I eat broccoli. I think about the plot. I pace in circles for hours, counter-clockwise, listening to music. I try to think of one detail in the scene I'm about to write that I'm really excited about writing. Until I can come up with that one detail, I pace.

Of course, I had my heart broken as a teen. I was desperately in love with myself. Then I found out that I was completely shallow. I haven't spoken to myself since.

And I realize that the decision to be human is not one single instant, but is a thousand choices made very day. It is choices we make every second and requires constant vigilance. We have to fight to remain human.

Why not write a book which is as sophisticated as a book for an adult, but is about the concerns that teenagers actually have?

I looked at her, and she was smiling like she was broken.

I could see my face, crying, in her blank eye.

You made her apologize for sickness. For her courage. You made her feel sorry for dying.