Behind The Pages: Writing The Edge is Gone

Jeffrey Simmons June 9, 2026 0 comment

Before The Edge Is Gone was ever a title in my notebook, it was a sentence I heard in my head over and over:

“I don’t feel it anymore… the rush, the high… the edge is gone.”

That feeling—of chasing something that no longer works, while it slowly destroys you—was the heartbeat of this book long before I knew the plot, the characters, or the ending.

This is the story of how The Edge Is Gone came to life.

Where the story really started

This book didn’t come out of thin air. It came from:

People I’ve known who struggled with addiction
Teenagers I’ve watched try to numb pain they don’t have language for
My own scars, mistakes, and hard-won lessons

I’ve seen up close how addiction doesn’t start with a needle or a pill. It starts with:

wanting to feel something different
wanting to escape the noise in your head
wanting one moment of relief, even if it’s borrowed

When I started thinking about a YA novel around addiction, I wasn’t interested in writing a “drug PSA.” I wanted to write a story that felt real to a teenager:

the rush
the lies
the bargains you make with yourself
the people you hurt without meaning to
the quiet moments when you realize you’ve gone too far

That’s the soil The Edge Is Gone grew in.

Finding the main character

Before there was a plot, there was just a voice.

I kept hearing this teen in my head—sharp, sarcastic, self-aware but reckless. Someone who would say:

“Relax. I’m fine. I’ve got this under control.”

I built the main character around that voice:

smart enough to know better
hurting more than they’ll admit
loved by people they’re pushing away
convinced they can ride the edge forever without falling

I knew if I could get that voice right, the reader wouldn’t feel preached at. They would feel like they were inside the head of someone they might actually know—or be.

From there, the supporting cast started to form:

the friend who’s half-enabler, half-guardian
the parent who’s trying but exhausted
the person who sees through the act and calls out the truth
the quiet ones in the background, catching fallout

Every character had to feel human—not all good, not all bad—because that’s how addiction really ripples through a family and a friend group.

Balancing truth with hope

One of the hardest parts of writing The Edge Is Gone was this:

How do I show the real damage addiction does
without writing a story that feels hopeless or preachy?

I didn’t want to glamorize it.
I also didn’t want to write a book where every page felt like punishment.

So I decided on three promises to the reader:

I will tell the truth.
The highs, the lows, the lying, the shame, the consequences. No sugarcoating.
I will never forget the person under the addiction.
The main character might make terrible choices, but they are not a monster. They are a human being in pain.
There will be light.
Not a fairy-tale fix, not a perfect ending—but a genuine shot at redemption, healing, and growth.

Those promises became my guardrails. Any scene that broke them had to be rewritten or cut.

Writing from the inside out

I didn’t want this story to feel like it was written by someone standing on the outside looking in.

I wanted you, as the reader, to feel:

the rush of the first hit or first reckless choice
the illusion of being in control
the panic when control starts slipping
the denial when everyone around you knows something is wrong
the cold clarity of realizing how far you’ve fallen

So I wrote a lot of the book from a very close, almost claustrophobic point of view—inside the character’s head, inside their rationalizations.

That meant leaning into:

messy thoughts
conflicting feelings
moments where the character knows they’re lying… and does it anyway

It wasn’t always easy to stay in that headspace, but it made the story feel honest.

The scenes that hit hardest

Every book has scenes that cost a little more to write. For The Edge Is Gone, those were:

The first real consequence – when the damage finally moves from “maybe” to “undeniable.” You can’t argue with what’s right in front of you anymore.
The confrontation with someone who loves them – not a screaming match, but that quiet, painful kind of anger where someone says, “I don’t recognize you anymore.”
The moment of choice – not the big Hollywood moment, but the small, private one. The late-night, no-cameras, no-audience moment where the character has to decide if they want to keep chasing a dead edge or start climbing out.

Those scenes asked me to pull from places in my own story and from people I care about. I had to remember what it feels like to disappoint someone you love—and what it feels like to finally choose a different path.

Protecting the reader while telling the truth

With a topic like addiction, especially for teens, I had to constantly ask:

“Is this vivid… or is this triggering?”

I wanted the book to hit hard—but I didn’t want it to be a how-to manual or trauma for trauma’s sake.

So I made some deliberate choices:

I focused more on emotions and fallout than on graphic details.
I showed the cost of the high more than the mechanics of it.
I made sure every dark moment was balanced with moments of:
- humor
- connection
- stubborn, surprising hope

Teen readers don’t need to be coddled—but they also don’t need another reminder that everything is hopeless. This book had to tell the truth and still leave the door open.

What I hope The Edge Is Gone does

When I sat down to write this story, I thought about three types of readers:

The teen who’s living this right now
Maybe not the exact details, but the feelings. The pressure. The pull.
I wanted them to feel seen—not judged, not lectured. Just seen.
The friend or sibling on the sidelines
The one watching someone they love change and not knowing what to do.
I wanted them to understand they’re not crazy for feeling hurt and confused.
The adult who cares but doesn’t “get it”
A parent, teacher, mentor.
I wanted to give them a window into the inner world behind “I’m fine, leave me alone.”

If The Edge Is Gone can:

start a conversation
help a teen feel less alone
give someone language for what they’re going through
or nudge a reader toward asking for help…

Then every hard scene was worth writing.

Closing thoughts

Writing The Edge Is Gone wasn’t just another project for me. It was personal.

It made me revisit old pain, old mistakes, and old versions of myself and people I’ve known. It reminded me how thin the line can be between “I’ve got this” and “I’m lost.”

But it also reminded me of something else: