Shadowed finally finished!
It took a long time, but I have finished Shadowed. The book will be published by Harper Collins (Thank you!) in Fall of 2024.
In my first draft, Covid-19 played a large part. Since I'm slow, the epidemic waned and it became very clear that (for better of worse) people are DONE DONE DONE with thinking about Covid 19. I went back, revised, and pretty much eliminated the pandemic.
Here's a small section of Shadowed
The stuff with Lucas Cawley started when Mr. Krebs, the old guy across the street who let me feed his chickens, had a stroke. The night of Amelia’s eighth grade graduation, we returned home to see him being loaded into an ambulance on a stretcher. Two days later his daughter came by to pick up the chickens and to tell my parents that her father was at a rehabilitation center. “He’ll be back in a few months,” my mom told her. “Your dad is tough.” A few months went by and then a few more, and then it was a year.
A weird thing about houses is that they fall apart if no one lives in them. Moss grew on Mr. Krebs’s roof; the paint peeled; weeds took over the lawn and flower beds. One night in early June, burglars pried open the door to his shed and stole his tools.
Mr. Krebs’s daughter had the shed door fixed. Before she left, she put a For Rent sign in front of the house. “Who would live in that dump?” Amelia asked my mom.
“It’ll be cheap,” Mom answered, “so that’ll help. It can’t rent fast enough, as far as I’m concerned.”
Mom got her wish. The Cawleys moved in on the last day of school.
In my first draft, Covid-19 played a large part. Since I'm slow, the epidemic waned and it became very clear that (for better of worse) people are DONE DONE DONE with thinking about Covid 19. I went back, revised, and pretty much eliminated the pandemic.
Here's a small section of Shadowed
The stuff with Lucas Cawley started when Mr. Krebs, the old guy across the street who let me feed his chickens, had a stroke. The night of Amelia’s eighth grade graduation, we returned home to see him being loaded into an ambulance on a stretcher. Two days later his daughter came by to pick up the chickens and to tell my parents that her father was at a rehabilitation center. “He’ll be back in a few months,” my mom told her. “Your dad is tough.” A few months went by and then a few more, and then it was a year.
A weird thing about houses is that they fall apart if no one lives in them. Moss grew on Mr. Krebs’s roof; the paint peeled; weeds took over the lawn and flower beds. One night in early June, burglars pried open the door to his shed and stole his tools.
Mr. Krebs’s daughter had the shed door fixed. Before she left, she put a For Rent sign in front of the house. “Who would live in that dump?” Amelia asked my mom.
“It’ll be cheap,” Mom answered, “so that’ll help. It can’t rent fast enough, as far as I’m concerned.”
Mom got her wish. The Cawleys moved in on the last day of school.
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