For a writer, the excitement that goes along with releasing a new title is long preceded by months (or in my case, years) of writing, editing, revising, honing, querying, disappointment, more revising, more querying, more disappointment...you get it. All my writer colleagues get it. Magenta, my latest YA novel, evolved and morphed from putting five story ideas together, into the speculative fiction novel it is right now. Magenta, a girl who is disabled by a brain hemorrhage saves the world.
I love the way it turned out...it was fabulously fun to write.
Here's what it's about:
Not only is high school junior Magenta Thorson Rain still struggling with the loss of her mom to cancer, but she must also deal with issues that many other teens must face—high school crushes, awkwardness, and an overprotective parent.
Then there’s Lion, who has his own secrets about Magenta. He knows more about her than he could ever reveal. Lion also sees that Magenta is unwittingly making things happen around her but must keep it secret, as some of his kind may see her as a threat.
Then, on Halloween night, Magenta suffers a massive hemorrhage in her brain. After waking up in the hospital, she begins seeing terrifying visions—the hunted women all with flaming red hair just like hers; her mother, who has been dead for years—and the Shadow Man, always in the background, always elusive, but always there.
And if that isn’t enough, everything will change again. And when it does, it changes big.

And here's a sample:

'The thinnest sliver of water from The Narrows reflected the blue sky. Looming in the distance was the Verrazano Bridge, which connected the Staten Island and Brooklyn shorelines.
Curled up on the ancient roots of the old oak was like resting in a grandmother’s gnarly hands. They held me up. Grass, weeds, and wildflowers meshed to form a quilt underneath. It comforted me. Water lapping at the shore, in a never-ending flow from the Hudson into the Atlantic, sustained everything. It nourished me.
As I tugged at the entwined hearts chain now, permanently adorning my neck (it belonged to Momma—Mom has its twin) I breathed in the brisk October air, opened the book on my lap, and flipped to chapter one.
I froze. A sharp pain plunged into my head so deeply, I cried out.
Everything around me swelled and rippled as though I were underwater. I squeezed my eyes shut and clamped my hands around my temples, nauseous at the circles and waves assaulting me. “Oh, God,” I whispered, swaying back and forth trying to stand, but my legs were like Jello-O.
Then the voices…the whispers…suss, suss, suss…at first, like insects murmuring far away, then louder and clearer like a division of armed flies swarming into the air. Chaotic snippets of consciousness, bits of conversations, like someone was sitting on my shoulder whispering thoughts into my ear. The suss, suss, came from every side, pulling me toward it, drawing me in. Some whispers were hateful, some scared, others astonished. “Breathe. Focus on breathing,” I murmured. Breathe, breathe…come on…will it away.
“Wake up…they’ll test you…it’s the only way…you are our special gift…you are a gift to us all.”
Suddenly, the voices became people. Floating up and up, free. I guided them to emerge from a thick fog and looked up to the pristine blue of the cloudless sky. We clambered up the mountain, not with our feet but with wings. The ground telescoped away from us, leaving only a distant memory of the battle.
I lead the way, not with a map or notes, but by voices, ghostly whispers in the wind. Suss, suss, suss…In the wind were echoes of a promise. I faced the little group I came with, which had now grown into a multitude. They were silent, but the expressions on their faces reflected every emotion. Some trembled, others were in awe.
I raised my arms high and watched as they moved closer, against me, over me, until I couldn’t breathe anymore. Memories of childhood went swirling by like a dark tornado and every memory had Momma in it. Momma when I was little, Momma lighting my birthday candles, shadows of Moms decorating the Christmas tree. Then it all faded.
As abruptly as my world was swept away in that dark tornado, it burst back in a shower of comets. In seconds, the agony and the voices were gone.
Noises drifted around me, giggles of kids playing on the swing set in the park, cars zooming by on the expressway, leaves rustling with a dried crackle overhead. I opened my eyes. I was under the oak. Back in my old Staten Island neighborhood, my book now lying flopped over on the grass. The same baseball game was playing out on the little league diamond not fifty feet away. Birds chirped, runners ran, and my heart thudded against my ribs.
“What in the actual…” My hands reached up to my chest and face to make sure I was all there. My head did laps, and I couldn’t figure out if I was more horrified or exhilarated—or a little of both.
My first impulse—call Mom.
With shaking hands, I grabbed my phone. But when I got to her number, my thumb hovered over it indecisively.
Halloween is on Thursday. “Crap.” Thursday’s ‘Shaun of the Dead’ night with Ainsley and Sarah.
Mom was cool, but she worried. Maybe too much since Momma passed away.
It’s probably stress. She’ll think I’m getting sick and pull the plug on my plans. I hung up. “Probably need to get my eyes checked again.”
I shoved my stuff into my backpack and wobbled to my feet. It’s only a ten-minute walk home. Not even feeling it anymore. Still, I had my phone in my hand. I tapped at the last number on my Recents. It rang a few times, then went to voicemail. “Hey Ains, nothing important, just … just walking home now. Thought I’d see what you’re doing. Okay, talk later. Bye.”
I should have told Mom.'