A friend passed me Nick McDonell's book Twelve to read a couple of years ago; I finished it that night, then promptly had blood-soaked nightmares. I haven't touched the book since, and whenever I see it on my bookshelves (huh, just occured to me that I should probably return it to my friend!) it kind of makes me feel dirty and creeps me out. While I didn't like the book very much—violence and gore are not my things at all—I did admire the writer, and I was particularly impressed that he'd written it at such a young age: at the time, he was 17. I read a lot of press about him, but somehow it escaped me, until now, that he's Terry McDonell's son. And suddenly the fact that he was able to get it published before he could vote—brilliantly explosive writing or no—makes a lot more sense.
The Charmed Life of 21-Year-Old Bestselling Author Nick McDonell (NY Magazine)