Bar Fridman-Tell

I definitely see my novel as not so much a cautionary tale, but a stop sign, if it means anything, like a request to pause and think about what it means to be responsible for someone else, or what it means to take responsibility for someone else, and what kind of obligations and dangers it creates.

And

I'll be honest, I wasn't thinking of Frankenstein as I was writing it.

I made a connection after I finished all the first draft and second draft, and I was like, huh, yes, that makes sense.

But during my degree, I had to write a really long essay about Frankenstein, which meant reading it really in depth.

And it was, I think, a couple of years before I started writing Honeysuckle.

So I think it was still fresh in my mind in some way, even if I wasn't realizing it at the time.

This, as much as it's a story about the relationship, their relationship with each other, it's a story about growing up and discovering who they are separately and the ways that a relationship that was very, very important to them was pulling them back and holding them and preventing them from being other people as a lot of relationships that are so symbiotic can be, especially at that age.

And

The funny thing is, I think I put more of myself in worry than I put of myself in day.

How anxious I can get or how much I'm sure that it's my responsibility to take care of everyone and that I know best how to do it.

And I really wanted, as much as a lot of readers have very, very strong feelings toward him, I really wanted for him to have

The space to grow up.

And that could only be separately.

The same for Day.

She couldn't become her own person as long as she was her only definition, was Rory's companion.

She had to be alone to become, to grow, to become herself.

And that was so painful for both of them.

But I also think that it was the best thing that could happen for them, if that makes sense.

I think it makes him, on the one side, very capable, but on the other hand, very, very afraid.