There’s something deliciously eerie about the desert at dusk. The wind sweeps across silent stone. Shadows stretch across dunes that haven’t changed in thousands of years.

Black Hollow is where my kid-self kept living, long before magical schools became a genre, in a story where being unusual wasn’t a flaw to fix, it was simply true. In my version, the “curse” was antlers, showing up at the worst possible moments, like when I was emotional, exhausted, or trying too hard to hold it together.

There’s a difference between stories that scare kids and stories that care  about them. When I was growing up, some of my favorite books were a little weird in the best way. The Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle  stories, for example: every kid had a flaw, and Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle always had an answer. Sometimes it came in a bottle, sometimes it came as a lesson, but it always came with a quiet assurance that you weren’t bad for being a kid. You were just… human. And help was possible. Kids t