This wasn't a rare encounter. After almost every talk, one or more people wait until the room clears and tell me their story. And I have received tens of thousands of messages from readers, thanking me for turning them around, giving much needed insight, and even literally saving their lives. So I am more than a little saddened when my books are pulled from shelves, or even worse, when I am "dis-invited" from a speaking engagement. Some call my books edgy; others say they're dark. They do explore tough subject matter—addiction, abuse, thoughts of suicide, teen prostitution. But they bring young adult readers a middle-aged author's broader perspective. They show outcomes to choices, offer understanding. And each is infused with hope. I don't sugarcoat, but neither is the content gratuitous. Something would-be censors could only know if they'd actually read the books rather than skimming for dirty words or sexual content.

On Tuesday [Sept. 28, 2010] I spoke to a packed house in Columbus, Georgia. I talked about my journey to New York Times bestselling author—a road pitted with pain. (My first novel, Crank, was inspired by my daughter's descent into the hell that is methamphetamine addiction.) Afterward, I signed books, and as the room emptied one lovely young woman remained. She came forward and when I asked her name, she crumbled into tears. Then she shared her own story. How she started getting high in middle school, mostly as a way to deal with her alcoholic mother's absence. Didn't care about the trajectory she was on—straight down into the same hell my book represented so well. But one day, she found that book. She saw herself in those pages, and suddenly knew she didn't want to be there. That book turned her around. Today she's been sober two years, is graduating high school and has embarked on a modeling career.