About ten years ago, I wrote my first YA novel. It was dumb.
The main character was this kid named Miles who wrote a fantasy story about a vampire named Raphael Vedemicci who rode a dragon named Sylph. The kid’s actual life sucked, so he made awesome things happen in his story to compensate for the disappointment.
I called it “The Vampire Diary.” I was inconsolable when “The Vampire Diaries” debuted on TV like a year later, but I don’t know why. My book was a G-darned disaster. I’m embarrassed to have said so much about it here, frankly. Readers deserve better. Continue reading