People often ask me what my hobbies are or what I enjoy doing, and I always say, I write books.
The next question is always, What kind of books?

That’s when the surprise shows on their faces. Most people expect me to say something like crime or horror, but instead, I tell them I write Young Adult coming-of-age and paranormal stories.

Why?

That’s a question I didn’t really know how to answer until recently. I think it’s because those teenage and early adult years are the ones that shape who we become. They’re the years of firsts—first loves, first losses, first real choices—and those moments leave marks that never quite fade.

My books aren’t the typical happily-ever-after kind, but they do explore one question: This is why I am who I am.

The first thing people should know is that I write about interesting people—but they’re all broken in their own way. Looking back, I realize I was lucky to grow up surrounded by interesting people. As an adult, I’ve come to understand that those I idolized in childhood were just people trying to live the best lives they could. From the outside, their lives looked perfect. Inside, not so much.

They weren’t flawless heroes—they were human. And I think that’s what draws me to write the characters I do.

I also grew up with a killer.

I knew him from grade three until grade ten. He could be a pain, sure, but back then he was just a skinny kid with the same insecurities and need to belong that we all had. Up until the day I heard he’d killed someone—for smokes, booze, and pocket change—I never would’ve believed he was capable of that. But then again, that’s what people always say on the news, isn’t it?

The strange part is, in my high school, we had a second killer as well. He made the news about ten years later.

So I guess my books are built around what makes us who we are.

Not the killers—at least not yet—but the ordinary people we all were before life shaped us. The popular girl everyone sees as perfect but who quietly longs for a real connection. The geeky boy who has all the answers but no friends.

In a lot of ways, every character I write has a small piece of me inside them. Maybe that’s why they feel real—because in some way, they are. They’re the little fat kid I once was, the one who fell behind in class at six years old and spent the next five years trying to catch up. The unpopular kid who was only ever invited to one birthday party—even the poor girl who never fit in and hated what she saw in the mirror.

It’s those people—and the way a single moment can change everything—that find their way into my stories. Because it’s those journeys, the ones marked by pain, resilience, and quiet strength, that make us who we are.

And that’s why I write—because the ordinary, broken, human moments are the ones that shape us all.

If you enjoy stories about broken people finding their way, check out my latest short story every Sunday.

— James D. Simser