My novels originate from dreams, and I thought it fitting that I share it with you. With barely an eye open, I wake up and start writing, so please forgive any punctuation or grammar mistakes. You are reading these words as they first came to me.

My father disappears, and no one knows why. I'm scared because my mother says we have to go into hiding. I think I'm a young teen. We're staying in this really gross place with remnant carpet squares for flooring. The bathroom has green peeling paint, and the floor is filthy.

How will we get money to eat? I'm afraid to go out because someone might see me, but Mom thinks I'm less recognizable. The guy at the grocery store is mean but takes pity on me. When I get back, there are men questioning my mother. I hide until they leave.

We're in another house. It's big but dark and mildewy. There is a garden in the back. Mom says they can't find us here, but nowhere feels safe. It seems like they can always find me, wherever I hide. There is an attic loaded with stuff, all of it antique. Maybe my mother's grandmother lived here.