We here at Me, My Shelf and I are proud to bring you quite the interesting guest post from Angela Kulig, author of Skeleton Lake (Book 1). So what happened when we were asked to be a part of the Skeleton Lake tour? Take a look and find out!
Hell at the Valentine's Dance
By the time I was in high school I had already sworn off dances. When the 8th grade had rolled around, I had already snapped off a heel five minutes after walking in the door, lit my dress on fire, and spent a night crying in the gym, the girls bathroom, the alcove behind the stage, and three different deserted hallways. It seems like I must have had a miserable childhood, likely because I went looking for the sort of story book experience I found in my favorite young adult books. You go to the dance--you look hot--you dance--the boyfriend brings you punch.
Only I never had a date, because the guy who sat behind me in math class couldn’t hold a candle to any of my favorite fictional characters; and kids don’t dance at dances. Heck, they had outlawed punch for fear someone would put something in it. Like ice, I mean we could choke.
But the thing about my bad luck was, it was so completely outrageous it sounded like fiction. There is no story in the Happily Ever After, there is no drama or tension in swaying in circles. The story in this case, is the before or after, or in the ceiling falling down on top of you. In the case of Skeleton Lake, the rush to leave and a near miss leave more than a lasting impression on the entire cast. The whole thing seemed like a total drag; the parentals approved the music, they guarded punch bowl. It wasn’t until they bowed out early that they realized they had just left the dance from hell.
Often the devil is in the details, sometimes masked under the pretense of a normal teenage dance there is something far more sinister lurking. Or at least that’s the way that I will always write it. Going to the dance--looking hot--dancing with above mentioned boyfriend is a bit bland for the kids today. They are smart enough, or jaded enough, to know that sort of happily never after is unlikely, and entirely unmemorable even if achieved.
When I lit my dress on fire (no, I did not make that up) my mother had to cut the sleeves off of my brand new burgundy velvet dress. I’m twenty eight now, but I still remember the way the fraying ends felt on my fingers, and the severe self consciousness at someone else noticing. Now ask me how many boys I remember dancing with? There were a few, but I only remember one and that was Nick McLaughlin; and I only remember him because I wanted to punch him in the face. Oddly Nick inspired my first book series.
And with that I make my point. When you read about teenagers you want to occasionally see them doing normal teenage things, but if you want to be remembered, you bring the roof down--or you leave a body in the bathroom.
We’d like to thank Angela for coming to our blog today and sharing her interesting story as to who inspired her first book series.
Find more on Angela Kulig here: