I firmly believe that the most important part of writing young adult books is remembering, viscerally, what it felt like to be a young adult.

Today, I got checked out at the gym. I must have actually brushed my hair for once, or something. But before you decide I’m sounding conceited, listen to what happened next:

I bonked myself on the nose with the lat-pulldown machine.


It was very like the time in grade 12 that I was driving my dad’s convertible down main street and spotted Gordie Merideth on the sidewalk. I honked and waved… and stalled the car.

All I can say is, thank God Min agreed to marry me.

And, since I have yet to answer this week’s CWILL BC Tuesday Tell-All, here’s some advice for young writers: file all embarrassing moments for future use.

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