Every Halloween, a mysterious doorway appears on the lawn. For some reason, only the young people of the neighborhood can see it. Once they go through the doorway, they are greeted by a world beyond their wildest dreams. A world that a monster created; a world that is only bait.
They are then faced with a choice. Would you stay in this perfect world that you know is fake, or go back to your real life? And for some of them, it is a choice between happiness or abuse, freedom or addiction, fame over family.
And while they make their choice the monster bides it’s time. Waiting. Watching.
Targeted Age Group:: 12-18 years old
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I’d say this book was inspired by my desire to understand pain, and how people react when facing it. Some people run away, and some stay to face the problem. Behind the fantasy, that’s the core theme behind ‘The Doorway’.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
My characters all have been taken from people around me, and all are parts of myself. For example, in the book Cam, a girl with an eating disorder, is taken from my own experience with a disorder. Except while Cam dislikes her body because she thinks she is too fat, I disliked mine because I thought I was too skinny.
Book Sample
“Hey, Griffey!”
Cam ducked her head, hoping she was invisible.
“Griffey! Hey, Griffey!” the nasty voice poked. “Nice jugs! Nice hooters!”
“Hooters! Hooters! Jiggle boobs, jiggle boobs,” they laughed horribly, those straw-thin girls with the glossy hair and tower legs, draped over boys built like oxen. They laughed so hard they got lip gloss on their teeth. It only made them shinier.
Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle. Cam jiggled as she ran away. Her feet hurt in their too-tight shoes. She felt swollen, stretched too far, like a balloon filled with stinking air and cheap, sticky chocolate bars. Pierce her and it’d make a farting sound, blowing out spittle and stench and fat, fat, fat.
When she got home, she dumped her schoolbag on the table. Mrs. Griffey was in the kitchen, her long, lean frame bent over a pot of stew. Cam wanted to take long, hot, burning sips of salty gravy and chunks of beef and potatoes right from the wooden spoon.
She pinched her nose with her fingers, decided she wasn’t hungry, and huffed and puffed upstairs.
Off went her sweaty school uniform, her schoolgirl socks and shoes. She sat on the bed where her accuser, the full-length mirror, stared back at her. She stood up to get the full brace of it. Her fingers were like sausages tied with too-tight strings. Big rolls of lard lay in her bum, shook around her elephant legs, and sagged in her stomach folds that fell over her waist. Her arms were lumps of soft cookie dough, her neck like the goopy candle wax that melted at the bottom.
Piggy. Fat. Ugly. Hey, Griffey! Heavy, saggy breasts.
She grasped her phone, turned on music, and began to jog in place. Sweat poured down her stretched out skin and she jiggled. The horrible scent of sweet, fresh-baked bread wafted from downstairs. Mrs. Griffey must’ve just put a loaf in for dinner. Cam wanted to eat the dough off her fingers and sink her teeth into the crispy crust, waiting for the soft flesh.
She dropped to her knees and prepared to crunch until her spine cracked.
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