The sky is a dirty green-gray bowl (a sliver of excerpt)

Sometimes you write the scene and, a few weeks later, you actually see the sky you'd dreamed into words.  This then, from You Are My Only, which is due out from Egmont USA next fall.


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A storm is coming.  The moon is lying low, out of the way, and the sky is a dirty green-gray bowl.  Autumn has pushed me around to the window, which is thick as some old encyclopedia, nailed shut.  She lies on her bed with her goggles on, humming some strange little tune.