The Face of an Angel

When my first book was coming out, I was a fresh-face, wide-eyed 29 year old. (The picture makes it look like it could have been the 1940s but the image is from 2000.)

Still, feels like ancient history. Back then, I had round baby cheeks that had never melted away. I looked "sweet." And then someone would read my book. I wasn't so sweet after that.

How could I dream up those kinds of things?

People looked sideways at my parents. My. Very. Normal. Parents. They shrugged although my mother's shrug was a little stiff. Like she, too, wanted to know where the thoughts came from.

Really. There is no great story. No secret terrifying history. No harrowing trauma that I somehow miraculously survived.

I just have dark thoughts. Very very dark thoughts.

And the face isn't quite as round. The eyes a little less wide. But there's still some sweetness there.

At least, it's there until you read the books...