I’ve written a million stories about middle school kids. (Okay, that’s an exaggeration. The truth lies somewhere between a hundred and a million. Closer to a hundred. But, hey, that’s still a boatload of stories!) The question is, why? What is it about middle school kids that I find so fascinating?

That’s easy. Middle school kids are ready to explode. (Not literally. Though I can think of a few who should probably be detonated.) What I mean is, at that age you’re old enough to start getting around on your own. You’re no longer joined at the hip to your parents and can actually go out and do things without having an adult watching your every move. That’s a big responsibility. It means you could choose to do things your parents might not necessarily approve of, like physically entering books of unfinished supernatural stories and thereby setting yourself up for an untimely and gruesome death. Most parents probably wouldn’t go along with that. Mine would have, but that’s a whole ’nother story.

When an author is writing about characters who are enjoying this newfound freedom, there are countless options for unique adventures. So why do I write about kids, when anybody can have an adventure?

That’s the other half of the equation. Middle school kids are just starting to figure things out. About life, I mean. The real world is opening up and reality is coming on fast. It’s not always pretty, but it’s definitely exciting. Many kids think they’ve got it all wired. They’re sure they know exactly how life works. And they might, from the perspective of a little kid. Trouble is, they aren’t so little anymore. When they hit middle school, they suddenly realize there’s a whole new set of challenges to grapple with. In other words, their simple lives get complicated very quickly.

And that’s the sweet spot. The place where reality meets fantasy.

Reality is having to face the challenges that come with everyday life.

Fantasy is what you find in a place like the Library.

That’s where I live, lying in wait, ready to take unsuspecting kids who are dealing with their normal lives and callously throw them into a roiling cauldron of confusion where logical rules don’t apply. Does that make me evil? Maybe. A little. But I have to admit, it’s kind of fun.

Oracle of Doom is the third book in The Library series. Hopefully, you’ve read the first two, but if you haven’t, don’t worry. You’ll get up to speed quickly. (Of course, after reading this book, I can’t imagine that you wouldn’t want to run right out and catch up on the other two. That’s okay. I won’t hold it against you for being late to the party.)

Many people helped bring these books to you: Diane Landolf, Michelle Nagler, Mallory Loehr, and all the good folks at Random House Books for Young Readers; my team of Richard Curtis and Peter Nelson; my blondie girls, who I love for all sorts of reasons, but one is that they accept the fact that my job is all about imagining how to put young people through a myriad of torturous trials; the many librarians and booksellers who support my books; and, of course, you: someone who enjoys reading about how I put young people through a myriad of torturous trials. Does that make you evil? Maybe. A little.

A great big thanks to you all.

That’s all from me. Off we go. There’s a new book sitting on the shelf of the Library that’s gathering dust, waiting for you to discover it. If you recall (or even if you don’t, because you haven’t read the first two books, you slacker), from the very beginning Theo and Lu have had extra incentive to help Marcus navigate the stories they find in the Library. Of course they want to help their friend and the people trapped in the unfinished stories, but they also fear that they may be going through strange disruptions of their own. One of the unfinished volumes in the Library might very well be about them. They’ve tried not to stress over it because so much has been happening with the other stories. But they can’t ignore the truth any longer.

Unlock the door, crack open the book, and start reading.

This is their story.

Hobey-ho!

—D. J. MacHale