I just finished my novel, Say... ¿Aren't U A Monster?

and I'm starting a new one, And All I Got Was This Lousy Case Of Larvae

Here's the start of Chapter 1:

I always thought you had to be queer to see a ghost. I believed that and you couldn't move me off of it. I only wanted to see the one and true world, not the Holy Catholic Church or some transparent, anti-reality and terrible ghost. Only when I saw a ghost would I start believing in ghosts.

And, actually, I'd probably only believe that I believed that I was believing in having had seen a ghost.

I know two things: 1)There's no justice in the world; and 2)There's no such things as ghosts. Other kids may believe that you can serve up ghosts on a platter, along with a suspicious menu and blood-curdling nausea. But to me, Dylan Brown, that's jam without the jelly.

I just wanted to nip that in the Osama Bin Laden.

In case you're wondering, I live on Fear Street, the terror-filled street in the world. However, my life has somehow not been one mass burial of sawed-off body parts. Nope, my life has been free of the ghosts of Fear Street.

But ghosts have a way of fucking with history because they see things differently. That is, if there were such a caper-capturing conundrum as ghosts.

¿Why do I say that? You ask.

Because there is a decided pro-ghost contingent here on FeaStreetet. The sun will shine tomorrow and the sky will cooperate and not fall and the day will be beautiful. But, for those of us who think that the sky will fall, it is a somber and perplexing realization. It's like that time a gust of ghosts blew into town. Oh, ¿didn't I mention that?

Well, I think I'll tell you right after my dad stops being a stupid jackass and starts being a green version of the crucified Christ. I believe in rodents, I believe in reading books and I believe in watching TV. The rest you can set on fire. And what's left of that you can throw into the garden for compost.

Today, Fear Street was Spectator Street, everyone looking into everyone else's window. It was a perfect day if you believed in creepiness or in chasing tornados. But, then again, ¿who doesn't?