It Wasn't Me

Clearly  Kate Karyus Quinn doesn't know me at all. Sensitive ears? Pshaw. I've gone to too many loud concerts over the years to still have much hearing left at this point, and I don't hear no thumping heart--tell-tale or otherwise. Because I'm innocent.

Look, I'm really sorry to hear that all of the YA Scream Queens have turned up dead. I am

And it's just really interesting, uh...I mean tragic that they've been killed in such innovative, I mean, horrific ways.

But it wasn't me. I am a lovely person and not prone to fits of rage or madness--ask anyone. You know, except one of the Scream Queens, because they're certainly not talking.

Although, knowing them, they'll probably come back and haunt us all as ghosts.

But I digress.

It wasn't me. I mean, I write romantic books with hot guys and magic and kissing. I know that people tend to die in them all, and I know those deaths tend to be, shall we say, not so sweet and gentle, but I promise, that was all just from research.

Not personal research or anything.

Okay, fine. I did by a Voodoo doll when I went to New Orleans, but that was because it was so cute. It's not at all creepy with it's little beady black eyes, and looks great on my bookshelf. Besides, it doesn't even work. I mean, not that I've tried to make it work.

Because I would never kill anyone. I just torture my characters for you, dear reader.

But I would never do anything like that in real life. Really.

You know who would, though? Sara Raasch. I know, I know. She seems nice and all. She's all friendly and sweet, but I've got the sense that there's something else going on in that head of hers. I mean, do you know how long she worked on her book SNOW LIKE ASHES? Something like thirteen years. That's someone who knows how to make a plan and stick to it, if you ask me. That's someone who could cook up a really good, I mean, horrible murder and see it through.