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 that rode a dragon named Sylph. The kid’s actual real life sucked, so he made awesome things happen in his story to compensate for the disappointment.
I called it “The Vampire Diary.” I was deeply, inconsolably upset when “The Vampire Diaries” became an actual show 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