A few months ago, my good friend and fellow writer Kevin Toth and I were waiting in line to see Joanna Newsom. It was a long line, and I, at forty-seven, was easily the oldest person in it. Behind us was a very young couple who seemed to be in the nervy, klutzy throes of a first date, and they were clearly casting about for something (anything) in common to talk about. They kept falling into gangly, awkward silences that stretched longer and longer.
Eventually the two of them stumbled upon that great first coincidence of passions--the topic they could build an actual conversation around: the Eragon books.
Carried away by their excitement, they kept gushing back and forth about how great the books were (I haven't read them, so I won't disagree), and after a few minutes of thrilled discussion, the young lady said the thing that made me want to call a taxi, drag myself back home and take a couple of Tylenol. She said, "It's just so cool that they're written by this really young guy, and not some creepy old guy in his forties who's writing for teens."
Yeah, that's me. I'm the creepy guy in his forties who writes for teens. But I promise you, I mean no harm.
I've just published a book called Snapshots, and my illustrious editor Andrew Karre (who strikes me as much too young to be an editor) wants me to keep this blog because, apparently, that's what young people do.