This is a nightmare.
“Your readers are expecting a happily-ever-after,” says Jen Perez, my editor. I sit across from her, only half paying attention. “You can’t build up a Young Adult Fantasy—with romance subplots, no less—and rip the rug out from under your audience’s feet.”
My gaze wanders to the window overlooking Sixth Avenue. “I’m subverting expectations.”
“There’s subverting expectations and then there’s this.” She plops my manuscript on her desk.
“I made it realistic.”
“It’s fantasy. No one wants to read this depressing drivel.”
fantasyYep, thanks for stating the obvious, I’m aware. No one wants the ugly truth of who I am. They prefer the mask I’ve constructed—the halcyon, paper-thin façade of magical optimism and happiness.
“Gabi called me. I’m not going to do a line edit un
