How to Write Young Adult (with Wattpad's Finest)

Winner - Kieran Grace

First of all, I would like to thank everyone for adding The End of Innocence to your reading lists. Since it was named one of the finalists for this contest, I have gotten endless notifications of people adding it, and the number of reads has more than doubled. It is also ranked now in teen fiction.

I never expected to be a finalist in the contest, and I am so honored to have been chosen. In this chapter, I'm going to talk a little about the process of writing The End of Innocence, and then share an excerpt from the first chapter of a new, similar novel I am working on entitled Crescent Bay.

I first began writing The End of Innocence in November, 2015, when I was thirteen. I sat at my desk for hours, writing characters as they came into my head without any real plot. I never planned to do anything with it, and I left it for months.

In the spring of 2016, I discovered what I had written and remembered how much fun it had been. I started writing more and soon developed an entire plot for these characters. For months, I spent large portions of my time working on The End of Innocence, until I completed the first draft that July, just under a year ago.

The main thing I learned from this process was that first draft's are terrible. Though it took me a matter of months to write that draft, I've been editing for a year now and I am still going through major revision. The version ofThe End of Innocence that was entered in this contest is nothing like the one I had last July as I began my editing process. If you are someone who feels like their writing isn't good enough, remember that the best writing is never found in the first draft. I have changed everything from characters' names to major parts of the plot. I am still moving around and adding in scenes.

My goal is to get The End of Innocence published, but I plan on much more editing before then. Hearing your feedback on Wattpad has been useful in this process, and I've incorporated many things people have said.

If you are a novice writer, or a teenager like me, or someone who writes things and then doesn't like it when reading it back over, I want to remind you that you can still succeed. Editing and sharing your work are the key parts of the process.

Now, here's the beginning of my new book, Crescent Bay, which is being updated on Wattpad every week. If you have read any of The End of Innocence, you may enjoy this book. It is also a small town teen fiction story, with three narrators. Each of these narrators has a different story, but as the book goes on the three stories begin to connect. I have an exciting ending already planned for it, but I'm only in the beginning right now.

Here it is:

Katharine can feel her heart start to pound even hours before it happens.

As she and her grandmother eat dinner, she wonders if maybe she shouldn't do this. Maybe it's not really worth it. But then her eyes turn to the window, and she looks out across the rippling waters of the lake. Who wouldn't want to be out there, on that water?

"You're awfully quiet tonight," her grandmother says, and Katharine snaps her head around. They're in the kitchen, each with a bowl of soup in from of them. Her grandmother is directly across the table from her, her dark eyes soft. "Is something on your mind?" she asks, taking a drink from her cup of tea.

Katharine knows that her grandmother doesn't mean this in a compassionate way. She's not worrying about her granddaughter; she just likes to know everything about her granddaughter. It's a nosy question, not a kind one.

"No," Katharine replies, and it hurts to lie. She has never, not even once, lied to her grandmother.

Today marks many firsts.

Her grandmother nods and takes another sip of tea. "What would you like to do tonight?" she asks, settling back in her chair.

If Katharine were a normal girl, she would probably have millions of things to do tonight. She would be out with her friends, running through the streets of the town and wreaking havoc. Or maybe she would go swim out in the lake, letting the cool water wash over her. But, of course, these things can't happen. Not for her. Katharine can't remember the last time she was allowed to go out on the lake.

Of course, it's not like she doesn't know why. Her grandmother has always told her the same thing: It's not safe out there. Especially on the lake.

"I think I'll read," Katharine says, crossing her fingers that she's not showing signs of lying.

Her grandmother nods slowly. "That sounds like an evening well-spent," she says, standing to clear the dishes.

Half an hour later, the kitchen is clean, the dishes all dried and put away, and Katharine sits cross-legged on her bed. She's dressed in her white nightgown and stares at the open pages of The Shining. Most of the time, she loves reading these kinds of books, the excitement building in her chest as the tension rises, but tonight she's unable to concentrate. Outside, the sky grows darker and darker, a curtain of black sweeping over the town. Katharine glances out the window, noticing the way the moon's light reflects off the lake. A chill runs up her spine.

Soon. Soon, I'll be out there.

At about ten, Katharine's grandmother knocks on the door, stepping in without waiting for a reply. Just like every night. "Good night, dear," she says, sinking down on the edge of the bed.

Katharine leans forward to give her grandmother a quick peck on the forehead. By now, the guilt eats at the edges of her stomach. I'm sneaking out tonight, Grandmother. The words are right there on the tip of her tongue. She bites down hard on her lip to keep them from slipping out.

"Don't stay up too late," the old woman adds before she slips out the door. "Tomorrow's market day, after all."

Katharine throws herself back against the bed as soon as she's alone. Market day. She'd forgotten.

Once a month, Katharine and her grandmother leave the house to go to the supermarket, to the bookstore, to wherever they need to buy things from, using the money from the scarves her grandmother makes and sells. They call it market day. It's the only time Katharine gets to go out into the real world, gets to see other people.

Well. She'll get to go out tomorrow. Maybe she should just go to bed. Then she won't have to lie.

But somewhere deep inside of her, Katharine has to get out. Even if tomorrow is market day, it doesn't mean she'll be able to talk to anyone but her grandmother. She misses her friends. Even when she posts letters to them, they're always too busy to answer, or at least that's what she tells herself when the mailbox remains empty day after day. She needs to be around people her own age again.

Standing up, Katharine slides across the room, picking up her lantern off the desk, which is crowded with bunches of fabric and loose papers. Switching it on, she tiptoes to the window, opening it as carefully as she can. Katharine takes one more glance around the room before placing one leg on the windowsill and inching it down slowly so that it hangs over into the bushes. Swinging the other one over, Katharine jumps to the ground, her long nightgown getting caught in the bushes. She takes a moment to untangle herself before she runs to the dock, adrenaline pumping through her.

The dock. She takes a moment to just stand there, feeling the rough wood beneath her bare feet. All of her memories of being here have become fuzzy and blurred. She can see herself with a group of friends, laughing and splashing water at each other, but she can't recall a single name. There's one girl who stands out in her memory, a smaller one who hangs in the background, but Katharine doesn't know anything about her. She can't even picture a face.

Just the feeling of being on the dock restores something inside of her. The summer air is brisker than she would have expected, but the wind feels nice in her hair. She switches off the lantern, letting the moon's glow lead her towards the water. Katharine lifts up a strand of her dark blonde hair, admiring the way the moon's light reflects off of it, filling it with endless shades of color.

She lifts her head, focusing her gaze on the water. It's still, clear of any boats, and a weight is lifted from her chest. Now no one will be able to tell her grandmother they saw her. This can truly be her own little secret.