This is not a werewolf story.

This Is Not A Werewolf Story

A fresh, heartwarming, and fascinating debut that two-time Newberry Honor winner Gary Schmidt calls “a journey that every reader needs to go on.”

This is the story of Raul, a boy of few words, fewer friends, and almost no family. He is a loner—but he isn’t lonely. All week long he looks after the younger boys at One Of Our Kind Boarding School while dodging the barbs of terrible Tuffman, the jerk of a gym teacher.

Like every other kid in the world, he longs for Fridays, but not for the usual reasons. As soon as the other students go home for the weekend, Raul makes his way to a lighthouse deep in the heart of the woods. There he waits for sunset—and the mysterious, marvelous phenomenon that allows him to go home, too.

But the woods have secrets . . . and so does Raul. When a new kid arrives at school, they may not stay secret for long.

Reviews

From School Library Journal:

Heartfelt, enigmatic, and ethereal, Evans’s excellent debut novel takes readers on a roller coaster of emotion and keeps them guessing the whole way through. Based in part on the 12th-century French work Bisclavret, this is a modern story with a fairy-tale atmosphere.
VERDICT:
Fans of mystery and fantasy will enjoy this unique yet familiar selection.

A Booklist starred review:

A cut above.

Publisher’s Weekly:

Mystery and suspense abound in Evans's debut novel, which draws inspiration and depth from Pacific Northwest folklore. Raul is an insightful, introspective youth, and Evans weaves a compelling story from his point of view, bolstered by a strong supporting cast.

Two-time Newberry Honor-winning Gary Schmidt wrote:

This is a novel about commitments, and about mystery, and about our deepest identities--which is to say, this is a novel about love. In trying to discover who he is--a boy, a wolf, a kid in love, a kid betrayed, a newcomer to a community marked by magical transformation, a hero who errs--Raul finds that the greatest discoveries are those of the heart, human and otherwise. It is a journey that every reader needs to go on, and how splendid to find a book that gives such companions to walk with along the way.

From Stuart Gibbs (best-selling author of the Spy School series and the Fun Jungle series):

This Is Not a Werewolf Story is true to its name. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever read before: an intelligent, imaginative, and moving tale, steeped in teenage angst and Native American mythology, full of clever twists and surprises.
Where to Buy

About Sandra

Sandra Evans is a writer and teacher from the Pacific Northwest. Her forthcoming middle grade novel, This is Not a Werewolf Story (Simon & Schuster July 2016), was inspired by her favorite 12th century French tale, Bisclavret, by Marie de France. Born in Washington state, Sandra spent her childhood on U.S. Navy bases from Florida to Hawaii, and returned to the Northwest as a teenager. Since then, she has lived and traveled in France and Europe, but has never strayed far for long from the Puget Sound region.

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Sandra's Blog

 

a cellular lesson in love

November 28, 2019

Honestly, in creative terms, I burned down the house and everything in it when I wrote This is Not a Werewolf Story—it’s a bonfire of all that inspires and fascinates me, from medieval French, Celtic, Norse, and Native American legends to the wave theory of light and the tracing of genetic history through the maternally transmitted mitochondrial DNA.

But there was one source I discovered after I had written it.

I was finishing my first major revision when my sister told me a story my grandpa had told her. One of the ones he probably told over and over, but he never told it to me.

My grandpa was born in a town called Welcome, where Mosquito Lake Road meets...

Honestly, in creative terms, I burned down the house and everything in it when I wrote This is Not a Werewolf Story—it’s a bonfire of all that inspires and fascinates me, from medieval French, Celtic, Norse, and Native American legends to the wave theory of light and the tracing of genetic history through the maternally transmitted mitochondrial DNA.

But there was one source I discovered after I had written it.

I was finishing my first major revision when my sister told me a story my grandpa had told her. One of the ones he probably told over and over, but he never told it to me.

My grandpa was born in a town called Welcome, where Mosquito Lake Road meets...

17 Tips to Rock an Author Visit

November 20, 2019

After my first author visit to an elementary school, I asked the teachers who had invited me for some honest feedback. They had some pointers. If you ask a question, for example, don’t feel like you have to call on every single student who raises their hand. And bring visuals.
But then they surprised me.
“We could tell right away that you’re a teacher,” one of them said. “You looked like you knew what you were doing.”
Now that couldn’t be right. I hadn’t felt like I knew what I was doing. I had felt anxious and sweaty.
Sure, I’m a teacher. I’ve been in the classroom for almost twenty years. But most of that time...

After my first author visit to an elementary school, I asked the teachers who had invited me for some honest feedback. They had some pointers. If you ask a question, for example, don’t feel like you have to call on every single student who raises their hand. And bring visuals.
But then they surprised me.
“We could tell right away that you’re a teacher,” one of them said. “You looked like you knew what you were doing.”
Now that couldn’t be right. I hadn’t felt like I knew what I was doing. I had felt anxious and sweaty.
Sure, I’m a teacher. I’ve been in the classroom for almost twenty years. But most of that time...

17 Tips to Rock an Author Visit

November 20, 2019

After my first author visit to an elementary school, I asked the teachers who had invited me for some honest feedback. They had some pointers. If you ask a question, for example, don’t feel like you have to call on every single student who raises their hand. And bring visuals.
But then they surprised me.
“We could tell right away that you’re a teacher,” one of them said. “You looked like you knew what you were doing.”
Now that couldn’t be right. I hadn’t felt like I knew what I was doing. I had felt anxious and sweaty.
Sure, I’m a teacher. I’ve been in the classroom for almost twenty years. But most of that time...

After my first author visit to an elementary school, I asked the teachers who had invited me for some honest feedback. They had some pointers. If you ask a question, for example, don’t feel like you have to call on every single student who raises their hand. And bring visuals.
But then they surprised me.
“We could tell right away that you’re a teacher,” one of them said. “You looked like you knew what you were doing.”
Now that couldn’t be right. I hadn’t felt like I knew what I was doing. I had felt anxious and sweaty.
Sure, I’m a teacher. I’ve been in the classroom for almost twenty years. But most of that time...

6th grade lunch is for cannibal rabbits

April 23, 2019

The summer before sixth grade my family moved. Again. This time to Hawaii.

Obviously we couldn’t take the rabbits, but that was okay since we were getting a little sick of them and the way one of them kept having babies and the other one kept eating them.  The hutch where they lived looked like a major crime scene most mornings. My dad said they’d gone feral. Nobody went into the backyard anymore.  They ran the place. I have a picture in my head of my sister standing up in a patch of chard, her index finger pointing straight out with a rabbit attached to it by his teeth.  It seems likely that there was a lot less blood than...

The summer before sixth grade my family moved. Again. This time to Hawaii.

Obviously we couldn’t take the rabbits, but that was okay since we were getting a little sick of them and the way one of them kept having babies and the other one kept eating them.  The hutch where they lived looked like a major crime scene most mornings. My dad said they’d gone feral. Nobody went into the backyard anymore.  They ran the place. I have a picture in my head of my sister standing up in a patch of chard, her index finger pointing straight out with a rabbit attached to it by his teeth.  It seems likely that there was a lot less blood than...