. I watched her lose her eyesight, fall into depression and despair because she couldn’t read or sew—her two favorite pastimes. Then slowly she rebuilt her life. In the end she returned to the strong woman she’d always been, and she adapted to a different way of living. I think memories of her journey might have contributed to the creation of Shattered.

I already had the idea of writing about someone overcoming a serious accident and moving on after a struggle. Then I heard a woman speak at one of our library events about her experience becoming paraplegic. Like my grandmother, she fought her way back from feeling helpless and trapped to being a successful businesswoman. She skis, skydives, and pilots her own plane—all of this using adaptive equipment. After hearing her talk, I knew who my main character would be.

SHATTERED by C. Lee McKenzie

A Story of Betrayal and Courage

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Nineteen-year-old Libby Brown is on her way to the winter Olympics for her shot at the Gold. But on a last practice run, an out-of-bounds snowboarder collides with her, and she wakes up in a hospital unable to move her legs. Terrible accident they say, but was it? Or did someone want her off the U.S. slalom team? Libby must find the truth or remain shattered forever.

Thoughts from Christine Doré Miller...

It’s been years since my abusive relationship ended. 18 years to be exact. I was a teenager then, when my high school boyfriend and I officially parted ways as we headed to different colleges. But it wasn’t the storybook young lover saga I’d so desperately craved as a hopeless romantic teen. It was sad, confusing, and he often hurt me; sometimes it was visible and rage-filled, and other times with quiet, manipulative words that seared in my subconscious, making me believe that nobody else would ever want me. I even cried when he broke up with me, because I was just broken enough to believe him. I felt defiled, lost, and as if this tarnish was written all over my face. It was like he erased my teenage years in one hateful swoop. I lost memories, isolated myself from friends and family, made excuses for his behavior to myself and anyone who would listen; I was the textbook, perfect victim.

I was unrecognizable at the end, and it would be a long time until I came back to myself. I haven’t seen him since, but he lingered under my skin for years after. I thought I was free, but the constant looking over my shoulder, the gripping fear of that nauseatingly familiar ringtone that could chime at any moment, it was everywhere. He was everywhere, like a ghost that no one else could see. After years of therapy and support groups, I slowly became a person again. I learned how to maintain healthy relationships, I stopped breaking out in tears when anyone raised their voice, I let the horror fade from my body as I replaced it with self-care and love. And then I wrote a book.

Through my healing, I grew to learn just how common teen dating violence is, and it became my mission to help modern teens understand what is and is not normal when it comes to relationships. That's how The Starry-Eyed Series was born. When I was 16, having a boyfriend felt crucial and defining. I was already exposed to many adult, mature situations but without an adult, mature mind to match (even though I would’ve begged to differ at the time). We can’t expect teens to know what a healthy relationship is unless we A) tell them, or B) let them figure it out after a potentially dangerous game of trial and error. So, I decided I would tell them.

I interviewed dozens of teens from all walks of life as I wrote my books and I spoke to other survivors of dating violence. The common themes from my research were 1) a complex shame that prevented us from sharing our stories more publicly, 2) a deep belief that we could’ve or should’ve stopped or prevented the abuse, and 3) having our experiences be minimized and normalized at the time by our peers and other adults (“it’s just a phase,” or, worse, the deafening silence most people exude when faced with something unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and/or involving relationships). I took all of this anger, all of this strength, and all of the hope that still flickered lightly behind some survivors’ resilient starry eyes and put all of it into this book.

I wrote furiously and frequently. I listened to nostalgic emo-rock on repeat. I cried, and I reminisced, and I became drunk with courage. This thing I had been so ashamed to say out loud, this part of my past that I hated and wanted to be wiped clean from my soul, I wasn’t just ready to share it with a few close confidantes, I was ready to share it with the world. I was ready to identify myself as a survivor and tell a story that I thought needed to be told, because this story belonged to all of us. The story of a young, vulnerable, bright-eyed person who was manipulated, betrayed, and hurt by their angry, confused partner. One person who just wanted to be loved and so easily ignored the red flags that eventually and methodically grew into volcanoes. That was not just my story, it was her story, and their story, and his story, too. I heard it over and over again, I read it over and over again, and each word dripped with inspiration and solidarity.

My first book Forgiven Are the Starry-Eyed quickly resonated with teens and adults alike and I started being flooded with emails from survivors who finally felt seen for the first time. I traveled back to my hometown in Michigan where I spoke to high school and college students about relationships, dating violence, and the healing role that writing played for me. And in every interaction, I regained more and more of the power that I once thought was lost forever.

I wish I could speak to my 16-year-old self now. I would tell her that she is stronger than she knows, that she is full of love and virtue, and that one boy with messy hair and cold, dark eyes couldn’t erase that. And when it was over, I’d tell her to shout her story from the rooftops, because sinking into the silence that was forced upon her would only empower the surrounding darkness.

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Why Neurodiversity is Crucial in YA Fiction

Thoughts from Deidre Huesmann...

“You’re just lazy.”

“Stop procrastinating. This is why you’re failing school!”

“You don’t have anxiety, all teenagers are dramatic.”

“ADHD? I doubt it. More likely, you weren’t disciplined enough as a child.”

“What do you have to be depressed about? Your teen years are golden.”

“Stop faking it!”

“You just want an excuse to slack off.”

I, and several of my friends growing up, heard some variation of these words. Particularly pre-2000's, as a general rule, neurodiversity wasn’t taken seriously by our parents and previous generations. From around 2010 onward, society saw an abrupt influx of adults diagnosed with PTSD, ADHD, depression, anxiety, OCD, autism, bipolar disorder, and many other mental quirks. Perhaps this was most noticeable when celebrities began being candid about their mental health. Kendrick Lamar came out about his depression in 2015. 2017 saw Ke$ha admit to struggling with an eating disorder. In 2018, Ryan Reynolds finally opened up about his struggle with anxiety – at forty-one years old.

It’s no coincidence: previous generations were taught that mental illness was only for war vets, if anyone. Psychology was dubbed a “soft” science which, by nature, gave it less credibility than “hard” sciences, such as physics, astronomy, and chemistry. So many teenagers then – and to a lesser extent, now – went and remain undiagnosed due to these perceptions and prejudices.

I got into YA long before Twilight hit shelves, back when Christopher Pike was king and L.J. Smith queen of supernatural YA (now classified as paranormal). Just as genre names changed, so did society’s understanding of mental illness and neurodiversity.

What is neurodiversity? Using the Oxford definition, neurodiversity is “the range of differences in individual brain function and behavioral traits, regarded as part of normal variation in the human population (used especially in the context of autistic spectrum disorders).” The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders Fifth Edition doesn’t define neurodiversity explicitly, but it is essentially a psychiatrist’s bible, aiding them in diagnosing neurodiverse patients. Disorders can range from schizophrenia to attention deficit hyperactive disorder to post traumatic stress disorder to personality disorders and so, so much more.

Growing up, my father told me that ADHD meant that the affected kid simply wasn’t spanked enough. This was, of course, my view for years until I broke away from my parents to form more of my own opinions as an adult. Admittedly, it took my then-4-year-old being diagnosed with ADHD for me to research the term. The more I read, the more I realized that I very likely had ADHD as well – and had my entire life. So many facts piled up: my sudden dip into poor grades after elementary school, why I wanted to do tasks but simply couldn’t despite being fully physically able, my penchant for daydreaming to detrimental effect, my impatience waiting in line, my overly emotional states, and – perhaps ultimately – my tendency to hyperfocus when writing, an activity I’ve adored since I was 11 years old. Many, many more things clicked as well, but it wasn’t enough to read about it.

I needed a diagnosis from a licensed psychiatrist.

The Isolation of Going Undiagnosed

When writing Apocalypse NOPE!!, I realized Ivy-Jean mimicked my teenage self in more than a few ways. While I wasn’t friendless, I had an incredibly difficult time making friendships stick. I never got satisfaction from makeup or praise for acting feminine – if anything, my mother would scold me for wanting “male attention.” (Hilarious, in retrospect, as I came out as a lesbian last summer. For relevance there, read Kate Larkindale's article on The Importance of Authentic LGBTQIA+ Characters in Evernight Teen’s previous blogs. Had I such representation as a teenager, I might not have forced myself through several failed relationships with men as an adult.) Even when I tried to fit in, I failed miserably, having almost zero context for why certain things were trending.

I wasn’t just unpopular: I was low-key bullied. A friend in middle school told me, “People bully you because you look stupid.” She meant that I was a space cadet. My head constantly floated among the clouds, my obsession with anime before it was a beloved media an enormous turn-off for most of my peers.

One vivid memory of 7th grade band class stands out. I’d just packed up my flute and was sitting, awaiting the teacher’s instructions for our homework. Suddenly, my chest hurt. I couldn’t breathe. I started gasping and earned gawks and stares until the teacher had other flutists push some chairs aside and encourage me to lie down. The school called an ambulance and I was transported to the nearest hospital. When my mother showed up, all doctors could tell her was that I didn’t have asthma as they’d thought, so I had no diagnosis. On the way home, my mother tore into me for “wasting money” on the “enormous ambulance bill” and for “wasting [her&91; time and taking [her&91; away from work.” My protests made no difference. I don’t recall if I was punished, but it was one of many factors that soured my relationship with her, right up to the day she passed away.

So many of these issues could be attributed to undiagnosed neurodiversities. Had these been properly addressed, I could have been put on the right medication, or seen a therapist, or a psychologist, or some adult who had answers for my multitude of questions.

To this day, I bear the scars of these events and traumas. And now, Ivy-Jean is the clearest representation of those scars, even if her circumstances are wildly different.

“Only Crazies Go to Therapy”

Some of my peers were lucky enough to have parents who took them to therapy. To me, it was never a consideration. I wasn’t sick, just lazy and selfish and living amongst a mess of clothes strewn all over the floor, half a dozen partially-empty glasses of water/soda, and a poor student who only applied herself in subjects that interested her. It took two decades for me to realize that I wasn’t any of those things: I’d suffered undiagnosed ADHD. Moreover, both of my parents believed therapy was only for “crazy people.” Even on her deathbed, my frail mother screamed at the nurses for suggesting she talk to a psychologist about her fatal illness: “I’m not crazy!”

No wonder I went as long as I did without medication. In retrospect, it’s a wonder I’m even alive.

At age 18, I experienced a traumatic event. My then-boyfriend encouraged me to go to therapy for it. Fortunately, I listened – I made a suicide attempt shortly into it, and my therapist was a godsend, asking my doctor to prescribe Lexapro to help me get a handle over my immense depression, PSTD, and anxiety (still officially undiagnosed). The medication helped me work past the frequent nightmares and return to some semblance of a normal life.

According to my sister years later, my parents were furious that I attended therapy. This still wounds me deeply. I have no doubt that I’d have eventually killed myself without seeking help.

I had no one in my corner. And books, the things I loved most, only had neurotypical heroes and heroines. In the end, I saw very little of myself in anyone and kept longing to be normal, eventually accepting that I never would be.

Diagnosis YEP!! How Representation Could Have Helped Years Earlier

Finally, at age 32, my new psychiatrist diagnosed me with ADHD, major depression, anxiety, PTSD, and potential OCD. I remember a thrilling sensation of validation washing over me, followed hours later with blistering resentment. Why had nobody noticed? Why hadn’t I been treated years ago, when I could have developed better habits prior to my brain settling into its final state? Much as I stewed, there was no changing the past. I could only attend therapy and push forward.

After several medication titrations, I’ve so far settled on a cocktail of Adderall, Wellbutrin, and Zoloft. For the first time in my life, I can experience sadness without my chest tightening to painful, air-reducing effect. I’m less likely to spiral if someone throws a wrench into my gears. My nightmares are minimal. I’m less impulsive, more patient with my toddler and kindergartener, and adjusting to queer mom life far better than I could have ever imagined. Without addressing my anxiety, I might never have explored my sexuality and recognized that I was gay, not bisexual.

With unsupportive parents and a culture against therapy – even to this day, though it’s much more accepted – what could have made me feel seen, helped me vouch for my mental health at a younger age, seek better help? Three words:

Young Adult Representation.

Like many teens today, I was a voracious reader. I still adore YA for, in many other ways, helping me feel seen. I read almost every YA book I could get my hands on, from the paranormal to the contemporary. The characters I loved resonated with me. From the day I read my first YA fiction novel, I vowed to write stories that made others feel as giddy, electrified, and alive as I did.

Neurodiversity wasn’t represented then. While it’s slowly eking its way into modern books, there’s still a significant lack of voices from other neurodivergent writers.

This is a travesty.

Lots of kids and teens don’t have support at home, whether they notice it or not. Media tends to shape them far more, as their preferred consumptions provide a safe place for them to simply be. They see pieces of themselves in other characters – and when they don’t, they assume everyone is “like that,” and they’re the “weird” ones.

We’re not weird. We’re unseen and unheard. Unrecognized and unsupported. Unappreciated and unrecognized for what we bring to the table. And as the differences pile on – not white, not cisgender, not heterosexual, not Christian – we become more and more Othered. Permanent outcasts.

My history is one of hundreds of thousands, but there's certain to be at least one person who reads this, or Apocalypse NOPE!!, or another novel featuring neurodiverse leads, and that one person will see themselves in the work and realize, “I’m not alone.” As YA fiction authors, I personally find that to be our greatest duty: to give young readers safe outlets to explore who they are, what kind of person they want to be – and to assure them that they’re not the odd one out. No one is an outcast, not in the age of technology. There are others like us.

So those who have the means, use your voice. If an industry Big 5 professional says your vision can’t sell, dig past them.

I did.

If Ivy-Jean can ignite th0at spark in even one reader, the entire story has fulfilled its purpose: representing neurodiversity to someone who needed it, once more turning a Diagnosis NOPE!! into a Diagnosis HELL YES!!

NEW RELEASE from Deidre Huesmann

APOCALYPSE NOPE!!

Thoughts from CARRIE BEAMER...

The world literally has thousands of people trudging through their daily lives while struggling with some type of untreated mental illness. There’s a stigma surrounding mental illness that makes people feel that having anxiety, depression or any type of disorder equals weakness. No one should have to fear telling someone they’re not okay. I wrote SIGNS WE DON’T SEE so that teens, and people of all ages, would read it and know that having shame for a struggle you didn’t ask for isn’t your fault nor is that shame necessary.

Mental health awareness isn’t something that countries spend money on and it’s becoming a huge problem. We certainly wouldn’t let a broken leg go untreated but people aren’t sure how to treat something going on with their mind. I hope my book can help, in some small way, to show readers that seeking help is beneficial but it can also be a long road of trial and error to feel better. I want my book to normalize the issues surrounding mental health while entertaining people at the same time. Life is a journey and we all have to find our own path to happiness and health no matter what it might take to get that.

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Thoughts from KATE LARKINDALE...

Being a teenager is hard. It’s a time of life where new feelings can be overwhelming. The changes happening to one person may not be the same as the changes that happen to another. Friendships that have endured throughout childhood may be strained to breaking point when friends develop in different ways and find new tribes that better suit their new interests and ideas.

It’s a time in life where the adult you grow up to be is formed, often through trial and error, experimentation and failure. Hormones run wild and with them come confusing feelings and possibly even attraction to someone.

And what if the person you’re attracted to isn’t the person you’ve always believed you will one day meet and fall in love with?

When I was a teenager, back in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, I could only find two books in my local library that dealt with homosexuality. Only one, Annie on my Mind, was about lesbians; the other was about gay boys. Nothing I read reflected the confused feelings, attractions and desires I experienced, and that convinced me I was the only person in the world who was so confused and uncertain.

YA books about queer teens are without doubt crucial to young people who might be uncertain or frightened by the feelings they are experiencing. Not everyone comes from a home or a culture where homosexuality is accepted, so many young people grow up denying who and what they are, or hiding their true feelings – even from themselves.

Imagine how isolating that must be.

Providing strong LGBTQIA+ role models in fiction or writing about characters experiencing similar dilemmas can help someone come to terms with themselves. There doesn’t even need to be a solution to whatever problem the character(s) might be facing. Just knowing we’re not alone with these feelings and experiences can sometimes make all the difference.

Straight readers can benefit greatly from reading good stories about LGBTQ characters. While we’d all like to believe that the world has changed for the better and no one is discriminated against for religion, race or sexuality anymore, this is not actually the case. A good book can change people, erase long-held prejudices and give the reader a new empathy for people they may once have looked down on, irrationally hated on or ignored.

And I’m not talking about stereotypes like the funny, gay best friend. We need to see real people portrayed in fiction, strong individuals with their own passions, ideas and values who just happen to also be queer. Sexuality is an important part of life, but it shouldn’t define us, any more than we want to be defined by the color of our skin, where we live or what school or church we go to.

Breaking these stereotypes and showing readers that queer characters across the spectrum can be and feel the same things we all do is something books have the power to do. And this is why YA books featuring LGBTQIA+ characters are so important to have in libraries and schools where the readers who need them the most, will be able to access them.

If only one reader discovers they are not alone in feeling the way they do and realizes they are normal and as valued as any other member of the community, it’s worth it.

About the Author

Having spent a lifetime travelling the globe, Kate Larkindale settled in Wellington, New Zealand fifteen years ago. A film marketing executive and mother to two sons, she’s surprised she finds any time to write, but doesn’t sleep much. As a result, she can usually be found hanging out by the nearest espresso machine.

She is the author of contemporary YA novels The Sidewalk’s Regrets, Chasing the Taillights, An Unstill Life and Stumped along with several others that no one is allowed to see. Yet. She has also written one very bad historical romance, which will likely never see the light of day. She is working on several more YA novels that may or may not ever be finished.

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Nine years ago, an unknown poison called the “Red” saturated the atmosphere of the entire planet, killing off everyone except a remnant of immune survivors. Jake is a survivor, but the Red has left its mark on him, changing him in strange ways he does not understand. The answers to his questions, however, will not be found inside the gated confines of his small community.

The immune are not the only survivors. A handful of non-immune scientists and their families also escaped death by retreating inside a giant underground bunker called the Hole. Unable to breathe the outside air, the inhabitants of the Hole search for a way to fix the air.

Seventeen-year-old Paige grew up in the Hole. Its concrete hallways and chambers are all she knows. Trained as a medic, she works with her father to find a way to cleanse the atmosphere and restore the balance of nature.

Paige and Jake live in different worlds, each seeking answers that seem impossible to find. Everything changes when their lives collide in a chance encounter. Paige realizes that Jake may hold the key to defeating the Red, and Jake, in turn, realizes that Paige and her people may have the answers about where he came from and why he is what he is. With time running out, the two rush to uncover not only what the Red really is, but also the strange connection growing between them.

14+ due to adult situations

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Gracie's Time (The Bean Books, 4) by Christine Potter releases August 23rd

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My dear daughter,

As your third birthday approaches, I can’t believe there was ever a time you weren’t on this earth. But really you were always here, weren’t you? Even the year before your birth, when your dad and I held each other through the tears and heartache of our second miscarriage, you were all around us, waiting to enter when it was time, waiting until we learned more about patience, strength, and resilience. And then you came to us and suddenly the world felt unworthy of your innocence.

Did you know that I hated taking you out of the house when you were a baby? I was so overcome by this new, radiant, life-affirming and all-encompassing love that I could barely move. The idea of taking you anywhere unpredictable was crippling. Thank goodness for your dad and his gentle logic that eventually convinced me to breathe. And now at only three-years-old you can’t get enough of the sunshine, the playground, the world and all the people in it, and every day I let go just enough to let you grow through experience and scraped knees and belly laughs. But the tightening and loosening of my protective grasp is always a balance I have to find again and again as you get older, and sometimes I may not always get it right.

As you’ve gone from adorable baby to beautiful, spirited little girl, I’m realizing more that this growing up thing is inevitable, and one day too soon you’ll be a young woman. Right now, you adore and trust everyone you meet, which is sweet and, as you’ll learn, brave. But if you can maintain the courage to love unabashedly as you age, you will also get your heart broken. But that can be beautiful, too, if we let it. The anguish that comes from romantic breakups, the painful what-ifs that come from the ones who get away, and the regret of the ones who never knew how you felt can leave you aching and full of sorrow, but you must promise me that you’ll never extinguish the vulnerability that got you there. Vulnerability is not weakness, it is, in fact, the opposite. Only those willing to love at all costs will be rewarded, and trust me, the pain of heartbreak is so much better than feeling nothing at all. But with your starry eyes will come a responsibility, too. While I want you to pursue love fearlessly and brilliantly, you must never lose yourself in the process. If you remember nothing else, remember this: you are good enough, and you will always deserve to take up space.

When I was a teenager, I lost myself in a boy and didn’t find my way back for years. I wanted romantic love so badly that I believed him when he said I didn’t matter. By the time he started hurting me, it was too late, I was too disillusioned with fear to leave and I didn’t know who I was anymore if he wasn’t there to tell me. Luckily, I was able to get out and found my way to support groups and professional help. Eventually I learned to love again but I did so this time without giving up myself in the process.

When I met your dad, I was immediately stricken by how good it felt to be loved for exactly who I am, flaws and beauty alike. We shared a mutual respect for each other from the beginning and that has never wavered. Even when we disagree or get frustrated or even sad, it’s met with gentle, steady hands and calm, kind energy. I know now that I deserve to feel safe, appreciated, and loved beyond the whole damn universe. And you, my sweet daughter, you deserve everything. If anyone ever tells you otherwise, I’ll always be here to remind you of what is true. And if, despite your best efforts, you get swept up in dreamy teenage love and can’t find your footing, I’ll be here then, too, to make sure you always come back to yourself.

Until then, let your starry eyes shine on, my love. I can’t promise it will always be easy, but I can promise that you’ll never be alone.

Loving you always,

Your mom

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My inspiration for The Memory Visit came from what I consider to be an unlikely place—a Smithsonian Magazine article about mice. The article described how scientists implanted false memories in the brains of mice which resulted in the mice fearfully reacting to stimuli that they’d never experienced before. Not only could scientists identify the brain cells involved in the encoding of a specific memory, but they could also alter that memory. The idea of this new technology blew me away, and I immediately wanted to apply it to humans. In fiction, of course.

The experiment brought to mind the movie, Total Recall where people of means could pay to experience a vivid virtual reality through a brain probe. I must admit that some elements of this movie appear in The Memory Visit: the chair where Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character gets strapped in, the helmet with the scary-looking prongs, the idea of living out a fantasy. I wanted my story to be different, however.

What if scientists weren’t implanting new memories like they did with mice in the lab and with the characters in the movie but, rather, were giving people the ability to experience an existing memory? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go back in time to relive a conversation with your beloved grandmother who passed or experience the thrill of your first kiss? It would be better than photographs, better than video. It would be like visiting a memory—living in it for a few minutes as if you were truly there—then exiting the memory without any consequences. I, who have a horrible memory, would pay money to visit my past in such a way.

Even though the technology sounded exciting to me, I still didn’t have my story. Who would want to read about a bunch of people reliving their glory days…unless, something could go wrong? Since a memory visit involved the brain, threats of addiction, brain damage, and insanity seemed likely. Once I put those perils in place, I had to give my characters a good reason to take a memory visit. With such horrific possibilities, why would someone risk it? I likened a memory visit to drug use, which could be just as self-destructive. I asked myself, why do certain people take mind-altering drugs when the consequences could be so dire?

A strong reason I came up with was escape—escape from stress, escape from pain, escape from boredom. I didn’t necessarily need a dystopian setting for my characters to desire an escape from their reality, but it helped. I wanted the characters’ world to be so bleak that they’d risk their mental health in order to leave that world if only for a few minutes. Therefore, I placed my story in a depressed society where most people struggled to eke out a living. I wanted the setting to be in North America and wondered, how might American society become like this? With the current political polarization in the nation, I was inspired to choose a second civil war.

The question remained, what caused the war? I relied on my obsession with water scarcity for the answer. I had been living in California since high school, and for many of those years, had been dealing with water conservation due to extended periods of drought. I watched Google Earth images showing large lakes shrinking into nothing. I read news articles about Cape Town running of water. I heard scientists explaining that water was becoming the world’s most valuable resource. In third-world countries, people were going to war over water. Why not in North America?

I imagined water scarcity and war happening close to home. I imagined who might suffer from it and who might profit from it. I imagined a privileged young woman, not much different from an ambitious young woman of today, wanting to make a change in her past and in her future. I named her Rain. She had a brother who died tragically. She suffered from survivor’s guilt and needed answers. In digging for those answers, she uncovered unspeakable corruption. Oh, and one more thing—Rain had a special talent that put her in more danger than any memory visit could elicit. Like a lab mouse, she was manipulated by powerful people. Unlike those helpless creatures in the lab, though, she attempted to create her own destiny.

Read more about Rain’s story in The Memory Visit and find out what happens when she dares to do the unimaginable.

Download The Memory Visit by Jenny Lynn Lambert

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Here’s what I think is typical based on my conversations with other writers and my own beginning as one.

WRITE A STORY

SUBMIT THE MANUSCRIPT FOR PUBLICATION OR SELF-PUBLISH

SET UP BLOG TOURS/BOOKSIGNINGS

BUILD A NETWORK OF FOLLOWERS

If I had it to do again, I’d reverse those steps; at least I’d put “Build a Network” right up there with “Write the Story.” Why? Because once you do publish a book, you’re going to need a lot of people in your corner to help spread the word and bring you chocolates to keep you going. This upside-down plan is important regardless of whether you’re self-published, working with a small press, or working with a large one. The competition in today’s writing/publishing industry is fierce. In 2017 1,000,000 print and eBooks were published in the U.S. alone. How are you going to make any waves in a sea as big as this if you’re all alone?

Besides with a network, you’re not always having to be the one to say, “Look at my book.” The Me. Me. Me. gets pretty old across your social media very quickly.

As a writer of Young Adult and Middle Grade fiction, I’ve found two groups that have helped through a lot of learning curves and into publication. The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators showed me the ropes early on. I attended their regional conferences, started meeting other new writers, and connecting with established and savvy ones. When I sold my first novel, I attended the New York Winter Conference and was so motivated to keep writing that I started my second novel in my hotel room during the days I was there. They’ve provided a wealth of knowledge and support that helped me build my network and complete eleven books (eight published so far).

When I first heard about The Insecure Writer’s Support Group, I wondered what benefit I’d get from becoming a member. The key word was SUPPORT. While they offered a lot of great information from writing professionals, they also were there when I considered giving up or didn’t have a fresh idea, and they quadrupled my online social media network. Remember, I’d done it all backwards: published, and then started connecting with writers and readers.

These are my thoughts on “If I Had It To Do Again.” What are yours? Do you agree or do you have other ideas about this writing/publishing business?

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