Why Read (or Write) YA? By Jacqueline Seewald

 When I attended Rutgers University for my M.L.S. degree, I took the additional courses needed to specialize in becoming an educational media specialist—a fancy description for a school librarian. I took a course in children’s literature and another in young adult lit. Both courses required reading a huge number of books and reviewing them. However, I very much enjoyed doing this.

As to young adult literature, I often felt the novels were better written than many of those for adults, something our professor said as well. So it’s no surprise that I decided to write some of my own. As an English teacher at the high school level I taught novels like J.D. Salinger’s THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, Harper Lee’s TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, and Golding’s LORD OF THE FLIES. These are just a few of the classics of YA literature worthy of note. I believe every author should try writing at least one meaningful coming-of-age book.

My novel THE DEVIL AND DANNA WEBSTER has proved popular with readers. It was written for teenage girls, as was STACY’S SONG. But the truth is that adult readers can and do connect with these books as well.

Black Opal Books has now brought out WITCH WISH, my current YA novel. I think it will be a good read for adult readers as well as teens.

Here’s something about the book:

Val Williams believes she will never be as pretty or as popular as her older sister Ailene. When Ailene dumps her on an unfamiliar road after an argument, Val decides to ask directions of the only person she sees, an old woman engaged in a garage sale. Val purchases a music box which the old woman claims has magical qualities and will grant Val one wish. Val wishes that that her sister would stop being so perfect.

When Ailene starts acting weird, breaks up with her boyfriend, stops talking to her friends, starts dating a “bad” boy, and cuts classes, Val is troubled. Val begins to fear she caused all this to happen by making her wish. She suffers a guilty conscience. How she goes about setting matters right makes for some unusual complications and surprises.

Excerpt (prior to editing):

PROLOGUE

Central New Jersey, 1985

My sister Ailene pulled the car to the side of the road, reached over and opened the door on the passenger side.

“Get out right now!” Ailene spoke through gritted teeth.

“No way!”

“Yes, way. You’re an obnoxious brat. I don’t have to put up with you, and I won’t for another minute.”

Maybe I had gone a tad overboard in the rude department today, but she’d deserved it. I had to stand and wait while she giggled and gossiped with her airhead friends by the lockers for what seemed like forever. I stood there being ignored and feeling like a leper. Then finally when she finally turned to me all she said was: “Come on. Hurry up.” Like she’d done me this great honor giving me a ride home.

Now she was all indignation. Well, I wasn’t going to stand for it. “I’m not getting out of the car,” I said.

Unfortunately Ailene’s taller and weighs more than I do. She shoved me out, hurled my backpack after me and drove off, burning rubber. She didn’t even look back. So there I stood at the side of a rural road with no idea exactly where I was.

Ailene had veered off the main highway when traffic stopped. There’d been an accident on the highway. No way of getting through any time soon. That pissed her off too. She’s not the most adaptable individual.

It was a warm afternoon. I didn’t mind walking, but the road was totally unfamiliar. I’d have to travel back in the direction of the highway. From there, I could find my way. Maybe my sister had done me a favor. Anything was better than being around her. She found me annoying but I felt the same way about her.

 As I walked, I fantasized.

Cheerleader shot dead at football game--mystery as to who pulled trigger. As a student of journalism I considered this possible headline. Were I to murder my sister, I wouldn't want to be caught.

Don’t judge me in haste. If you had a sister like Ailene, you'd probably hate her too. I’d like to say Ailene was nasty, selfish and spoiled, but it wouldn't be true. I have my share of faults. Lying isn't one of them. The truth? Ailene was polite, intelligent, beautiful, and even charming—when it suited her.

So why did I hate her? Maybe because she was everything I wished I could be but didn’t think I ever would be. Someone like Ailene, who was so much better than most people, you envied, idolized or hated her. It wasn’t easy living in the same home with perfection day after day.

A house came into my line of vision. It was an old Colonial with white clapboard shingles and black shutters that had paint peeling. There was an old woman sitting in a chair with all kinds of items set out on folding tables in cardboard boxes. I guess she was having a garage sale. I figured I’d stop and ask for directions back to the highway. She was kind of creepy looking dressed all in black. But she was the only person around. So I walked over to her. She stood up, smiling through crooked yellowed teeth.

“I’m kind of lost,” I said.

She nodded. “I can see that.” She had dark, penetrating eyes. She studied me in an eerie way that made my blood freeze.

“Can you direct me back to Route 516?”

“Certainly. But first why don’t you look at these things I have for sale. They are unique.”

“Sure,” I said, figuring to humor the old gal.

I began looking around. She had a lot of weird stuff, old crap that I had no interest in. But I figured if I offered to buy something I maybe could get the directions quicker. So I glanced at the stuff on one of the tables. A polished wooden box caught my eye.

“I see you like my music box. Actually, I have a bit of a collection.” She picked up the box and wound it up. “It plays Fur Elise by Beethoven.”

I listened and liked what I heard. “How much does it cost?”

“Whatever you can afford.”

I was surprised. I checked the pocket of my jeans. I had some allowance money with me but there wasn’t much. “I’ve only got four dollars.”

“Just the right amount,” she assured me. “There is just one thing about the box itself.” She hesitated. “You see, how should I put this, the box has a certain unusual quality. If I bestow ownership upon you, the music box will grant you a wish.”

I blinked and stared at her open-mouthed. Clearly the old lady was a few slices short of a loaf.

“Sure,” I said, trying to appear agreeable and humor her. “Great.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” She gave me a knowing smile. Then she laughed, except I swear it sounded more like a cackle. The wind lifted her long, steel gray hair giving her an otherworldly look. “It’s all right. I don’t mind. But I think I should warn you. Once you open the box and make a wish out loud, you won’t be able to take it back. You get only one wish, you understand. So think carefully about it. Make certain you wish for something you truly want.”

You can also read more about the novel here:

https://black-opal-books.myshopify.com/products/witch-wish

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DRB3VVH

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/witch-wish/id1401568260?mt=11

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/witch-wish-jacqueline-seewald/1128937209?ean=2940162153894

Comments welcome!