The Traitor’s Daughter: Then vs Now

The Traitor’s Daughter is a story that has been with me for the better part of three years. It was the second novel I ever wrote, drafted by a fourteen year old with no idea what she was doing. Since I recently finished re-drafting this story as my seventh novel, I thought it would be fun to come back with a lot more knowledge, a few more years of experience, and a heart of appreciation and take another look at The Traitor’s Daughter. 

At the point of this first draft, I thought I’d achieved the peak of my writing ability. I thought this was a bestseller book, with flawless characters, prose, plot, the whole kit and kaboodle. Now I look back at it and I laugh. The relationships are clunky and dysfunctional, my prose leaves much to be desired, and the plot takes a deer path rather than a trail. 

But this book does have the heart. That’s why when I read back through it and cringe, I don’t ever regret the writing or think it’s dumb. Poor, yes. But I learned so much writing this novel. And in five years, I’ll probably look back at this rewrite and cringe just as hard. 

In celebration of a completed first draft though, I actually went searching through my computer and managed to find the OG draft of TTD. As to whether or not keeping it was a good idea, I’m uncertain. 

However, my poor judgement is your gain, because now you get to read the opening pages of The Traitor’s Daughter, 2023. Understand that is the unedited, typo-filled, awkward first draft. Use the power I’ve given you well. 

Mia Martin sat at her desk, scribbling on one hand with a tiny pen. 

She drew a swirly line that looped around on itself six times, forming a twisted hexagon. Then three more lines that intersected with the middle of each side, making a six sided star. Finally, she finished the doodle with a tiny flower around the center of the star. 

“Miss Martin!” Mrs. Lamy slammed her ruler down on Mia’s desk, making her drop the pen. 

“Yes, Mrs. Lamy?” her heart was pounding in her throat, but if she didn’t act guilty, her teacher couldn’t bust her. 

One hand slowly shifted over the tiny pen, hiding it from view. 

“What, exactly, are you trying to hide from me?” Mrs. Lamy growled, holding her ruler like a weapon, which it kinda was. 

“Nothing,” Mia said innocently, pulling down the cuff of her sleeve with her thumb, tucking the pen inside it. 

“Don’t lie to me. You were drawing again!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” MIa lied through her teeth. 

“Every single day, I take some sort of drawing tool away from you, and you bring another one! This is Math, miss Martin, not art! Of all the foolishness, drawing is the most! We are here to study facts, not dream about fantasies!” the teacher glared at the class, most of who were staring out the window or amusing themselves in other ways. Obviously, seeing the teacher try to bust someone was not a new experience. 

“Need I remind you that your education here is a privilege, and one that can be taken away if you do not listen. Give me whatever it is you were drawing with, and if I see you not paying attention again, I will put you in detention!”

“Sorry, but I can’t give you whatever it is you want, because I don’t have anything.” Mia flashed a winning smile, tucking her red hair behind one ear. Mrs. Lamy threatened the same thing every time she caught anyone daydreaming and she had yet to go to the principal. 

Mrs. Lamy seized her hand and lifted it up to reveal… the top of a desk. 

The pen was gone, tucked inside of Mia’s sleeve. Mrs. Lamy’s face slowly turned darker as she realized that Mia had outsmarted her again. 

Just as she was about to explode, the bell rang, saving Mia in the nick of time.

She pushed back her chair and rose from the desk, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over one shoulder.

“If I catch you again Miss Martin, it’s detention for you.” her teacher warned as Mia ducked into the throng of students. 

Mia laughed to herself, pushing through the crowd, all headed towards the lockers. 

“Mia escapes again!” Todd laughed and elbowed her as she spun the dial on her locker. 

“Yep, she’ll never catch me!” she flashed another bright smile as he opened his own locker and pulled out his rain slicker.

“Fast fingers, eh?” he asked, shutting the door and leaning against it.

“I never reveal my secrets.” she winked, pulling on her own magenta raincoat. Her backpack would totally get wet since she didn’t have an umbrella, but she didn’t have far to go.  

Lightning flashed outside one of the thin windows, and thunder cracked the air with its noise. 

“Geez, that’s quite a storm.” Todd said as he grabbed his umbrella and walked towards the door, keeping step with Mia.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard thunder quite that loud before.” she shuddered, not wanting to admit that it had made her heart leap to her throat when she had heard it.

Todd pushed open the door, pulling up his hood and tucking his blond hair under it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” he winked, and ducked into the storm. 

Mia pulled up her own hood and tightly fasted the high collar, snuggling into it.  Then she too darted out into the rain, running towards the house.

It’s cringey. It’s clumsy. It meant the world to me when I wrote it and it means the world to me now. And I’ve purposefully never read it since I finished the first edit. 

But this wouldn’t be a complete celebration if I didn’t show you growth. So forgive me a longer snippet, and enjoy the opening pages of The Traitor’s Daughter, 2026. 

Sitting cross-legged against the wall, Mia waited. Any minute now, he would be here. 

He never announced himself. Never came on a schedule. Just quietly slipped over the wall and sat down next to her. 

At first he’d just watched. Peered over the fence when she worked in the backyard or played with the littles. She’d thought maybe he was an orphan living on the streets. But he was too well-fed, too well-clothed. Too sad. 

A dark head peered over the wall, soon followed by a pair of hands and a lanky boy. He ducked his head by way of greeting, lips ticking up at the edges. 

Mia had been outside, tears streaming down her cheeks, watching the sun slip through the clouds when he came over the fence. She’d jumped to her feet, scrubbing at her cheeks, ready to run. 

But he’d held out a hand, eyes pleading with her to stay. So she didn’t move. And he crept across the patchy grass, like he was approaching a wild animal. Then she noticed his hair wasn’t black, but blue. Blue tips fading into a brown. Suddenly he was right next to her, easing himself down and leaning against the wall.

“What’s your name?” she asked. No fear touched her. This boy had been watching for months. Quietly, every few days. 

He shook his head. The blue hair fell into his eyes. 

“You don’t want to talk?”

He shook his head again, pointing to his throat. He pressed his hand to his lips, frowning.

“Oh. You can’t talk.”

He’d nodded. 

After a few moments, Mia sat down beside him. He left a good foot of space between them, the kind of space where two lonely people could just sit next to each other. 

He tipped his chin at her, waving as he crossed the grass. Now the foot of space had shrunk to nothing. Now she leaned against him and he rested his cheek on her head. Now he rested his hand on her knee, exhaling. 

She responded, letting out a tight breath. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said quietly. She’d come to understand him without words. Sometimes she talked and he would listen. Sometimes they just sat together. He was clumsy. Unsure. Quiet, even without words. 

He was almost always bruised or bloody or hurt some other way. Mia had decided that he wasn’t an orphan. That he came to get away from home. That his new injuries, his flinching, the way his breath sometimes wheezed, was from someone at his house. 

He tapped one finger. Me too. 

“It’s been a rough day.”

He didn’t need to respond to that. His face spoke for itself. 

“I feel like I’m failing.”

A nod. Lips pressing together, swollen eyes full of understanding. 

“I’m still here,” Mia whispered. “But not for much longer. I’m going to lose my home. And even if it’s still here in a year, I won’t be.”

He nodded. This was something he of all people would understand. 

“I don’t want to, but I’m going to have to. I’m going to leave behind everything I’ve ever loved. It’s a ticking time bomb.”

His touch was gentle on her knee. Light. Understanding. He knew. He knew what it was like. 

Mia choked back the lump that was steadily growing in her throat, swallowed all of the pain, grabbed hold of the tears. Crying would do nothing to fix this. 

“I wish you were here every day,” she mumbled. “I wish I could see you every time I look for you. I wish…”

His touch filled in the rest. I wish you were with me all the time. I wish I could talk to you every moment of every day. I wish we didn’t have to live our lives. I wish…

“I wish…”

Mia leaned closer into his shoulder, and he let his chin rest on top of her head. The sun was setting. It light the sky up a glorious rainbow of colors, a palette to fulfill the dreams of any artist.

He tapped her, tipping his chin towards the dazzling array of hues. 

“I see it,” she whispered. 

He bent around her, leaning forward so he could see her eyes. She searched for the warm brown, the brown that had become so familiar. His eyes spoke what his mouth could not. 

Look for the beautiful things. Treasure them. Let them get you through the pain. 

But sometimes, beautiful things weren’t enough. Sometimes, the world tried to bring you down and you had to fight tooth and nail to keep it from winning. 

“You know, you’re my best friend in the whole world,” Mia whispered. “I’ve known you for three years, and in three years, you’ve never said a single word to me.” The light faded, stripping away the colors. When they were gone completely, he would be too. She tried to hold him here with her gaze, to keep him here. But she couldn’t stop the darkness. 

“You’re my best friend,” she whispered, and oh, now the pain was winning. Now the tears were forcing their way up and she couldn’t cry. She couldn’t cry because she had to get back up. She had to keep going, with or without him. “I’ve known you for three years. That’s longer than anyone’s ever stayed. And I don’t even know your name.”

See the difference! I changed many things about the way the story was executed, but it’s the same characters. I like to think of it as the first draft was my outline. It was a good idea without the skills I needed to make a story out of it. It was entertaining. Now, The Traitor’s Daughter is a heavier story. I hope that you can sense that just between the two snippets. They are both clearly first drafts. Both are missing pieces that would smooth out the story. Both have typos and poor word choices. But they both show growth. 

So let this post be a reminder to you that it’s always ok to come back to something! And it’s always ok to write something bad, because you’ll grow from the bad writing. Remember that it doesn’t have to be perfect. You just have to love writing it.