Dear Agent,
What do you get when you combine a marriage between a 580-year-old female vampire and a human husband with a resort for the undead? A sexually charged, sardonic relationship between a vibrant woman and a confident man with a never ending cast of unique characters.
Meet Vivian, the supernatural equivalent of Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island, who channels her mental powers of projecting illusions into creating the perfect vacation spot for vampires - in Alaska! Upon a routine check of the guest rooms, Vivian stumbles across a murdered body, one that is neither an employee nor a guest. She and her husband, Rafe, hide the corpse, convinced they can track down the killer without alerting their customers.
Orchestrating the sexual escapades of some guests, while unsuccessfully questioning others, proves too much for her. Vivian listens to Rafe’s suggestion, and for the first time in hundreds of years, she agrees to involve and trust an outsider for help. Knowing she may wind up having to kill to keep her secrets safe.
My name is C.J. Ellisson and I’m a passionate married woman who thinks it’s time an urban fantasy series focused on hot monogamy. I’ve completed a 90,000 word novel titled Vampire Vacation and I would like you to consider being my agent for it. At Nationals I had four editors request the full manuscript, and thought it would behoove me to have an agent represent me to speed the process along. I’m contacting you because your agency represents name here, whose work I have enjoyed for many years.
I have won a flash fiction writing contest for a horror entry, received third place in an erotica contest, and recently placed second for my rough draft of chapter one of Vampire Vacation in a Romance Writers of America sponsored contest. Not only have I joined RWA, but also Sisters In Crime and several sub-chapters of each. My novel already has a fan base of 1,000 on Facebook. Please, stop by and see what some of the reviewers from my private reading group have to say about my work:
http://www.facebook.com/c.j.ellissonfanpage
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my query, I appreciate it,
C.J. Ellisson
XXX-XXX-XXX
cj_ellisson@yahoo.com
Jul 31, 2009
Jul 30, 2009
Sample Page- BROKEN - PAGE 1
Click here to read the query.
A revision of the query has been posted, click here to read it.
Hello all! Hoping for some feedback on page 1 of the novel BROKEN (thriller) - posted 2 queries earlier. Thank you!
What sound does a heart make when it breaks?
Madeline Gunn knew.
She heard the air hiss as she dropped to her knees in the snow. She pressed her hands hard against her mouth, trying to stifle the scream that was swelling inside of her from bursting past her lips. Above all, Madeline Gunn was already beginning to discover that pain had nimble fingers, capable of peeling away layer after layer of certainty until a heart was raw with ache and nothingness.
“Connie!” Madeline yelled, touching her sister’s body, a body that was wet with blood and warm with the memory of a life that no longer existed.
“Connie!” She repeated. Louder this time, commanding her sister to rise from the dead. Refusing to accept the truth in Connie’s stillness.
Madeline Gunn held her little sister, shielding Connie’s bare skin from the cold. Her fingers trembled beneath the weight, and the scream she’d tried so hard to restrain ripped through her throat, infecting the night air with its agony. She rocked the broken body until the sound of her wailing gave in to the din of the city, to the rumble of plow trucks and the thin whine of police sirens.
Madeline closed her eyes. She ignored the stench of car exhaust and warm blood waiting to rot. She pretended that they were girls again, needing to believe that she could forget this moment, that the sight of her sister’s butchered remains would not be the backdrop against which she would live out the rest of her life. But even then, Madeline Gunn knew this, too, was a lie.
She knew that once a heart begins to break, it never stops.
And that time cannot dull the ache, or take away the memory and the blame.
A revision of the query has been posted, click here to read it.
Hello all! Hoping for some feedback on page 1 of the novel BROKEN (thriller) - posted 2 queries earlier. Thank you!
What sound does a heart make when it breaks?
Madeline Gunn knew.
She heard the air hiss as she dropped to her knees in the snow. She pressed her hands hard against her mouth, trying to stifle the scream that was swelling inside of her from bursting past her lips. Above all, Madeline Gunn was already beginning to discover that pain had nimble fingers, capable of peeling away layer after layer of certainty until a heart was raw with ache and nothingness.
“Connie!” Madeline yelled, touching her sister’s body, a body that was wet with blood and warm with the memory of a life that no longer existed.
“Connie!” She repeated. Louder this time, commanding her sister to rise from the dead. Refusing to accept the truth in Connie’s stillness.
Madeline Gunn held her little sister, shielding Connie’s bare skin from the cold. Her fingers trembled beneath the weight, and the scream she’d tried so hard to restrain ripped through her throat, infecting the night air with its agony. She rocked the broken body until the sound of her wailing gave in to the din of the city, to the rumble of plow trucks and the thin whine of police sirens.
Madeline closed her eyes. She ignored the stench of car exhaust and warm blood waiting to rot. She pretended that they were girls again, needing to believe that she could forget this moment, that the sight of her sister’s butchered remains would not be the backdrop against which she would live out the rest of her life. But even then, Madeline Gunn knew this, too, was a lie.
She knew that once a heart begins to break, it never stops.
And that time cannot dull the ache, or take away the memory and the blame.
Query: FERRIS' BLUFF a thriller
Click here to read revision #2.
Hi everyone,
I've been lurking on the site for some time and unashamedly using the samples and crits to work on my own query.
Dear Ms. Agent,
Ace Evans is on the run. He’s hiding from the Witness Protection Program, vengeful international criminals, and his own horrific nightmares. After two wary and lonesome years on the road he risks a visit with his old friend, Granville Tubbs, in sleepy Ferris’ Bluff, Arkansas.
Tubbs is in a coma…so much for a quick visit; and it turns out he’s being kept a virtual prisoner by the lawyer, Tremont. Ace decides to stick around for a few days to see what he can do to help his old friend and maybe figure out what the heck is going on.
Ace can’t help but make friends in Ferris’ Bluff. The quirky townsfolk are honest and open, if a bit gossipy. Okay, real gossipy--and the word is there are hundreds of acres of mineral rights deeds in Tubbs’ estate.
Ace can’t help but make some enemies too. He’s doggedly trying to stay true to his alias and that’s damn hard to do since he’s taking on the crooked lawyer and his scheming wife, their hired gun, and the town tough guy, a psycho named Pink.
He’s also attracted to the pretty widow, Annie. Ace tries to deny it, but her humor and determination give him hope. He comes to realize he’s found a place to stay, that he might find love again, and it’s worth fighting for. Tremont’s pissed off and on the defensive. The hired guns are hiding in the hills plotting mischief. Nothing a former Navy SEAL/ undercover operative can’t handle; but can he do it without revealing his true identity?
Then an earnest young US Marshal shows up. He’s got some disturbing news. The Russians are already sniffing around. Okay, what else could go wrong?
Well, Pink goes on a rampage, murdering one of Ace’s new friends, revenge for an ill advised prank involving a garden hose and Tremont’s drunken wife. Ace discovers that Annie’s husband’s fatal accident that left her daughter paralyzed was no accident. Tremont appears to have stolen one of Tubbs mineral deeds and they’ve discovered gas on the property. Tubbs comes out of his coma, drawing the Russians closer by using Ace’s real name. That’s what could go wrong. The cops aren’t making much progress. How can he make things right?
Ace comes up with a plan to turn the tables on Tremont and the Russians while keeping his alias intact. With a little forgery, a little larceny, and a little help from his new friends… it almost works. Good thing the junior G-man sticks around!
FERRIS’ BLUFF is a 96K word thriller that would also be at home on the romantic suspense shelves. The story is written as a stand alone novel, but there are a bunch of bad guys out there still gunning for Ace.
Thank you for taking a look. My contact information is listed below. I sincerely hope to hear from you.
I'll be happy to post some pages if anyone wants to see them, and thanks in advance for your comments!
Fred
Hi everyone,
I've been lurking on the site for some time and unashamedly using the samples and crits to work on my own query.
Dear Ms. Agent,
Ace Evans is on the run. He’s hiding from the Witness Protection Program, vengeful international criminals, and his own horrific nightmares. After two wary and lonesome years on the road he risks a visit with his old friend, Granville Tubbs, in sleepy Ferris’ Bluff, Arkansas.
Tubbs is in a coma…so much for a quick visit; and it turns out he’s being kept a virtual prisoner by the lawyer, Tremont. Ace decides to stick around for a few days to see what he can do to help his old friend and maybe figure out what the heck is going on.
Ace can’t help but make friends in Ferris’ Bluff. The quirky townsfolk are honest and open, if a bit gossipy. Okay, real gossipy--and the word is there are hundreds of acres of mineral rights deeds in Tubbs’ estate.
Ace can’t help but make some enemies too. He’s doggedly trying to stay true to his alias and that’s damn hard to do since he’s taking on the crooked lawyer and his scheming wife, their hired gun, and the town tough guy, a psycho named Pink.
He’s also attracted to the pretty widow, Annie. Ace tries to deny it, but her humor and determination give him hope. He comes to realize he’s found a place to stay, that he might find love again, and it’s worth fighting for. Tremont’s pissed off and on the defensive. The hired guns are hiding in the hills plotting mischief. Nothing a former Navy SEAL/ undercover operative can’t handle; but can he do it without revealing his true identity?
Then an earnest young US Marshal shows up. He’s got some disturbing news. The Russians are already sniffing around. Okay, what else could go wrong?
Well, Pink goes on a rampage, murdering one of Ace’s new friends, revenge for an ill advised prank involving a garden hose and Tremont’s drunken wife. Ace discovers that Annie’s husband’s fatal accident that left her daughter paralyzed was no accident. Tremont appears to have stolen one of Tubbs mineral deeds and they’ve discovered gas on the property. Tubbs comes out of his coma, drawing the Russians closer by using Ace’s real name. That’s what could go wrong. The cops aren’t making much progress. How can he make things right?
Ace comes up with a plan to turn the tables on Tremont and the Russians while keeping his alias intact. With a little forgery, a little larceny, and a little help from his new friends… it almost works. Good thing the junior G-man sticks around!
FERRIS’ BLUFF is a 96K word thriller that would also be at home on the romantic suspense shelves. The story is written as a stand alone novel, but there are a bunch of bad guys out there still gunning for Ace.
Thank you for taking a look. My contact information is listed below. I sincerely hope to hear from you.
I'll be happy to post some pages if anyone wants to see them, and thanks in advance for your comments!
Fred
Jul 29, 2009
QUERY-Killing Time on the Highway (rev. 2)
Click here to read the original query.
Minnesota State Patrol investigator Cade Dawkins takes on the case of a lifetime when a bloody highway shootout leaves behind eight dead bodies—and $300 million in cash. His last assignment was a disaster that left his partners dead and his career on life support. Cade jumps at the opportunity for redemption, recognizing this will either be his biggest case—or his final case.
As Cade gets close to uncovering the money’s owner, there’s a problem: the owner has his own plan to get it back. Four of the cruelest men to ever crawl out into daylight use a stolen Hummer and automatic weapons to launch a catastrophic attack on the Twin Cities’ busiest highway to slow down Cade’s investigation—and help audacious thief Martin Clements break into Patrol headquarters to steal the money back. This high adrenaline story will make you feel like you were behind the wheel at 120 miles per hour.
Killing Time on the Highway, my 68,000 word thriller, will appeal to fans of the Prey series by John Sandford. His novels have taught me that strong characters, tight plotting and page turning action are important ingredients to a successful thriller.
Having written professionally for the last ten years, focusing on advertising and marketing, I quickly learned the value of powerful ideas and concise execution. I am currently 40,000 words into my second novel—an unrelated thriller.
Best regards,
Allan Evans
Minnesota State Patrol investigator Cade Dawkins takes on the case of a lifetime when a bloody highway shootout leaves behind eight dead bodies—and $300 million in cash. His last assignment was a disaster that left his partners dead and his career on life support. Cade jumps at the opportunity for redemption, recognizing this will either be his biggest case—or his final case.
As Cade gets close to uncovering the money’s owner, there’s a problem: the owner has his own plan to get it back. Four of the cruelest men to ever crawl out into daylight use a stolen Hummer and automatic weapons to launch a catastrophic attack on the Twin Cities’ busiest highway to slow down Cade’s investigation—and help audacious thief Martin Clements break into Patrol headquarters to steal the money back. This high adrenaline story will make you feel like you were behind the wheel at 120 miles per hour.
Killing Time on the Highway, my 68,000 word thriller, will appeal to fans of the Prey series by John Sandford. His novels have taught me that strong characters, tight plotting and page turning action are important ingredients to a successful thriller.
Having written professionally for the last ten years, focusing on advertising and marketing, I quickly learned the value of powerful ideas and concise execution. I am currently 40,000 words into my second novel—an unrelated thriller.
Best regards,
Allan Evans
Jul 27, 2009
QUERY- Killing Time on the Highway
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Large amounts of money bring large problems. State patrol investigator Cade Dawkins is assigned the case of a lifetime when a bloody highway shootout leaves behind eight dead bodies—and $300 million in cash. Recovering from a disastrous assignment that left his partners dead and his career on life support, Cade knows this will either be his biggest case—or his final case.
As Cade races to solve the case and find redemption, the money’s owner has his own plan to steal it back. Violent diversions are used—including an amazingly catastrophic attack on Minneapolis-St. Paul’s busiest highway—to slow down Cade’s investigation and help an audacious thief break into Patrol headquarters to get the money back.
Killing Time on the Highway, my 68,000 word thriller, is a tribute to the Prey series of John Sandford that has captivated me for the last 20 years. His novels have taught me that strong characters, tight plotting and plenty of action are important ingredients to a successful thriller.
Having written professionally for the last ten years, focusing on advertising, marketing and public relations, I quickly learned the value of powerful ideas and concise execution. Enjoying writing for the fun of it, I am currently 40,000 words into my second novel—an unrelated thriller.
Best regards,
Allan Evans
Large amounts of money bring large problems. State patrol investigator Cade Dawkins is assigned the case of a lifetime when a bloody highway shootout leaves behind eight dead bodies—and $300 million in cash. Recovering from a disastrous assignment that left his partners dead and his career on life support, Cade knows this will either be his biggest case—or his final case.
As Cade races to solve the case and find redemption, the money’s owner has his own plan to steal it back. Violent diversions are used—including an amazingly catastrophic attack on Minneapolis-St. Paul’s busiest highway—to slow down Cade’s investigation and help an audacious thief break into Patrol headquarters to get the money back.
Killing Time on the Highway, my 68,000 word thriller, is a tribute to the Prey series of John Sandford that has captivated me for the last 20 years. His novels have taught me that strong characters, tight plotting and plenty of action are important ingredients to a successful thriller.
Having written professionally for the last ten years, focusing on advertising, marketing and public relations, I quickly learned the value of powerful ideas and concise execution. Enjoying writing for the fun of it, I am currently 40,000 words into my second novel—an unrelated thriller.
Best regards,
Allan Evans
Query Revision 2 - Kingmaker
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the sample pages.
Dear [Agent],
Sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson doesn’t believe in magic, but she does believe that willpower can accomplish anything. All her life she’s succeeded at sports and academics through sheer stubbornness, and for the past three years she’s concentrated on one thought: wanting her mother’s malignant brain tumor to remain small and non-fatal. When she meets Grey, her soon-to-be stepfather, her carefully-cultivated control over her life begins to slip away.
Grey, the CEO of an international headhunting corporation called Kingmakers, challenges Shale, using her competitive nature to lure her to join Kingmakers. Unbeknownst to Shale, Grey’s company is the public face of a hidden world—a world of otherwise normal people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same and who use it to achieve success in business, sports, and politics. Grey intends to make Shale his heir, but they have enemies, only some of whom are known to them: the growing number of dissenters who want to use magic for personal gain more than global advancement and Grey’s spoiled son Duncan.
Shale learns that Grey and her mother have disappeared while on their honeymoon, leaving Shale alone and vulnerable. Her anger and determination grow after she survives a hit-and-run attack followed by a number of other murder attempts. Shale has had enough. It’s time to rely on the one tool that has never failed her, her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her attackers, rescue her mother, and change the face of magic forever.
KINGMAKER is a young adult novel, complete at 83,000 words.
[Personalized.] I am a student in [redacted]University’s MFA in Creative Writing program.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I have included the first five pages below. I would welcome the opportunity to send sample chapters or the complete manuscript.
Sincerely,
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the sample pages.
Dear [Agent],
Sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson doesn’t believe in magic, but she does believe that willpower can accomplish anything. All her life she’s succeeded at sports and academics through sheer stubbornness, and for the past three years she’s concentrated on one thought: wanting her mother’s malignant brain tumor to remain small and non-fatal. When she meets Grey, her soon-to-be stepfather, her carefully-cultivated control over her life begins to slip away.
Grey, the CEO of an international headhunting corporation called Kingmakers, challenges Shale, using her competitive nature to lure her to join Kingmakers. Unbeknownst to Shale, Grey’s company is the public face of a hidden world—a world of otherwise normal people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same and who use it to achieve success in business, sports, and politics. Grey intends to make Shale his heir, but they have enemies, only some of whom are known to them: the growing number of dissenters who want to use magic for personal gain more than global advancement and Grey’s spoiled son Duncan.
Shale learns that Grey and her mother have disappeared while on their honeymoon, leaving Shale alone and vulnerable. Her anger and determination grow after she survives a hit-and-run attack followed by a number of other murder attempts. Shale has had enough. It’s time to rely on the one tool that has never failed her, her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her attackers, rescue her mother, and change the face of magic forever.
KINGMAKER is a young adult novel, complete at 83,000 words.
[Personalized.] I am a student in [redacted]University’s MFA in Creative Writing program.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I have included the first five pages below. I would welcome the opportunity to send sample chapters or the complete manuscript.
Sincerely,
Jul 26, 2009
Calling All Synopses
The vote results are in. Actually, they've been in for several days now but I've been really busy, so I'm just now getting to them.
53% of the voters have a fever, and the only cure is more cowbell. I mean critiques. More critiques.
23% are voting-class lurkers, and they read everything on this site regardless. These are the people that also read every word on each cereal box. Every morning.
13% will decide when they see the title pop up in Google Reader. If is says "Query" in it, it's a sure thing, otherwise, (shakes Magic 8-Ball): Future Uncertain.
10% would sooner leave the blogosphere forever than read one synopsis, let alone a flood of them. Luckily they also can screen the titles in Google Reader and Mark As Read any posts categorized under the S-word.
So the writing on the wall is clear, which I absolutely expect from this crowd. Send your Synopses, I will post them, and they will be critiqued.
#
53% of the voters have a fever, and the only cure is more cowbell. I mean critiques. More critiques.
23% are voting-class lurkers, and they read everything on this site regardless. These are the people that also read every word on each cereal box. Every morning.
13% will decide when they see the title pop up in Google Reader. If is says "Query" in it, it's a sure thing, otherwise, (shakes Magic 8-Ball): Future Uncertain.
10% would sooner leave the blogosphere forever than read one synopsis, let alone a flood of them. Luckily they also can screen the titles in Google Reader and Mark As Read any posts categorized under the S-word.
So the writing on the wall is clear, which I absolutely expect from this crowd. Send your Synopses, I will post them, and they will be critiqued.
#
Query Revision 1 - Kingmaker (formerly A Profusion of Want)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the sample pages.
Note: This is a revision of my previous query for A Profusion of Want (which has since been retitled Kingmaker). That query had a very positive response from everyone here, but other readers pointed out some flaws and I reworked it. I'm not sure whether this is an improvement, so I'm hoping for feedback in that respect as well as general feedback.
Dear [Agent],
Sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson doesn’t believe in magic, but she does believe that willpower can accomplish anything. All her life she’s willed herself to win sports and academic tournaments, and for the past three years, she’s willed her mother’s malignant brain tumor to remain small and non-fatal. Then she meets Grey, the strong-willed man angling to become her stepfather, and her carefully-cultivated control over her life begins to slip away.
Grey, the CEO of an international corporation called Kingmakers, woos Shale’s mother with gifts and affection. At the same time, he challenges Shale, testing the strength of her will and using her competitive nature to lure her toward Kingmakers, which is really the public face of a hidden world—a world of people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same—a world which, unbeknownst to Shale, Grey intends for her to one day rule. Five months after Grey enters the Petersons’ lives, he and Shale’s mother depart for their honeymoon, only to disappear—leaving an unsuspecting and worried Shale vulnerable to attack from the many people who don’t want her to become Grey’s successor.
After being run down in a parking lot, nearly killed by piano wire strung neck-high across a stairwell, attacked by hired thugs, and told that she must decide whether to accept the burden of becoming Kingmakers’ next leader, Shale’s had enough. Magic or not, the only thing she can rely on now is her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her attackers. With it, she’s going to rescue her mother, whose brain tumor is still a constant threat.
And if they've hurt her mother? Shale is going to burn their world down.
KINGMAKER is a young adult novel, complete at 83,000 words.
[Personalized.] I am a student in [redacted] University's MFA in Creative Writing program.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I have included the first five pages below. I would welcome the opportunity to send sample chapters or the complete manuscript.
Sincerely,
Click here to read the sample pages.
Note: This is a revision of my previous query for A Profusion of Want (which has since been retitled Kingmaker). That query had a very positive response from everyone here, but other readers pointed out some flaws and I reworked it. I'm not sure whether this is an improvement, so I'm hoping for feedback in that respect as well as general feedback.
Dear [Agent],
Sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson doesn’t believe in magic, but she does believe that willpower can accomplish anything. All her life she’s willed herself to win sports and academic tournaments, and for the past three years, she’s willed her mother’s malignant brain tumor to remain small and non-fatal. Then she meets Grey, the strong-willed man angling to become her stepfather, and her carefully-cultivated control over her life begins to slip away.
Grey, the CEO of an international corporation called Kingmakers, woos Shale’s mother with gifts and affection. At the same time, he challenges Shale, testing the strength of her will and using her competitive nature to lure her toward Kingmakers, which is really the public face of a hidden world—a world of people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same—a world which, unbeknownst to Shale, Grey intends for her to one day rule. Five months after Grey enters the Petersons’ lives, he and Shale’s mother depart for their honeymoon, only to disappear—leaving an unsuspecting and worried Shale vulnerable to attack from the many people who don’t want her to become Grey’s successor.
After being run down in a parking lot, nearly killed by piano wire strung neck-high across a stairwell, attacked by hired thugs, and told that she must decide whether to accept the burden of becoming Kingmakers’ next leader, Shale’s had enough. Magic or not, the only thing she can rely on now is her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her attackers. With it, she’s going to rescue her mother, whose brain tumor is still a constant threat.
And if they've hurt her mother? Shale is going to burn their world down.
KINGMAKER is a young adult novel, complete at 83,000 words.
[Personalized.] I am a student in [redacted] University's MFA in Creative Writing program.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I have included the first five pages below. I would welcome the opportunity to send sample chapters or the complete manuscript.
Sincerely,
Jul 24, 2009
Whadyacallit?
Some dude named "The Bart" once said that names are like roses, everyone has one and they all smell real sweet. Might have been that Simpson kid. No, wait. I think I got my wires crossed.
What I mean to say is: please submit your queries with a title. If you are considering querying, you should at least have a working title. If you don't even have an idea of what you want to call your book, there's a good chance your manuscript/story still needs attention, and time spent working on the query is time better spent perfecting your manuscript.
I've posted a couple of untitled queries, and if there are more it will get confusing for me to read back through them and determine what's a revision and what's a new query; I would imagine that most of the Slushpile followers would have the same issues and QUERY-UNTITLED may have a lower chance of garnering immediate feedback; some people may think, "Oh, I've already commented on that one twice. I'll wait for fresh meat."
NOTE TO VEGETARIANS/VEGANS: It is perfectly acceptable for you to wait for fresh tofu or another form of protein in lieu of meat. No animals were harmed in the writing of this post.
NOTE TO THOSE WHO ALREADY SUBMITTED UNTITLED QUERIES: I'm not mad at you, please do not feel obligated to post apologies. I just made this rule up. You had no way of knowing when you submitted and bear no fault.
What I mean to say is: please submit your queries with a title. If you are considering querying, you should at least have a working title. If you don't even have an idea of what you want to call your book, there's a good chance your manuscript/story still needs attention, and time spent working on the query is time better spent perfecting your manuscript.
I've posted a couple of untitled queries, and if there are more it will get confusing for me to read back through them and determine what's a revision and what's a new query; I would imagine that most of the Slushpile followers would have the same issues and QUERY-UNTITLED may have a lower chance of garnering immediate feedback; some people may think, "Oh, I've already commented on that one twice. I'll wait for fresh meat."
NOTE TO VEGETARIANS/VEGANS: It is perfectly acceptable for you to wait for fresh tofu or another form of protein in lieu of meat. No animals were harmed in the writing of this post.
NOTE TO THOSE WHO ALREADY SUBMITTED UNTITLED QUERIES: I'm not mad at you, please do not feel obligated to post apologies. I just made this rule up. You had no way of knowing when you submitted and bear no fault.
Jul 23, 2009
QUERY- WIND FURY (Formerly UNTITLED)
NOTE: We've recently had a query for an untitled work, this one is new, not a revision. It was submitted on the 21st. I've been out of town on business for the past few days and I didn't have the opportunity to get it posted right away.
- Rick
This is a longer draft of my query as posted on my blog, but I wanted more breathing room and to see what the general reaction would be. Thanks in advance to anyone who takes a look! Also, I'm only including the plot summary paragraphs as those are the hardest for me.
For eons, the North Wind has blown upon the Earth, returning home after each day to an empty, icy palace on a lone mountain in the arctic tundra. Her existence is only punctuated by occasional visits from other immortals, but her life is one led by duty, not by joy. That is, until one day, when a young mortal named Armin shows up on her doorstep asking for aid for his family. She helps him, not expecting to ever see him again, but the next year, at the same time, he returns—this time not for her help, but for her company.
Thus begins a long friendship that eventually blossoms into love. North tries not to think about his mortality, but the issue is forced on her one day when a game in her palace nearly turns deadly. She relaxes when it’s over, and Armin is still alive, but her relief doesn’t last long. Someone is out to get her, or Armin, and they will do whatever it takes to succeed.
This event sparks a journey of love, loss, pain and anger that North has never before felt as an immortal. She is ripped apart and pieced back together by her quest for answers, employing the special skills she possesses to get her means. In the end, Armin’s fate becomes far wider than just that of her lover, and his destiny intertwined with that of all the gods. North has to pick a side; will she choose her heart, or her responsibility?
[UNTITLED] is a 110,000 word fantasy novel exploring a world on the edge of two destinies, and the mortals and immortals who will determine its course, explore their own true abilities, discover their pasts, and uphold their honor.
- Rick
This is a longer draft of my query as posted on my blog, but I wanted more breathing room and to see what the general reaction would be. Thanks in advance to anyone who takes a look! Also, I'm only including the plot summary paragraphs as those are the hardest for me.
For eons, the North Wind has blown upon the Earth, returning home after each day to an empty, icy palace on a lone mountain in the arctic tundra. Her existence is only punctuated by occasional visits from other immortals, but her life is one led by duty, not by joy. That is, until one day, when a young mortal named Armin shows up on her doorstep asking for aid for his family. She helps him, not expecting to ever see him again, but the next year, at the same time, he returns—this time not for her help, but for her company.
Thus begins a long friendship that eventually blossoms into love. North tries not to think about his mortality, but the issue is forced on her one day when a game in her palace nearly turns deadly. She relaxes when it’s over, and Armin is still alive, but her relief doesn’t last long. Someone is out to get her, or Armin, and they will do whatever it takes to succeed.
This event sparks a journey of love, loss, pain and anger that North has never before felt as an immortal. She is ripped apart and pieced back together by her quest for answers, employing the special skills she possesses to get her means. In the end, Armin’s fate becomes far wider than just that of her lover, and his destiny intertwined with that of all the gods. North has to pick a side; will she choose her heart, or her responsibility?
[UNTITLED] is a 110,000 word fantasy novel exploring a world on the edge of two destinies, and the mortals and immortals who will determine its course, explore their own true abilities, discover their pasts, and uphold their honor.
Jul 22, 2009
QUERY: BROKEN VERSION 2
Click here to read the original query.
Thanks! Version 2 - BROKEN
Thanks! Version 2 - BROKEN
Dear Agent X,
Madeline "Madd" Gunn is a fallen cop with an appetite for Chicago's finest breaded steak sandwiches served up with a hearty helping of vengeance. Five years ago, somebody knifed her kid sister to death in an alley. And she wants blood.
After every lead on her sister's case dries up, Madd quits the force and teams up with a group of well-connected vigilantes who hunt down violent criminals and arrange their deaths. When "The Protectors" hand Madd the name of her sister's killer and an untraceable .45, she fires four bullets into the S.O.B.'s chest and watches him die.
There's only one problem. She killed the wrong man.
Once a phone call confirms her worst fears, Madd knows that someone has set her up. But who? Now her name is on the The Protectors' hit list and finding her kid sister's killer is only the beginning of her problems. She needs to live long enough to uncover the truth, and some very powerful people want her dead.
BROKEN is an 86,000 word thriller about the irreversible consequences of revenge--and indigestion. My short stories have appeared in [redacted] and [redacted]. In an effort to add authenticity to the novel, I decided to move to Chicago ten years ago, marry a native, and eat my way through every hot dog stand south of the Loop. So far so good.
Thank you for your time.
Jul 21, 2009
QUERY - A SCORPION’S NATURE
Dear Agent,
Rage and dread torment Kyle Matusik after his dad's suicide. YMCA Camp Powell could have been a refuge, but Kyle isolates himself by alienating his overeager sailing partner and ignoring the affections of the camp newspaper's vulnerable poet. His Junior Counselor's treachery and confrontations with Brayden, a tyrant camper, ravage his insecurities. Kyle and Brayden's attraction to an alluring girl escalates their rivalry. The sunny idiots on staff can Kum Ba Yah all they want. Kyle will lash out until he gets even or is booted from camp—either outcome ends his chance to find belonging.
A SCORPION'S NATURE follows an anguished thirteen year old who copes with death by walling himself off from the living. Kyle's journey unfolds in a rollicking summer camp with quirky songs and food so atrocious even the director's mutt refuses to eat the Cheesy Fish Tarts. My 55,000 word middle grade novel coalesced out of twenty years as a YMCA camper, counselor, and director. Though not artsy, I am quite crafty.
The complete manuscript is available upon your request. Thank you for considering my work.
Sincerely,
Rage and dread torment Kyle Matusik after his dad's suicide. YMCA Camp Powell could have been a refuge, but Kyle isolates himself by alienating his overeager sailing partner and ignoring the affections of the camp newspaper's vulnerable poet. His Junior Counselor's treachery and confrontations with Brayden, a tyrant camper, ravage his insecurities. Kyle and Brayden's attraction to an alluring girl escalates their rivalry. The sunny idiots on staff can Kum Ba Yah all they want. Kyle will lash out until he gets even or is booted from camp—either outcome ends his chance to find belonging.
A SCORPION'S NATURE follows an anguished thirteen year old who copes with death by walling himself off from the living. Kyle's journey unfolds in a rollicking summer camp with quirky songs and food so atrocious even the director's mutt refuses to eat the Cheesy Fish Tarts. My 55,000 word middle grade novel coalesced out of twenty years as a YMCA camper, counselor, and director. Though not artsy, I am quite crafty.
The complete manuscript is available upon your request. Thank you for considering my work.
Sincerely,
Jul 20, 2009
NEW SUBMISSION OPTION!
Hello Slushpile followers, commenters, lurkers, and anyone else not covered by the aforementioned terms!
There is a new way to post queries and sample pages for submission.
You can email them to this address:
adaley4.postmyquery@blogger.com
The subject line of the email should be the title for the post (e.g. QUERY- AWESOME BOOK TITLE)
The body of your email should be the query and/or sample pages. Please format them accordingly, I will post them as I receive them. The posts will not go up automatically, I will review them first. If you are submitting a revision, I will add links to prior versions. I will still post items submitted as comments (a.k.a. the old way).
Thanks to everyone who submits their work for critique and the awesome group of commenters who show up immediately to offer advice. You are the ones who create the value for this site. I am just an enabler...
Jul 19, 2009
SAMPLE PAGES- UNTITLED (version 2)
Click here to read the original pages.
Click here to read the most recent query.
Chapter 1 – “Ten Years”
“I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. It's awful. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I'm going, I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible.”
“Mrs. Newman?” A tall boy in the front row interrupts my reading aloud.
“Yes Jason?”
“Why should it matter if Holden is a great liar, he’s not writing for anyone else? I don’t understand why we can’t trust his narration? And please don’t say: What do you think?” I laugh aloud at how well he knows my style.
“Ok, let me ask you this Jason, Do you think it’s possible for someone to lie to themselves?” I say trying to work around his request.
“I guess I see what you mean – like denial?” He says
“Exactly, people lie to themselves all the time. Mothers in denial about their kid being the school bully. My kids not fat he’s just big boned!” The class is laughing and I have all their attention now.
“The only fact you really need to know when deciding what to take as true in the book is that
Holden’s perspective changes, the way he looks at the world changes from the beginning of the book to the end.”
“So I’m guessing that will be a test question?” Another boy says
“Absolutely, the test questions aren’t a secret. My intention is not to trick you.”
“That sounds like a trick to me!” A girl named Emma says
“If you’ve read the story, I mean really read it, you’ll do fine. I’m happy to give you my opinions on the interpretation, but if you decide that Holden really works for the CIA and you can give me examples and details to support that you won’t fail.”
“You know that could be true.” Jason says causing the entire classroom to erupt in laughter.
“Remember, I didn’t write the book – It’s not my place to tell you you’re wrong. Unless I can tell you didn’t read, of course.”
“In other words, there’s no easy way out?” Jason speaks up again.
“There never is.” I answer him with a smile.
4:00pm – Back in my Ford Escort, I can finally allow my mind to drift back to the girl on the beach. I try to recall some of the visions from earlier today. I remember the handsome boy’s tears and – why was he so upset? There was desperation in their eyes, something horrible had just happened – something tragic. I needed to replay the visions over and over until I could get to my computer. I know the wording won’t be perfect but I just had to get the story down. Somehow I knew if I could just get it out of my head the pieces would fall into place.
I unlocked the door, threw my things in the closet and sat down at the computer. Alone at last. For thirty minutes I type without a single hesitation. I’m jolted out of my fantasy world as the door bell rings. I hit the save button with a groan and head for the front door, it’s always something.
When I open the door a young man with dark curly hair and glasses is standing in front of me looking unbelievably anxious. His eyes widen when he sees me
“Holly! I can’t believe it’s you! You’re alright?” I recognize his face at last.
“Adam Silverman? What are you doing here?” He seems to be composing himself. Somehow it doesn’t seem like he had expected me to open the door.
“I was in town and I heard you lived here . . . . . with someone? I just thought I would stop by.” He could tell I wasn’t buying the “I-was-just-in-town” story. We hadn’t seen each other in ten years; maybe he wasn’t quite stable – mentally I mean.
“Would you like to come in, Adam?” I say slowly in case he might have trouble understanding me. He looks exactly the same; I can’t believe after ten years he hasn’t gained a pound. It looked like he even had the same glasses.
“Actually I just needed to give you something.” He follows me into the house and I point to the couch for him to have a seat.
“Really, what?” I say walking to the kitchen and filling a glass of water for him. He takes a large gulp right away then chokes and points at my left hand.
“The ring. . . on your hand?” He says stumbling with his words
“My wedding ring?” I say, he’s definitely messed up – drugs maybe? I hadn’t heard that but who knows. He swallows another gulp before speaking again.
“You’re married to. . . .?”
“David.” I say slowly again.
“Wow, David . . . huh that’s interesting.” I sat down next to him on the couch trying to get a good look at his eyes; I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for – dilated pupils, redness?
“Adam? Are you ok? I mean is something wrong?” he nodded without speaking; I prompt him again “Is that why you’re here?”
He set his glass down and turned to face me; his eyes looked normal – just anxious.
“Yes.”
“What’s going on Adam? You can tell me.” He’s silent again looking down at his hands. I decide to try a different question.
“You seemed surprised to see me, were you expecting someone else?” I say trying to lighten the mood.
“Can you tell me something, Holly?”
“Sure, what?”
“Well, you know . . . what have you been up to. . . . .for the last ten years I mean?”
I laugh nervously
“All ten of them?”
“No, I mean what you do. Your job?”
“Oh, I’m teaching; high school English, at a school in Manhattan. I’m also trying my hand at fiction writing in my spare time.” I point towards the laptop on the coffee table.
“You’re writing a book? What about?” I give him a brief over view of the visions I’ve been having lately and the parts that I still haven’t unraveled yet.
“I didn’t really plan on writing a whole book, it’s just these ideas started flowing out of me and I had to get them down on paper. After a few days or so of writing I realized that I might have the beginnings of a novel.”
His eyes are wide and his face was so pale – I thought he was going to be sick. He bent down to get something from his bag, then handed me a notebook. I turn it over in my hands. The cover of the notebook is soft pink velvet with a swirling pattern covering it.
This is my journal, my thoughts, my writing. Writing I hadn’t seen for ten years.
“Where did you get this?” I say
“I acquired it recently from a good friend,” he said a little more composed than before. Or maybe my shock was so great it overshadowed my concern with his strange behavior. He handed me a piece of paper with an address on it.
“Come see me after you read this. I’ll need your help.” I’m still staring at the notebook and I don’t even notice him walking towards the door.
“Wait Adam, I already know what’s in here, let me help you; I know it’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other, but you were such a great friend to me. Whatever’s going on with you I can help?” He looks at me for a few moments standing in front of the open door – his eyes look sad; defeated almost.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Holly – trust me. Read it, I’ll be waiting.” He shuts the door quickly. My mind races trying to think of someone I can call to help him perhaps. I dial David’s number first his phone goes straight to voice mail.
Curiosity is eating at me now and I have to look. As I open the notebook a photograph falls out on to the floor. I pick it up staring at the girl in the photo. It’s me at eighteen or nineteen, I gasp when I notice the boy standing next to me. My legs give out and I fall back on to the couch. The boy in the photo has his arm around me kissing my cheek - his amazing blue eyes are still visible.
This is the boy from my visions; the one I’ve devoted over three hundred pages to. A boy I have never seen in my entire life. I open the book and start to read. . . . . . . . .
Click here to read the most recent query.
Chapter 1 – “Ten Years”
“I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. It's awful. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I'm going, I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible.”
“Mrs. Newman?” A tall boy in the front row interrupts my reading aloud.
“Yes Jason?”
“Why should it matter if Holden is a great liar, he’s not writing for anyone else? I don’t understand why we can’t trust his narration? And please don’t say: What do you think?” I laugh aloud at how well he knows my style.
“Ok, let me ask you this Jason, Do you think it’s possible for someone to lie to themselves?” I say trying to work around his request.
“I guess I see what you mean – like denial?” He says
“Exactly, people lie to themselves all the time. Mothers in denial about their kid being the school bully. My kids not fat he’s just big boned!” The class is laughing and I have all their attention now.
“The only fact you really need to know when deciding what to take as true in the book is that
Holden’s perspective changes, the way he looks at the world changes from the beginning of the book to the end.”
“So I’m guessing that will be a test question?” Another boy says
“Absolutely, the test questions aren’t a secret. My intention is not to trick you.”
“That sounds like a trick to me!” A girl named Emma says
“If you’ve read the story, I mean really read it, you’ll do fine. I’m happy to give you my opinions on the interpretation, but if you decide that Holden really works for the CIA and you can give me examples and details to support that you won’t fail.”
“You know that could be true.” Jason says causing the entire classroom to erupt in laughter.
“Remember, I didn’t write the book – It’s not my place to tell you you’re wrong. Unless I can tell you didn’t read, of course.”
“In other words, there’s no easy way out?” Jason speaks up again.
“There never is.” I answer him with a smile.
4:00pm – Back in my Ford Escort, I can finally allow my mind to drift back to the girl on the beach. I try to recall some of the visions from earlier today. I remember the handsome boy’s tears and – why was he so upset? There was desperation in their eyes, something horrible had just happened – something tragic. I needed to replay the visions over and over until I could get to my computer. I know the wording won’t be perfect but I just had to get the story down. Somehow I knew if I could just get it out of my head the pieces would fall into place.
I unlocked the door, threw my things in the closet and sat down at the computer. Alone at last. For thirty minutes I type without a single hesitation. I’m jolted out of my fantasy world as the door bell rings. I hit the save button with a groan and head for the front door, it’s always something.
When I open the door a young man with dark curly hair and glasses is standing in front of me looking unbelievably anxious. His eyes widen when he sees me
“Holly! I can’t believe it’s you! You’re alright?” I recognize his face at last.
“Adam Silverman? What are you doing here?” He seems to be composing himself. Somehow it doesn’t seem like he had expected me to open the door.
“I was in town and I heard you lived here . . . . . with someone? I just thought I would stop by.” He could tell I wasn’t buying the “I-was-just-in-town” story. We hadn’t seen each other in ten years; maybe he wasn’t quite stable – mentally I mean.
“Would you like to come in, Adam?” I say slowly in case he might have trouble understanding me. He looks exactly the same; I can’t believe after ten years he hasn’t gained a pound. It looked like he even had the same glasses.
“Actually I just needed to give you something.” He follows me into the house and I point to the couch for him to have a seat.
“Really, what?” I say walking to the kitchen and filling a glass of water for him. He takes a large gulp right away then chokes and points at my left hand.
“The ring. . . on your hand?” He says stumbling with his words
“My wedding ring?” I say, he’s definitely messed up – drugs maybe? I hadn’t heard that but who knows. He swallows another gulp before speaking again.
“You’re married to. . . .?”
“David.” I say slowly again.
“Wow, David . . . huh that’s interesting.” I sat down next to him on the couch trying to get a good look at his eyes; I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for – dilated pupils, redness?
“Adam? Are you ok? I mean is something wrong?” he nodded without speaking; I prompt him again “Is that why you’re here?”
He set his glass down and turned to face me; his eyes looked normal – just anxious.
“Yes.”
“What’s going on Adam? You can tell me.” He’s silent again looking down at his hands. I decide to try a different question.
“You seemed surprised to see me, were you expecting someone else?” I say trying to lighten the mood.
“Can you tell me something, Holly?”
“Sure, what?”
“Well, you know . . . what have you been up to. . . . .for the last ten years I mean?”
I laugh nervously
“All ten of them?”
“No, I mean what you do. Your job?”
“Oh, I’m teaching; high school English, at a school in Manhattan. I’m also trying my hand at fiction writing in my spare time.” I point towards the laptop on the coffee table.
“You’re writing a book? What about?” I give him a brief over view of the visions I’ve been having lately and the parts that I still haven’t unraveled yet.
“I didn’t really plan on writing a whole book, it’s just these ideas started flowing out of me and I had to get them down on paper. After a few days or so of writing I realized that I might have the beginnings of a novel.”
His eyes are wide and his face was so pale – I thought he was going to be sick. He bent down to get something from his bag, then handed me a notebook. I turn it over in my hands. The cover of the notebook is soft pink velvet with a swirling pattern covering it.
This is my journal, my thoughts, my writing. Writing I hadn’t seen for ten years.
“Where did you get this?” I say
“I acquired it recently from a good friend,” he said a little more composed than before. Or maybe my shock was so great it overshadowed my concern with his strange behavior. He handed me a piece of paper with an address on it.
“Come see me after you read this. I’ll need your help.” I’m still staring at the notebook and I don’t even notice him walking towards the door.
“Wait Adam, I already know what’s in here, let me help you; I know it’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other, but you were such a great friend to me. Whatever’s going on with you I can help?” He looks at me for a few moments standing in front of the open door – his eyes look sad; defeated almost.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Holly – trust me. Read it, I’ll be waiting.” He shuts the door quickly. My mind races trying to think of someone I can call to help him perhaps. I dial David’s number first his phone goes straight to voice mail.
Curiosity is eating at me now and I have to look. As I open the notebook a photograph falls out on to the floor. I pick it up staring at the girl in the photo. It’s me at eighteen or nineteen, I gasp when I notice the boy standing next to me. My legs give out and I fall back on to the couch. The boy in the photo has his arm around me kissing my cheek - his amazing blue eyes are still visible.
This is the boy from my visions; the one I’ve devoted over three hundred pages to. A boy I have never seen in my entire life. I open the book and start to read. . . . . . . . .
QUERY: Ghosts of Innocence (version 2)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Amazing Agent,
Shayla Carver, undercover agent and master assassin, has killed many times. That's what assassins do. Nothing to lose sleep over. But this mission is different; she's never killed a whole planet before.
She's seen it happen though, many years ago, when her own home burned on the orders of a young Emperor. And now she's ready, finally, to exact payment in kind from the whole rotten and murderous establishment.
Shayla has planned everything meticulously, except that she hasn't allowed for coming face to face with some of the two billion inhabitants she's about to slaughter. Ordinary people. Not the stereotyped strutting Imperials of her imagination, and not so readily dismissed as legitimate targets or collateral damage. And then there's the Emperor himself. An ordinary man with troubles and dreams of his own. Not the kind of man Shayla can picture giving such an order.
Now she's starting to lose sleep.
As she enslaves the destructive might of the Emperor's own fleet and launches the final stage of her plan, Shayla can no longer ignore the enormity of what she's doing. On the brink of success, she must choose: To complete her lifelong goal to rid humanity of a corrupt regime, or to heed her own misgivings and serve the man, her sworn enemy, that she's spent so many years pursuing.
"Ghosts of Innocence" is a science fiction novel complete at 95,000 words. I am also working on a sequel, "The Ashes of Home". Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely
Wannabe Author
Dear Amazing Agent,
Shayla Carver, undercover agent and master assassin, has killed many times. That's what assassins do. Nothing to lose sleep over. But this mission is different; she's never killed a whole planet before.
She's seen it happen though, many years ago, when her own home burned on the orders of a young Emperor. And now she's ready, finally, to exact payment in kind from the whole rotten and murderous establishment.
Shayla has planned everything meticulously, except that she hasn't allowed for coming face to face with some of the two billion inhabitants she's about to slaughter. Ordinary people. Not the stereotyped strutting Imperials of her imagination, and not so readily dismissed as legitimate targets or collateral damage. And then there's the Emperor himself. An ordinary man with troubles and dreams of his own. Not the kind of man Shayla can picture giving such an order.
Now she's starting to lose sleep.
As she enslaves the destructive might of the Emperor's own fleet and launches the final stage of her plan, Shayla can no longer ignore the enormity of what she's doing. On the brink of success, she must choose: To complete her lifelong goal to rid humanity of a corrupt regime, or to heed her own misgivings and serve the man, her sworn enemy, that she's spent so many years pursuing.
"Ghosts of Innocence" is a science fiction novel complete at 95,000 words. I am also working on a sequel, "The Ashes of Home". Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely
Wannabe Author
Julie's query revised - attempt #2
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the sample pages.
Dear Agent,
I am currently seeking representation for my Young Adult novel, UNTITLED, complete at 90,000 words.
Seventeen year old Holly Flynn is about to matriculate into the ‘real world’ as she likes to call this high school after life. The only thing she’s in a hurry to do is hear that final bell and race out the doors of her New Jersey high school for the last time.
Through family connections Holly’s scored a summer job in Manhattan as camp counselor to a dozen rich kids whose bedrooms are probably bigger than her entire house. In no time, she’s immersed in the world of fancy cars and private drivers having no clue how much her life was about to change!
Holly’s completely devoted to her boyfriend and best friend of two years, David but when she meets Jackson, a fellow counselor she can’t stop thinking about him, or dreaming about him. Despite her incredible efforts to ignore his every move, she finds herself buried deep in solving the mysteries surrounding him; mysteries even he doesn’t understand.
Like his deceased mother and twin sister, Jackson has an unwanted and uncontrolled ability to inflict pain on those he’s close to, causing them to relive their worst memories and sentencing him to a lifetime of lonely solitude. But Holly’s opened up her heart to him more than she ever thought possible and is determined to find a way for them to be together – even if it causes her pain.
Holly and Jackson, along with the help of a surprising new friend begin a quest to unravel the mysteries of Jackson’s ability but find themselves faced with the opportunity to change Holly’s past leaving her with the impossible decision - be with her one true love or give her mother the life she should have had, removing the horrors of her past.
The ability to change the past is like playing God in a battle between right and wrong.
Click here to read the sample pages.
Dear Agent,
I am currently seeking representation for my Young Adult novel, UNTITLED, complete at 90,000 words.
Seventeen year old Holly Flynn is about to matriculate into the ‘real world’ as she likes to call this high school after life. The only thing she’s in a hurry to do is hear that final bell and race out the doors of her New Jersey high school for the last time.
Through family connections Holly’s scored a summer job in Manhattan as camp counselor to a dozen rich kids whose bedrooms are probably bigger than her entire house. In no time, she’s immersed in the world of fancy cars and private drivers having no clue how much her life was about to change!
Holly’s completely devoted to her boyfriend and best friend of two years, David but when she meets Jackson, a fellow counselor she can’t stop thinking about him, or dreaming about him. Despite her incredible efforts to ignore his every move, she finds herself buried deep in solving the mysteries surrounding him; mysteries even he doesn’t understand.
Like his deceased mother and twin sister, Jackson has an unwanted and uncontrolled ability to inflict pain on those he’s close to, causing them to relive their worst memories and sentencing him to a lifetime of lonely solitude. But Holly’s opened up her heart to him more than she ever thought possible and is determined to find a way for them to be together – even if it causes her pain.
Holly and Jackson, along with the help of a surprising new friend begin a quest to unravel the mysteries of Jackson’s ability but find themselves faced with the opportunity to change Holly’s past leaving her with the impossible decision - be with her one true love or give her mother the life she should have had, removing the horrors of her past.
The ability to change the past is like playing God in a battle between right and wrong.
Jul 18, 2009
QUERY: Ghosts of Innocence
Dear Amazing Agent,
Shayla Carver, undercover agent and master assassin, has killed many times. That's what assassins do. Nothing to lose sleep over. But this mission is different; she's never killed a whole planet before.
She's seen it happen though, many years ago, when her own home burned on the orders of a young Emperor. The young Shayla watched, helpless but incensed, and vowed revenge.
How many youngsters dream the impossible? And how many think of the consequences? Shayla did more than dream. She started on a long road, a road which she's followed without question, a road which has finally brought her to the Emperor's palace and within reach of her goal.
Shayla has planned everything meticulously, except that she hasn't allowed for coming face to face with some of the two billion inhabitants she's about to slaughter. Ordinary people. Not the stereotyped strutting Imperials of her imagination, and not so readily dismissed as legitimate targets or collateral damage. And then there's the Emperor himself. An ordinary man with troubles and dreams of his own. Not the kind of man Shayla can picture giving such an order.
Now she's starting to lose sleep.
As she enslaves the destructive might of the Emperor's own fleet and launches the final stage of her plan, Shayla can no longer ignore the enormity of what she's doing. On the brink of success, she must choose: To complete her lifelong goal to rid humanity of a corrupt regime, or to heed her own misgivings and trust the man, her sworn enemy, that she's spent so many years pursuing.
"Ghosts of Innocence" is a science fiction novel complete at 95,000 words. I am also working on a sequel, "The Ashes of Home". Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Wannabe Author
Shayla Carver, undercover agent and master assassin, has killed many times. That's what assassins do. Nothing to lose sleep over. But this mission is different; she's never killed a whole planet before.
She's seen it happen though, many years ago, when her own home burned on the orders of a young Emperor. The young Shayla watched, helpless but incensed, and vowed revenge.
How many youngsters dream the impossible? And how many think of the consequences? Shayla did more than dream. She started on a long road, a road which she's followed without question, a road which has finally brought her to the Emperor's palace and within reach of her goal.
Shayla has planned everything meticulously, except that she hasn't allowed for coming face to face with some of the two billion inhabitants she's about to slaughter. Ordinary people. Not the stereotyped strutting Imperials of her imagination, and not so readily dismissed as legitimate targets or collateral damage. And then there's the Emperor himself. An ordinary man with troubles and dreams of his own. Not the kind of man Shayla can picture giving such an order.
Now she's starting to lose sleep.
As she enslaves the destructive might of the Emperor's own fleet and launches the final stage of her plan, Shayla can no longer ignore the enormity of what she's doing. On the brink of success, she must choose: To complete her lifelong goal to rid humanity of a corrupt regime, or to heed her own misgivings and trust the man, her sworn enemy, that she's spent so many years pursuing.
"Ghosts of Innocence" is a science fiction novel complete at 95,000 words. I am also working on a sequel, "The Ashes of Home". Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Wannabe Author
Jul 17, 2009
SAMPLE PAGES- UNTITLED
Click here to read the query.
A revision of the query has been posted, click here to read it.
Chapter 1 – “Ten Years”
Wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tight - she whispered something in his ear. His arms were around her now holding her tight; his face buried in her hair. He pulled away after a few minutes just enough to look into her eyes. She stared right back, his bright blue eyes piercing into hers.
“Thank you.” He said putting his hands on the sides of her neck; he kissed her lips softly. The tears on his cheeks melting with hers.
7:00am – Sitting on the train into midtown, I try to grade the essays I had neglected last night. But something in my brain hit the play button on the story again and vivid images of my dashingly handsome main character invade my thoughts.
Yesterday my red pen couldn’t move fast enough as I was feeling the need to pick apart each and every one of my student’s mistakes, but today nothing could put a damper on the high I was experiencing – not even a bunch of goofy teenage students pretending to have read last night’s assignment. I walked the five blocks to the school – a bounce in my step today as I enter the hallway leading to my classroom.
“Good morning Mrs. Newman.” I hear a young voice call from outside my classroom door.
“Good morning Anna. Are you ready?” My most devoted student – a good way to begin my morning.
“Yeah, I guess. This paper is really killing me. I’m still worried about missing the central theme. And what about Mr. Antolini? Is he a child molester? Because it sure seemed like it.” I unlock the classroom door and turn on the lights. Pointing to a seat for Anna to sit, I place my coffee and bag on the desk sitting in the seat across from her.
“The interpretation’s not clear-cut. What you have to understand, Anna - is that Holden is an unstable narrator. We only know what Holden sees. Mr. Antolini made him uncomfortable but maybe Holden’s easily scared. Use what you already know about his character but then it’s up to you to decide the rest.” Her expression is skeptical and her eyes narrow in confusion.
“So what you’re saying is I can’t be wrong?” I smile at this truth, the reason I love literature; it’s never an exact science.
“In my class you won’t be wrong if you can back your theory with evidence.”
“That seems a little too easy, what’s the catch.” The handsome boy and the girl on the beach are floating back towards my frontal lobe; I can see tears in his eyes as she takes his hand pressing it to her cheek.
“There’s no catch.” I say to Anna “You just have to sell your idea – like everything else in life. Most things aren’t as clear as they are in school. I think you will eventually find that life after high school is just one big gray area.”
Anna’s face is blank – like a four year old who just received a lecture on home mortgage loans. I must be heading off the deep end now. If I was going to continue writing, I would need a better grasp on separating life from story.
“Um. . . forget that,” I say shaking my head again. “Anyway Anna, you asked about the central theme in the book? This one’s fairly simple.” I flip the pages of her copy of Catcher in Rye.
“Listen to what Holden says here,” I read the passage aloud.
“And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all.”
“Anna, think about what that cliff represents, and why Holden is so determined to prevent those kids from going over?”
9:30 am – “Tonight’s assignment is to read the final scenes of Macbeth. Trust me on this one – stay away from the internet, resist buying that copy of someone’s paper from last year - remember this is Senior AP English; I expect you all to tell me something I don’t already know. Let’s get creative!” The bell rings and the class begin to file out the door.
“Sam, can you stay for a minute please?” I say to the skinny red haired boy. He walks up to my desk with his bag over his shoulder. I slide an envelope across my desk toward him.
“What’s this?” he says
“It’s your letter of recommendation for NYU. I thought you needed two for your application?”
“Actually, I’m not going to apply.” He says quietly
“Sam, you’re my best student. Not only are you a shoo-in for admission but I know you could win the Phelps Scholarship. Why aren’t you applying?” I ask him, though I have a pretty good idea of the reason.
“Well, you know my family’s moving to Texas at the end of the school year and my mom thought . . . . .” I put my hand up to cut him off.
“Sam, you’re eighteen. You have to decide what’s best for you. Your mother’s issues with you being away from home are something she’ll have to deal with herself. The deadline is two weeks away. If I have to do your application for you, I will.”
“I know I should apply, but she just gets so upset even at the mention of me being away.” Anger at Mrs. Edwards is boiling inside me. Though this is true, seeing his face allows sympathy to overtake my anger.
“Just apply for now and then you can make your decisions later. You should keep all your options open.”
“Alright,” he says taking the letter off my desk and putting it in his bag. I sigh heavily as he leaves the room; parents sometimes had a way of ruining everything.
11:30am – I give the drink machine a hard kick with my right foot as the frozen dinner revolves around in the microwave. Finally, my Diet Coke comes tumbling out – slightly dented. As I sit down with my meal, the door to the lounge opens.
“Good morning, Holly.”
“Hi Todd.” I start scribbling nonsense in my notebook; maybe if I look busy he won’t try to talk to me.
“How’s Catcher in The Rye coming along?” He says in his annoying nasally voice.
We tend to have a very different approach of getting students to love what they read. Todd threatens them with failing grades. I prefer to coax them into listening to me read aloud if I don’t feel that the class is prepared. It’s most important that they hear the story – the rest is just details.
“We’re moving along well, and you? Have you taken inventory on “Cliff notes” at Barnes and Noble lately?” I say as his students are infamous for finding ways out of the reading. If he read aloud to them like I do I’m sure they would all complete their reading assignments to avoid listening to that horrible, nasally voice for an hour.
“I like to keep tabs. You’ve never been able to catch your students using “Cliff notes” have you?” He said condescendingly.
“No, I haven’t caught anyone yet, but I know I won’t.” I said, casually.
“Why is that? Everyone else does.” He says with a sneer to his voice
“My students all know there is nothing they can buy in a store or find on the internet to give them any short cuts on my essay.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about your open ended questions – you can’t be wrong if it’s your opinion.” He’s mocking me. How immature! I took a calming breath before speaking.
“It’s most important that they know the story; my job is to teach them to think for themselves – not study some useless passage about symbolism and themes in a three dollar pamphlet, most likely written by someone who obviously wasn’t good enough to write their own book.” I ignore his shocked expression and pick up my lunch, toss it in the garbage can and walk out of the lounge.
1:30pm –
“I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. It's awful. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I'm going, I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible.” I read aloud to my fifth period class of juniors.
“Mrs. Newman?”
“Yes Jason?”
“Why should it matter if Holden is a great liar, he’s not writing for anyone else? I don’t understand why we can’t trust his narration? And please don’t say: What do you think?” I laugh aloud at how well he knows my style.
“Ok, let me ask you this Jason, Do you think it’s possible for someone to lie to themselves?” I say trying to work around his request.
“I guess I see what you mean – like denial?” He says
“Exactly, people lie to themselves all the time. Mothers in denial about their kid being the school bully. My kids not fat he’s just big boned!” The class is laughing and I have all their attention now.
“The only fact you really need to know when deciding what to take as true in the book is that Holden’s perspective changes, the way he looks at the world changes from the beginning of the book to the end. If you can focus on the significance of that change what’s true and what’s exaggerated becomes a lot less important.”
“So I’m guessing that will be a test question?” Another boy says
“Absolutely, the test questions aren’t a secret. I’m not making a test to trick you.”
“That sounds like a trick to me!” A girl named Emma says
“If you’ve read the story, I mean really read it, you’ll do fine. I’m happy to give you my opinions on the interpretation, but if you decide that Holden really works for the CIA and you can give me examples and details to support that you won’t fail.”
“You know that could be true.” Jason says causing the entire classroom to erupt in laughter.
“Remember, I didn’t write the book – It’s not my place to tell you you’re wrong. Unless I can tell you didn’t read, of course.”
“In other words, there’s no easy way out?” Jason speaks up again.
“There never is.” I answer him with a smile.
A revision of the query has been posted, click here to read it.
Chapter 1 – “Ten Years”
Wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tight - she whispered something in his ear. His arms were around her now holding her tight; his face buried in her hair. He pulled away after a few minutes just enough to look into her eyes. She stared right back, his bright blue eyes piercing into hers.
“Thank you.” He said putting his hands on the sides of her neck; he kissed her lips softly. The tears on his cheeks melting with hers.
7:00am – Sitting on the train into midtown, I try to grade the essays I had neglected last night. But something in my brain hit the play button on the story again and vivid images of my dashingly handsome main character invade my thoughts.
Yesterday my red pen couldn’t move fast enough as I was feeling the need to pick apart each and every one of my student’s mistakes, but today nothing could put a damper on the high I was experiencing – not even a bunch of goofy teenage students pretending to have read last night’s assignment. I walked the five blocks to the school – a bounce in my step today as I enter the hallway leading to my classroom.
“Good morning Mrs. Newman.” I hear a young voice call from outside my classroom door.
“Good morning Anna. Are you ready?” My most devoted student – a good way to begin my morning.
“Yeah, I guess. This paper is really killing me. I’m still worried about missing the central theme. And what about Mr. Antolini? Is he a child molester? Because it sure seemed like it.” I unlock the classroom door and turn on the lights. Pointing to a seat for Anna to sit, I place my coffee and bag on the desk sitting in the seat across from her.
“The interpretation’s not clear-cut. What you have to understand, Anna - is that Holden is an unstable narrator. We only know what Holden sees. Mr. Antolini made him uncomfortable but maybe Holden’s easily scared. Use what you already know about his character but then it’s up to you to decide the rest.” Her expression is skeptical and her eyes narrow in confusion.
“So what you’re saying is I can’t be wrong?” I smile at this truth, the reason I love literature; it’s never an exact science.
“In my class you won’t be wrong if you can back your theory with evidence.”
“That seems a little too easy, what’s the catch.” The handsome boy and the girl on the beach are floating back towards my frontal lobe; I can see tears in his eyes as she takes his hand pressing it to her cheek.
“There’s no catch.” I say to Anna “You just have to sell your idea – like everything else in life. Most things aren’t as clear as they are in school. I think you will eventually find that life after high school is just one big gray area.”
Anna’s face is blank – like a four year old who just received a lecture on home mortgage loans. I must be heading off the deep end now. If I was going to continue writing, I would need a better grasp on separating life from story.
“Um. . . forget that,” I say shaking my head again. “Anyway Anna, you asked about the central theme in the book? This one’s fairly simple.” I flip the pages of her copy of Catcher in Rye.
“Listen to what Holden says here,” I read the passage aloud.
“And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all.”
“Anna, think about what that cliff represents, and why Holden is so determined to prevent those kids from going over?”
9:30 am – “Tonight’s assignment is to read the final scenes of Macbeth. Trust me on this one – stay away from the internet, resist buying that copy of someone’s paper from last year - remember this is Senior AP English; I expect you all to tell me something I don’t already know. Let’s get creative!” The bell rings and the class begin to file out the door.
“Sam, can you stay for a minute please?” I say to the skinny red haired boy. He walks up to my desk with his bag over his shoulder. I slide an envelope across my desk toward him.
“What’s this?” he says
“It’s your letter of recommendation for NYU. I thought you needed two for your application?”
“Actually, I’m not going to apply.” He says quietly
“Sam, you’re my best student. Not only are you a shoo-in for admission but I know you could win the Phelps Scholarship. Why aren’t you applying?” I ask him, though I have a pretty good idea of the reason.
“Well, you know my family’s moving to Texas at the end of the school year and my mom thought . . . . .” I put my hand up to cut him off.
“Sam, you’re eighteen. You have to decide what’s best for you. Your mother’s issues with you being away from home are something she’ll have to deal with herself. The deadline is two weeks away. If I have to do your application for you, I will.”
“I know I should apply, but she just gets so upset even at the mention of me being away.” Anger at Mrs. Edwards is boiling inside me. Though this is true, seeing his face allows sympathy to overtake my anger.
“Just apply for now and then you can make your decisions later. You should keep all your options open.”
“Alright,” he says taking the letter off my desk and putting it in his bag. I sigh heavily as he leaves the room; parents sometimes had a way of ruining everything.
11:30am – I give the drink machine a hard kick with my right foot as the frozen dinner revolves around in the microwave. Finally, my Diet Coke comes tumbling out – slightly dented. As I sit down with my meal, the door to the lounge opens.
“Good morning, Holly.”
“Hi Todd.” I start scribbling nonsense in my notebook; maybe if I look busy he won’t try to talk to me.
“How’s Catcher in The Rye coming along?” He says in his annoying nasally voice.
We tend to have a very different approach of getting students to love what they read. Todd threatens them with failing grades. I prefer to coax them into listening to me read aloud if I don’t feel that the class is prepared. It’s most important that they hear the story – the rest is just details.
“We’re moving along well, and you? Have you taken inventory on “Cliff notes” at Barnes and Noble lately?” I say as his students are infamous for finding ways out of the reading. If he read aloud to them like I do I’m sure they would all complete their reading assignments to avoid listening to that horrible, nasally voice for an hour.
“I like to keep tabs. You’ve never been able to catch your students using “Cliff notes” have you?” He said condescendingly.
“No, I haven’t caught anyone yet, but I know I won’t.” I said, casually.
“Why is that? Everyone else does.” He says with a sneer to his voice
“My students all know there is nothing they can buy in a store or find on the internet to give them any short cuts on my essay.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about your open ended questions – you can’t be wrong if it’s your opinion.” He’s mocking me. How immature! I took a calming breath before speaking.
“It’s most important that they know the story; my job is to teach them to think for themselves – not study some useless passage about symbolism and themes in a three dollar pamphlet, most likely written by someone who obviously wasn’t good enough to write their own book.” I ignore his shocked expression and pick up my lunch, toss it in the garbage can and walk out of the lounge.
1:30pm –
“I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. It's awful. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I'm going, I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible.” I read aloud to my fifth period class of juniors.
“Mrs. Newman?”
“Yes Jason?”
“Why should it matter if Holden is a great liar, he’s not writing for anyone else? I don’t understand why we can’t trust his narration? And please don’t say: What do you think?” I laugh aloud at how well he knows my style.
“Ok, let me ask you this Jason, Do you think it’s possible for someone to lie to themselves?” I say trying to work around his request.
“I guess I see what you mean – like denial?” He says
“Exactly, people lie to themselves all the time. Mothers in denial about their kid being the school bully. My kids not fat he’s just big boned!” The class is laughing and I have all their attention now.
“The only fact you really need to know when deciding what to take as true in the book is that Holden’s perspective changes, the way he looks at the world changes from the beginning of the book to the end. If you can focus on the significance of that change what’s true and what’s exaggerated becomes a lot less important.”
“So I’m guessing that will be a test question?” Another boy says
“Absolutely, the test questions aren’t a secret. I’m not making a test to trick you.”
“That sounds like a trick to me!” A girl named Emma says
“If you’ve read the story, I mean really read it, you’ll do fine. I’m happy to give you my opinions on the interpretation, but if you decide that Holden really works for the CIA and you can give me examples and details to support that you won’t fail.”
“You know that could be true.” Jason says causing the entire classroom to erupt in laughter.
“Remember, I didn’t write the book – It’s not my place to tell you you’re wrong. Unless I can tell you didn’t read, of course.”
“In other words, there’s no easy way out?” Jason speaks up again.
“There never is.” I answer him with a smile.
Query - The Night Starts Here
Dear Agent,
THE NIGHT STARTS HERE is a young adult paranormal novel. It is complete at 70,000 words.
Simon Hawkins is undead. Not alive, not dead. Regardless of his condition, Simon is a walking, talking, handsome young man. He's also in love with a very much human girl named Beth. The only issue is that Beth is going to break up Simon and he knows it and he's really not actually as nice of a guy as he seems.
Because Simon believes that he can still make Beth love him, he orchestrates a car crash that kills Beth. Then on the side of the road, as she drifts out of the world, Simon does the unforgivable. He changes Beth into one of the undead.
A day later, Beth wakes up in a coffin. Buried.
Instead of throwing herself into his arms with gratitude at “saving her life” like Simon hopes, Beth runs away in fear and confusion.
While sitting alone on the side of a road one night, Beth is approached by two young men who are members of a gang that live in a mysterious city beneath the human world called the Underground. Beth goes with the two young men and joins the ranks of the gang, making some new friends and new enemies very quickly.
However, Beth's painful past resurfaces when Everyone's Favorite Psychopath Boyfriend Simon shows up Underground-- to his old gang, the exact one that Beth is now a part of. He is welcomed back, as the gang does not know the history between Beth and Simon. Simon then proceeds to blackmail Beth into silence, once again abusing his control over her helpless nature.
When the leader of the gang, Dominik, devises a plot against the evil Aristocracy (the corrupt ruling class of the Underground) that could potentially benefit all the members of the gang, they decide to go for it. Will they be able to leave the usual un-dead gang drama at home for a night and come together to bring down the powerful establishment? More importantly, will Beth be able to reveal Simon for the manipulative jerk he really is?
Thank you for your consideration,
THE NIGHT STARTS HERE is a young adult paranormal novel. It is complete at 70,000 words.
Simon Hawkins is undead. Not alive, not dead. Regardless of his condition, Simon is a walking, talking, handsome young man. He's also in love with a very much human girl named Beth. The only issue is that Beth is going to break up Simon and he knows it and he's really not actually as nice of a guy as he seems.
Because Simon believes that he can still make Beth love him, he orchestrates a car crash that kills Beth. Then on the side of the road, as she drifts out of the world, Simon does the unforgivable. He changes Beth into one of the undead.
A day later, Beth wakes up in a coffin. Buried.
Instead of throwing herself into his arms with gratitude at “saving her life” like Simon hopes, Beth runs away in fear and confusion.
While sitting alone on the side of a road one night, Beth is approached by two young men who are members of a gang that live in a mysterious city beneath the human world called the Underground. Beth goes with the two young men and joins the ranks of the gang, making some new friends and new enemies very quickly.
However, Beth's painful past resurfaces when Everyone's Favorite Psychopath Boyfriend Simon shows up Underground-- to his old gang, the exact one that Beth is now a part of. He is welcomed back, as the gang does not know the history between Beth and Simon. Simon then proceeds to blackmail Beth into silence, once again abusing his control over her helpless nature.
When the leader of the gang, Dominik, devises a plot against the evil Aristocracy (the corrupt ruling class of the Underground) that could potentially benefit all the members of the gang, they decide to go for it. Will they be able to leave the usual un-dead gang drama at home for a night and come together to bring down the powerful establishment? More importantly, will Beth be able to reveal Simon for the manipulative jerk he really is?
Thank you for your consideration,
Query- Blood From Heaven [version 4]
Click here to read the original.
Click here to read the version 3.
Question: I was considering changing the title to "Trial By Fire"--what do you think?
Thanks-
E.J.
Dear Agent,
Samone Fisher is a Priestess with ancient powers. She is a woman who has the ability to act as a gateway for angels and gods, and demons too when things don’t go so well.
What happens when things don’t go so well? You lose your body.
Luckily for Samone, she has an angel watching out for her, the fiery Serafina, who has possessed her body to keep it alive.
Now, Serafina must enlist the help of two special men to find Samone’s soul and bring it back to her body where it belongs. The men soon succumb to the angel’s fiery energy. The clock is ticking. The body is dying. Under the angel’s mysterious influence the men are able to return Samone’s soul to her body.
And here is where their new lives begin.
The men soon find out that Samone is as fiery as the angel that kept her body alive, and they will do anything to be with her. But the demons are closing in. They want Samone and people are starting to die. So Samone and her two men summon the angels for help, and that is when they learn that angels are not always what they seem.
I would like to submit for your review the manuscript for my paranormal urban fantasy, Blood From Heaven, which is complete at 82,700 words. This is the first novel of a series, which can also stand alone.
In writing this novel I have drawn upon my expertise in occult and paranormal subjects as well as professional experience with psychology, investigation and law enforcement.
Thank you for your time and consideration,
Click here to read the version 3.
Question: I was considering changing the title to "Trial By Fire"--what do you think?
Thanks-
E.J.
Dear Agent,
Samone Fisher is a Priestess with ancient powers. She is a woman who has the ability to act as a gateway for angels and gods, and demons too when things don’t go so well.
What happens when things don’t go so well? You lose your body.
Luckily for Samone, she has an angel watching out for her, the fiery Serafina, who has possessed her body to keep it alive.
Now, Serafina must enlist the help of two special men to find Samone’s soul and bring it back to her body where it belongs. The men soon succumb to the angel’s fiery energy. The clock is ticking. The body is dying. Under the angel’s mysterious influence the men are able to return Samone’s soul to her body.
And here is where their new lives begin.
The men soon find out that Samone is as fiery as the angel that kept her body alive, and they will do anything to be with her. But the demons are closing in. They want Samone and people are starting to die. So Samone and her two men summon the angels for help, and that is when they learn that angels are not always what they seem.
I would like to submit for your review the manuscript for my paranormal urban fantasy, Blood From Heaven, which is complete at 82,700 words. This is the first novel of a series, which can also stand alone.
In writing this novel I have drawn upon my expertise in occult and paranormal subjects as well as professional experience with psychology, investigation and law enforcement.
Thank you for your time and consideration,
Jul 16, 2009
QUERY- BROKEN (new query)
A revision has been posted, click here to read it.
Dear [Agent X],
Madeline “Madd” Gunn is a fallen cop who knows where to find the best breaded steak sandwich in Chicago, how to fire a .45 without missing, and who murdered her kid sister.
After every lead on her sister’s case dries up, Madd quits the force and teams up with a group of well-connected vigilantes who hunt down violent criminals and arrange their deaths. When “The Protectors” hand Madd the name of her sister’s killer and an untraceable .45, she fires four bullets into his chest and watches him die.
There’s only one problem. She killed the wrong man.
Once a phone call confirms her worst fears, Madd knows that someone has set her up. But who? Now her name is on The Protectors’ hit list and finding her sister’s killer is only the beginning of her problems. She needs to live long enough to uncover the truth, and some very powerful people want her dead.
BROKEN is an 86, 127 word thriller about the irreversible consequences of revenge. My short stories have appeared in [redacted] and [redacted].
Thank you for your time.
Dear [Agent X],
Madeline “Madd” Gunn is a fallen cop who knows where to find the best breaded steak sandwich in Chicago, how to fire a .45 without missing, and who murdered her kid sister.
After every lead on her sister’s case dries up, Madd quits the force and teams up with a group of well-connected vigilantes who hunt down violent criminals and arrange their deaths. When “The Protectors” hand Madd the name of her sister’s killer and an untraceable .45, she fires four bullets into his chest and watches him die.
There’s only one problem. She killed the wrong man.
Once a phone call confirms her worst fears, Madd knows that someone has set her up. But who? Now her name is on The Protectors’ hit list and finding her sister’s killer is only the beginning of her problems. She needs to live long enough to uncover the truth, and some very powerful people want her dead.
BROKEN is an 86, 127 word thriller about the irreversible consequences of revenge. My short stories have appeared in [redacted] and [redacted].
Thank you for your time.
QUERY- UNTITLED
Click here to read the sample pages.
A revision of this query has been posted, click here to read it.
I can handle large amounts of criticism. I'm just starting out writing and i am almost finished with my first novel. I have no ending paragraphs to my letter because I don't have any credentials or degree to mention - not sure what I should do with that?
Dear Mr. Agent,
I fell in love with your blog in my desperate need to learn as much as possible about writing a gold medal query letter. I am currently seeking representation for my Young Adult novel, UNTITLED, complete at 100,000 words.
Holly Flynn is a well respected English teacher and aspiring novelist married to her wonderful and attentive high school boyfriend. Her life is exactly as she always planned. That is until an old friend shows up at her door step handing over an item she hasn’t seen in ten years, her journal. Her eighteen year old self preserved in the form of a pink velvet notebook. As she opens the book, a photograph falls to the floor. A picture of herself embracing a mysterious boy who's face happens to be identical to the boy from her novel. A face she thought only existed in her fictional world. A face she’s devoted over 300 pages to.
After reading the journal she discovers her own written words tell a story different from the one she knows. Holly must decide to stay in the life she’s always known or to take a chance and leave everything behind. Is true love worth the pain? Her discoveries bring the conclusion that the world is much bigger than she ever imagined and the mystery surrounding the boy she loves is almost too much for any human to accept. The power to change the past is like playing God in a battle where right and wrong are not the only two sides competing.
A revision of this query has been posted, click here to read it.
I can handle large amounts of criticism. I'm just starting out writing and i am almost finished with my first novel. I have no ending paragraphs to my letter because I don't have any credentials or degree to mention - not sure what I should do with that?
Dear Mr. Agent,
I fell in love with your blog in my desperate need to learn as much as possible about writing a gold medal query letter. I am currently seeking representation for my Young Adult novel, UNTITLED, complete at 100,000 words.
Holly Flynn is a well respected English teacher and aspiring novelist married to her wonderful and attentive high school boyfriend. Her life is exactly as she always planned. That is until an old friend shows up at her door step handing over an item she hasn’t seen in ten years, her journal. Her eighteen year old self preserved in the form of a pink velvet notebook. As she opens the book, a photograph falls to the floor. A picture of herself embracing a mysterious boy who's face happens to be identical to the boy from her novel. A face she thought only existed in her fictional world. A face she’s devoted over 300 pages to.
After reading the journal she discovers her own written words tell a story different from the one she knows. Holly must decide to stay in the life she’s always known or to take a chance and leave everything behind. Is true love worth the pain? Her discoveries bring the conclusion that the world is much bigger than she ever imagined and the mystery surrounding the boy she loves is almost too much for any human to accept. The power to change the past is like playing God in a battle where right and wrong are not the only two sides competing.
Jul 15, 2009
Revising Queries
Slushpile follower / commenter Elana Johnson wrote an excellent post on the QueryTracker.net blog today, click here to read it.
I won't re-hash the entire thing (you really should read it for yourself!), but the gist is that you are better off if you let the criticism you receive sink in before rushing directly into your query revisions.
Take your time. Like in cooking, slower produces a better result. Never microwave a roast...
I won't re-hash the entire thing (you really should read it for yourself!), but the gist is that you are better off if you let the criticism you receive sink in before rushing directly into your query revisions.
Take your time. Like in cooking, slower produces a better result. Never microwave a roast...
Query - ACADIA, BOOK I: THE LOST KING AND THE GODDESS OF TIME
Have you heard of a place far in the cosmos called Acadia? No? Not surprising, for even the name is nothing but a whisper to most who know of its lore. Alien as it may sound; Acadia is a world much like ours. It is a world of strife and a world of harmony—a home to many heroes and to many villains. But what if the villain was a hero—the hero a villain?
In the years after the Great War, a proud king has sacrificed his own life to rid the world of an evil that consumed his body and now his soul. But his sacrifice goes in vain, for the evil survived and nested itself in the only thing most precious to him: his only son. Damont Langörn, a young lord of an estate, comes to learn the truth behind his blood and a cryptic prophecy that unfolds before him. Leaving him thus with only two choices: To bring a new era of peace to Acadia or to accept his ominous future that would bring another era of darkness and the death of the Acadian gods.
The future is inevitable. Damont Langörn, ruler of Acadia and the world of the divine, is challenged and slain by his once closest ally and friend: Derrick Avren. Instead of the void, the once middle-aged man wakes up in the farmlands of Garribus in the bloom of his youth, and recalls nothing but the chores he had to do. An ancient prophecy is soon revealed, and then comes to him visions of an uncertain future. Embarking on a quest with the aid of a sorceress and a hunter to fulfill a prophecy, Damont learns the truth of his parents. He is the child of an ancient king and the goddess of time, carrying in his veins a legendary bloodline: the house of Langörn!
Before the throne of Haldina, home to his ancestors, is relinquished into the birth of his reign, Damont is betrayed by the city’s steward, Duke Therodyll. The Duke has chosen another to entrust his realm: Derrick Avren, prince of the Empire of Zafrëal. With the god of war at his side, Derrick instigates a new war between the east and west—and one he plans to win. To avail his cause and to empower his name, the queen of the Kingdom of Illyiümia offers her crown and realm to Damont Langörn. But to win the war, Damont seeks an ancient weapon his father once wielded—the sword of cosmos! A sword that feasts upon his blood, and hungers for the blood of the divine; but through its power, Damont puts an end to the onslaught and invasion of Zafrëal. In the end, he reclaims the throne of his forefathers and brings peace to the war-torn lands with the death of the god of war, while sparing the life of Derrick Avren.
Little did he know that his dark and malevolent future still awaited him in the decades to come…
My novel of 189,000 words, ACADIA, BOOK I: THE LOST KING AND THE GODDESS OF TIME, is an epic fantasy aimed for general readers, but more hopefully, for readers who appreciate great works such as the Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R Tolkien, the Shadowmarch trilogy by Tad Williams, and the Crown of Stars series by Kate Elliott.
Thank you once again for your time and patience in considering my query.
Best regards,
Ali M. Naqvi
(angeluztb@gmail.com)
In the years after the Great War, a proud king has sacrificed his own life to rid the world of an evil that consumed his body and now his soul. But his sacrifice goes in vain, for the evil survived and nested itself in the only thing most precious to him: his only son. Damont Langörn, a young lord of an estate, comes to learn the truth behind his blood and a cryptic prophecy that unfolds before him. Leaving him thus with only two choices: To bring a new era of peace to Acadia or to accept his ominous future that would bring another era of darkness and the death of the Acadian gods.
The future is inevitable. Damont Langörn, ruler of Acadia and the world of the divine, is challenged and slain by his once closest ally and friend: Derrick Avren. Instead of the void, the once middle-aged man wakes up in the farmlands of Garribus in the bloom of his youth, and recalls nothing but the chores he had to do. An ancient prophecy is soon revealed, and then comes to him visions of an uncertain future. Embarking on a quest with the aid of a sorceress and a hunter to fulfill a prophecy, Damont learns the truth of his parents. He is the child of an ancient king and the goddess of time, carrying in his veins a legendary bloodline: the house of Langörn!
Before the throne of Haldina, home to his ancestors, is relinquished into the birth of his reign, Damont is betrayed by the city’s steward, Duke Therodyll. The Duke has chosen another to entrust his realm: Derrick Avren, prince of the Empire of Zafrëal. With the god of war at his side, Derrick instigates a new war between the east and west—and one he plans to win. To avail his cause and to empower his name, the queen of the Kingdom of Illyiümia offers her crown and realm to Damont Langörn. But to win the war, Damont seeks an ancient weapon his father once wielded—the sword of cosmos! A sword that feasts upon his blood, and hungers for the blood of the divine; but through its power, Damont puts an end to the onslaught and invasion of Zafrëal. In the end, he reclaims the throne of his forefathers and brings peace to the war-torn lands with the death of the god of war, while sparing the life of Derrick Avren.
Little did he know that his dark and malevolent future still awaited him in the decades to come…
My novel of 189,000 words, ACADIA, BOOK I: THE LOST KING AND THE GODDESS OF TIME, is an epic fantasy aimed for general readers, but more hopefully, for readers who appreciate great works such as the Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R Tolkien, the Shadowmarch trilogy by Tad Williams, and the Crown of Stars series by Kate Elliott.
Thank you once again for your time and patience in considering my query.
Best regards,
Ali M. Naqvi
(angeluztb@gmail.com)
Jul 14, 2009
Sample Pages - Quest Support (First Revision)
Well, I'm back. I've done some tweaking to the first chapter of Quest Support, and I think it's improved somewhat. The first chapter is only 6 pages, so I've posted the whole thing. Thanks!
Quest Support
Chapter One: In Which, Appropriately Enough, the Story Begins
The magic mirror rang again. Gilbert adjusted his headset and pressed the “talk” button on the mirror’s frame. His reflection dissolved into an image of a bleak landscape.
“Thank you for calling Quest Support,” said Gilbert. “My name is Gilbert. How can I help you?”
A young man clad in silver armor stood in a torrential rain and glowered at him. “Why isn’t my magic sword working?” he said.
“Could you be more specific?”
“I just told you, it's not working.” The caller tossed his head, long blond hair trailing out behind him.
“Yes, but what's it supposed to do?”
“How should I know?” said the caller. “The Elves who gave it to me said I would know what to do with it at the proper time. Well, we’re attacking the Dark Lord’s tower tight now, and the sword hasn't done anything. It must be broken.” A flash of lightning gleamed off his armor, immaculate save for an artistically-placed dent on the breastplate.
“I'll decide that,” said Gilbert, already taking a dislike to this caller. “Hold it up to the Quest Orb so I can see it.”
“Quest Orb?”
Gilbert sighed. “The round purple crystal you’re talking into right now. Hold the sword in front of it so I can see it.” Moron, he added to himself.
The man drew a gaudy sword with a shining blade and a gold crosspiece.
That's an actual sword? Gilbert thought. It looks like it should be hanging on some rich guy’s wall. “Let me look that up,” he told the caller.
Sword, silver blade with leaf pattern, gold grip that looks like dragon head with ruby eyes, Gilbert wrote on a piece of parchment on his desk. The words vanished, and Please wait appeared in their place as an enchantment searched Quest Support’s catalog of known magical artifacts. With a muffled thump, a stack of eight or ten pages appeared on the desk. 1 match found, the first page read, Legendary Sword Darkbane.
Gilbert groaned. “Okay, I’m going to have to put you on hold for a minute.”
“What? How dare you?”
“Look, you’ve got a Legendary Sword here. I’m going to have to wade through a few dozen pages of cryptic prophecy and shabby verse before I can figure out how the thing works.”
“But that’s….”
Gilbert punched the “Hold” button on the mirror frame. Caller on Hold, the mirror announced as he began flipping through the heap of parchment on his desk. “Let’s see,” he muttered to himself.
“Forged by elves in the fires of…not important. Some prophecy that’s already been fulfilled…bad poetry…more bad poetry…come on, that doesn’t even rhyme…ha!” He’d found something that could be useful. He skipped the text at the start of the paragraph, which was usually irrelevant, and went straight to the end. In dark of night, when all seems lost, Darkbane shall light, to burn the dross, Gilbert read. Why did the people who wrote this junk always fancy themselves bards? The verse concluded, The might of its flame shall fell the Dark, and save the land from fate most stark.
“Okay,” Gilbert said, taking the mirror off of hold. “I've got something.”
“About time!” said the caller.
“Let me ask you a question,” said Gilbert. “Has all hope been lost yet?”
“Well, no. Our army is taking a beating, but we haven't given up yet.”
“Well, there you go—the sword will only work when all hope has been lost.”
The client frowned. “Are you sure of this, boy?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Gilbert snapped. “This is good old Magical Weapon 74: the Deus Ex Machina on a stick.” He’d seen this type of sword at least four times this year.
“What are you babbling about, boy?”
“All I’m saying is…”
Phwoomph! Suddenly the sword Darkbane ignited with a flickering blue glow. “Ha!” cried the caller. “It’s working! I knew it all along! The Dark Lord will fall before me!”
“Suuuure you did.”
“I have no more time for idle talk, boy!” sneered the caller. “Destiny awaits!”
“Fine,” said Gilbert. “Goodbye. Jerk.” Gilbert pressed the “End” button on the mirror, and the caller’s image vanished. He disentangled his headset from his unkempt straw-colored hair and laid it on his desk. He’d been taking calls for the last eight hours, and the thing had been digging into his scalp something fierce.
“I need coffee,” Gilbert muttered. He wasn’t scheduled for a break until quitting time, but no one would notice his absence if he was quick. Gilbert shut off his mirror with another button press and stepped out of his cubicle. He made his way to the coffee machine at the other end of the cavernous call center, snatches of dozens of mirror calls flitting past his ears as he walked.
“…hold the wand firmly in your right hand and recite this incantation…”
“…how many kobolds are we talking about here?”
“…off-hand I’d say it’s probably poisoned, but let me check…”
Gilbert had poured himself a cup of coffee and was heading back toward his cubicle when someone called his name. “Gilbert! Hey, Gilbert!” He turned and looked down at the goblin who had grabbed hold of his belt. The green, bat-eared creature only came up to his belly button, and he stared up at him with imploring yellow eyes.
So much for being quick. “What now, uh….,”
“My name’s Knarf! I’ve worked here since last week, remember?”
“Oh, right, the guy who got his foot stuck in the snack machine.”
“Yeah! That was so embarrassing! So, I’m kind of having trouble with a call, and I thought maybe you could help. You’re a smart guy.”
“Knarf, I’m….”
“You’re not supposed to be on break, Gilbert!” boomed a thunderous voice from somewhere over his head. He looked up and found his way blocked by a scaly wall of red dragon.
“I’m…uh…helping Knarf with a call, Mr. Bloodscales,” said Gilbert.
Knarf’s nodded. “Yeah, Gilbert’s helping me with a call!”
The dragon Bloodscales rattled his wings and blew a puff of smoke out his nostrils. “Very well. But I want you back at your desk as soon as you’re finished. Understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Bloodscales.”
The division manager stormed off to bother some other employee. “Oh boy!” said Knarf.
“Thanks, Gilbert!”
“Don’t mention it,” Gilbert grunted.
He followed Knarf into his cubicle where the mirror showed a surly orc holding a withered branch in one hand. “He’s having problems with his Staff of Flame,” Knarf explained. “It’s shooting water instead of fire. I put him on hold so I could try to look up how to fix it, but I can’t find anything.”
Gilbert squinted at the mirror. “Is it shooting clear water or muddy water?”
“It’s pretty muddy.”
“Yeah, these staffs have this problem all the time. I’ve already taken two calls about it today.”
“What should I do?”
“Just call the Repairs department and they’ll send someone out with a replacement.”
“Okay! Mirror, get me the Repairs department.”
A droopy little man appeared in the mirror. “Hi, you’ve reached Frank in Repairs,” he wheezed. There was a pause while he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “I’m out sick right now, but if you’ll leave a message our backup enchanter will get to your request as soon as possible.”
“Huh,” said Gilbert. “I didn’t know we had a backup enchanter. Wonder who that could be?”
“Hi!” Knarf said to the mirror. “Groghclaw the orc has a Staff of Fire that’s shooting water. Could you please send someone out to help him as soon as you can?” He turned to Gilbert. “Boy, do I feel dumb. I just spent a half-hour trying to get that thing to work. Guess I’m just not thinking straight – it’s been a long day.”
“Tell me about it.” Gilbert took a swig of coffee. “Things should quiet down soon enough, though. By this time tomorrow, the Dark Lord will be defeated.”
“Oh, that’s good. And there won’t be so many calls any more?”
“Nope. Not until the next Dark Lord arises.” Gilbert glanced down the hall. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I should get back to my desk. I don’t want to get yelled at again.”
Gilbert made it back to his cubicle without attracting Bloodscales’ attention. As he turned his mirror on, he glanced at the stack of parchment that still sat on the desk. Directly below the part he’d read to the caller was another bit of verse he’d missed.
But strike forthwith, without delay, it read, for Darkbane’s power will not long stay.
Oops, thought Gilbert. Maybe I should call the guy back. The mirror rang again, and he jammed his headset back on. Never mind, I don’t have time now. He’ll be fine.
Quest Support
Chapter One: In Which, Appropriately Enough, the Story Begins
The magic mirror rang again. Gilbert adjusted his headset and pressed the “talk” button on the mirror’s frame. His reflection dissolved into an image of a bleak landscape.
“Thank you for calling Quest Support,” said Gilbert. “My name is Gilbert. How can I help you?”
A young man clad in silver armor stood in a torrential rain and glowered at him. “Why isn’t my magic sword working?” he said.
“Could you be more specific?”
“I just told you, it's not working.” The caller tossed his head, long blond hair trailing out behind him.
“Yes, but what's it supposed to do?”
“How should I know?” said the caller. “The Elves who gave it to me said I would know what to do with it at the proper time. Well, we’re attacking the Dark Lord’s tower tight now, and the sword hasn't done anything. It must be broken.” A flash of lightning gleamed off his armor, immaculate save for an artistically-placed dent on the breastplate.
“I'll decide that,” said Gilbert, already taking a dislike to this caller. “Hold it up to the Quest Orb so I can see it.”
“Quest Orb?”
Gilbert sighed. “The round purple crystal you’re talking into right now. Hold the sword in front of it so I can see it.” Moron, he added to himself.
The man drew a gaudy sword with a shining blade and a gold crosspiece.
That's an actual sword? Gilbert thought. It looks like it should be hanging on some rich guy’s wall. “Let me look that up,” he told the caller.
Sword, silver blade with leaf pattern, gold grip that looks like dragon head with ruby eyes, Gilbert wrote on a piece of parchment on his desk. The words vanished, and Please wait appeared in their place as an enchantment searched Quest Support’s catalog of known magical artifacts. With a muffled thump, a stack of eight or ten pages appeared on the desk. 1 match found, the first page read, Legendary Sword Darkbane.
Gilbert groaned. “Okay, I’m going to have to put you on hold for a minute.”
“What? How dare you?”
“Look, you’ve got a Legendary Sword here. I’m going to have to wade through a few dozen pages of cryptic prophecy and shabby verse before I can figure out how the thing works.”
“But that’s….”
Gilbert punched the “Hold” button on the mirror frame. Caller on Hold, the mirror announced as he began flipping through the heap of parchment on his desk. “Let’s see,” he muttered to himself.
“Forged by elves in the fires of…not important. Some prophecy that’s already been fulfilled…bad poetry…more bad poetry…come on, that doesn’t even rhyme…ha!” He’d found something that could be useful. He skipped the text at the start of the paragraph, which was usually irrelevant, and went straight to the end. In dark of night, when all seems lost, Darkbane shall light, to burn the dross, Gilbert read. Why did the people who wrote this junk always fancy themselves bards? The verse concluded, The might of its flame shall fell the Dark, and save the land from fate most stark.
“Okay,” Gilbert said, taking the mirror off of hold. “I've got something.”
“About time!” said the caller.
“Let me ask you a question,” said Gilbert. “Has all hope been lost yet?”
“Well, no. Our army is taking a beating, but we haven't given up yet.”
“Well, there you go—the sword will only work when all hope has been lost.”
The client frowned. “Are you sure of this, boy?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Gilbert snapped. “This is good old Magical Weapon 74: the Deus Ex Machina on a stick.” He’d seen this type of sword at least four times this year.
“What are you babbling about, boy?”
“All I’m saying is…”
Phwoomph! Suddenly the sword Darkbane ignited with a flickering blue glow. “Ha!” cried the caller. “It’s working! I knew it all along! The Dark Lord will fall before me!”
“Suuuure you did.”
“I have no more time for idle talk, boy!” sneered the caller. “Destiny awaits!”
“Fine,” said Gilbert. “Goodbye. Jerk.” Gilbert pressed the “End” button on the mirror, and the caller’s image vanished. He disentangled his headset from his unkempt straw-colored hair and laid it on his desk. He’d been taking calls for the last eight hours, and the thing had been digging into his scalp something fierce.
“I need coffee,” Gilbert muttered. He wasn’t scheduled for a break until quitting time, but no one would notice his absence if he was quick. Gilbert shut off his mirror with another button press and stepped out of his cubicle. He made his way to the coffee machine at the other end of the cavernous call center, snatches of dozens of mirror calls flitting past his ears as he walked.
“…hold the wand firmly in your right hand and recite this incantation…”
“…how many kobolds are we talking about here?”
“…off-hand I’d say it’s probably poisoned, but let me check…”
Gilbert had poured himself a cup of coffee and was heading back toward his cubicle when someone called his name. “Gilbert! Hey, Gilbert!” He turned and looked down at the goblin who had grabbed hold of his belt. The green, bat-eared creature only came up to his belly button, and he stared up at him with imploring yellow eyes.
So much for being quick. “What now, uh….,”
“My name’s Knarf! I’ve worked here since last week, remember?”
“Oh, right, the guy who got his foot stuck in the snack machine.”
“Yeah! That was so embarrassing! So, I’m kind of having trouble with a call, and I thought maybe you could help. You’re a smart guy.”
“Knarf, I’m….”
“You’re not supposed to be on break, Gilbert!” boomed a thunderous voice from somewhere over his head. He looked up and found his way blocked by a scaly wall of red dragon.
“I’m…uh…helping Knarf with a call, Mr. Bloodscales,” said Gilbert.
Knarf’s nodded. “Yeah, Gilbert’s helping me with a call!”
The dragon Bloodscales rattled his wings and blew a puff of smoke out his nostrils. “Very well. But I want you back at your desk as soon as you’re finished. Understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Bloodscales.”
The division manager stormed off to bother some other employee. “Oh boy!” said Knarf.
“Thanks, Gilbert!”
“Don’t mention it,” Gilbert grunted.
He followed Knarf into his cubicle where the mirror showed a surly orc holding a withered branch in one hand. “He’s having problems with his Staff of Flame,” Knarf explained. “It’s shooting water instead of fire. I put him on hold so I could try to look up how to fix it, but I can’t find anything.”
Gilbert squinted at the mirror. “Is it shooting clear water or muddy water?”
“It’s pretty muddy.”
“Yeah, these staffs have this problem all the time. I’ve already taken two calls about it today.”
“What should I do?”
“Just call the Repairs department and they’ll send someone out with a replacement.”
“Okay! Mirror, get me the Repairs department.”
A droopy little man appeared in the mirror. “Hi, you’ve reached Frank in Repairs,” he wheezed. There was a pause while he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “I’m out sick right now, but if you’ll leave a message our backup enchanter will get to your request as soon as possible.”
“Huh,” said Gilbert. “I didn’t know we had a backup enchanter. Wonder who that could be?”
“Hi!” Knarf said to the mirror. “Groghclaw the orc has a Staff of Fire that’s shooting water. Could you please send someone out to help him as soon as you can?” He turned to Gilbert. “Boy, do I feel dumb. I just spent a half-hour trying to get that thing to work. Guess I’m just not thinking straight – it’s been a long day.”
“Tell me about it.” Gilbert took a swig of coffee. “Things should quiet down soon enough, though. By this time tomorrow, the Dark Lord will be defeated.”
“Oh, that’s good. And there won’t be so many calls any more?”
“Nope. Not until the next Dark Lord arises.” Gilbert glanced down the hall. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I should get back to my desk. I don’t want to get yelled at again.”
Gilbert made it back to his cubicle without attracting Bloodscales’ attention. As he turned his mirror on, he glanced at the stack of parchment that still sat on the desk. Directly below the part he’d read to the caller was another bit of verse he’d missed.
But strike forthwith, without delay, it read, for Darkbane’s power will not long stay.
Oops, thought Gilbert. Maybe I should call the guy back. The mirror rang again, and he jammed his headset back on. Never mind, I don’t have time now. He’ll be fine.
Jul 9, 2009
Query - Margarita Nights - V2
Click here to read the original query.
Okay, here's the second version with some minor (possibly major) changes! Thanks
MARGARITA NIGHTS is a 72,000-word commercial fiction novel that presents a realistic portrait of gay life.
One question – do you love me? – by his partner of five years makes Jared realize that sometimes, love is not enough. He loves his partner. He is also, perhaps unhealthily so, consumed with thoughts of a kiss – a simple peck on the lips, in greeting only – from a friend. He doesn’t have a fairy godmother (though he knows a few drag queens in sparkly dresses) to wave her magic wand and fix his problems. He only has the boyz (well, grown men desperately trying to hang on to their youth), snarky comments, and margarita nights once a month to help him figure out if even the most meaningless relationships, ironically, have meaning after all.
Jared’s biggest fear is ending up alone. His current relationship is not as stable as he once thought. His love for his partner doesn’t seem enough to him any longer. He doesn’t know if he has the courage and strength to walk away from a good relationship to, maybe, find a better relationship. He just knows that love doesn’t seem enough. He just isn’t sure what price he is willing to pay to – hopefully – find his happily ever after.
On any given Friday night, I can be found drinking margaritas and listening, perhaps adding a tidbit or two, to the gayvine. As per the guidelines on your website, I have included the first ten pages of my completed manuscript.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Okay, here's the second version with some minor (possibly major) changes! Thanks
MARGARITA NIGHTS is a 72,000-word commercial fiction novel that presents a realistic portrait of gay life.
One question – do you love me? – by his partner of five years makes Jared realize that sometimes, love is not enough. He loves his partner. He is also, perhaps unhealthily so, consumed with thoughts of a kiss – a simple peck on the lips, in greeting only – from a friend. He doesn’t have a fairy godmother (though he knows a few drag queens in sparkly dresses) to wave her magic wand and fix his problems. He only has the boyz (well, grown men desperately trying to hang on to their youth), snarky comments, and margarita nights once a month to help him figure out if even the most meaningless relationships, ironically, have meaning after all.
Jared’s biggest fear is ending up alone. His current relationship is not as stable as he once thought. His love for his partner doesn’t seem enough to him any longer. He doesn’t know if he has the courage and strength to walk away from a good relationship to, maybe, find a better relationship. He just knows that love doesn’t seem enough. He just isn’t sure what price he is willing to pay to – hopefully – find his happily ever after.
On any given Friday night, I can be found drinking margaritas and listening, perhaps adding a tidbit or two, to the gayvine. As per the guidelines on your website, I have included the first ten pages of my completed manuscript.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sample pages-A Profusion of Want
Click here to read the query.
I was sixteen years old the first time I met Grey Koniges, at a high school chess tournament in a crappy gym on a dreary day.
The bleachers were less than a quarter full, only the most tenacious of parents and contenders staying to watch the championship match. They shifted constantly under the fluorescent lights, searching for a comfortable position on the hard benches. Many stifled yawns, and a few grandparents and small children were asleep. One father’s pockets bulged with cash he’d gotten from selling the puzzles in his sudoku book to other parents for five dollars a piece; but all of the puzzles had been solved hours before and now all there was to do was wait, and watch. The only sounds were the recurring sniffle of a child with a bad cold and the light patter of rain against the roof and high, grimy windows.
Down on the main floor, folding card tables were arranged in a neat grid across the lines of the basketball court. All except one were laden with finished games, pawns discarded, queens attacking, kings fallen. Abandoned battlefields.
It had been a long day.
I wasn’t particularly good at chess. I had the potential to be, since I was intelligent enough and had been told—both by people who liked me and those who did not—that I had an aggressive and cunning mind. However, I lacked the interest or the patience. Protracted battles weren’t my thing. The only reason I was there at all was to get a few points extra credit from my math teacher, Mrs. Mendez, which would push my grade from a tenuous B- to a solid B.
Before the tournament, Mrs. Mendez had pulled me away from the chess team, whose pimply, super-intelligent members were somewhat skeptical about my participation, to reassure me that I wasn’t expected to win and that I should “just try to have a good time.”
Mrs. Mendez was new to the school. She didn’t know me well. She didn’t know that I didn’t start things if I thought I would do poorly in them, and I never, ever lost.
It was the last round of the tournament, and I was winning.
My opponent was a boy several years younger than me, small for his age, with thick glasses and thin limbs. I’d forgotten his name, but he looked like a Simon.
Simon had obviously skipped a few grades. As Mrs. Mendez had told me in an excited whisper, he’d blown through all of his previous games more quickly than was strictly polite. I, on the other hand, had won my previous five rounds through sheer determination and the occasional lucky guess.
Simon’s face was pinched as he examined our board, contemplating his next move. I had fewer pieces left than he did, but while most of his were pawns, most of mine weren’t. Finally he reached forward, setting one small hand on his queen, the beginnings of a grin on his face that I did not like at all. I could practically hear the audience take a collective deep breath.
“I’m going to win, you know,” I said, tapping one of my murdered pawns lightly against the edge of the table.
Simon blinked and pulled his hand away. The audience exhaled. “Oh yeah?” He tilted his head and squinted at me suspiciously.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back in my squeaky chair and crossing my arms over my chest. I ignored the ache in my back from sitting in one position too long. “You know why?”
He twitched, his eyes darting from my face to the board and back again. “Why?”
I smirked. “Because I know exactly what you’re going to do next. You’re predictable. It’ll be all too easy.”
Come on, kid. Mess up, I thought intently.
“We’ll see about that,” he blustered, but now his forehead was furrowed and there was fear in his eyes. He reached for the queen again, his hand hovering over her. He stayed like that for almost a minute before he let out a put-upon sigh and moved his remaining bishop instead.
I smoothed a hand down my face to conceal my grin. Whatever Simon had been about to do with that queen would have been bad for me, I was sure. Even better, now that I’d made him flinch once, I knew how to do it again. A studied slouch to my posture, a certain gleam in my eye at the right time, and he was lost. Five moves later, Simon used his stubby pointer finger to tip over his king, then slumped back in his chair, staring at the board and wondering when, exactly, things had gone so wrong.
The moderator, who’d been struggling to stay awake while watching the progress of the game from a chair a few feet away, didn’t realize at first what had happened. It was only when I stood to shake Simon’s hand that his eyes widened and he leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat and announced, “Shale Peterson is the winner!”
The audience burst into a smattering of applause. Most of the parents headed eagerly for the exits, their disheartened children by their sides. A few came across the gymnasium floor to offer their congratulations, Mrs. Mendez foremost among them. She seemed to bounce with each step, beaming with astonished pride.
“I can’t believe it,” she told me, near tears. “I’m so proud of you, Shale.”
She seized me by the arm, her hands like pincers, and pulled me toward the mob of well-wishers and enthusiasts. They congratulated me and shook my hand and used a lot of chess terms I didn’t know.
“However did you think to set that trap for his knight?” one man asked.
I shrugged. “Intuition?”
They all laughed.
“Well, I knew all along that she would go far,” Mrs. Mendez kept saying, arm around my shoulders. “One of my best students, you know.” She winked and tapped my forehead with one long-nailed finger. “Mind like a steel trap.”
I didn’t much care for public attention—that wasn’t the reason I was so competitive—and the approbation from my fans quickly became too much. I tried to step back but found myself held in place by Mrs. Mendez’s iron grip. She was conversing so enthusiastically with a young man holding a notepad—a news reporter, perhaps—that she didn’t seem to have noticed my attempt to move.
Finally I smiled awkwardly and told the group, “Excuse me, I need to grab a drink of water.” With a twist of my body only possible because I was a tae kwon do student, I slipped out from under Mrs. Mendez’s arm and made my escape.
The water fountain was in an alcove out of sight of the main floor and for a few minutes I just leaned against the sticky wall with my eyes closed, feeling oddly tired. I could hear the murmur of voices and the squeaks of tennis shoes against the laminated wooden floor. After a moment I realized that I really was thirsty and held down the round metal button, only to watch in annoyance as a dribble of water seeped half-heartedly from the spout.
“Some might say that that was bad sportsmanship.” The voice came from behind me, and was rich and deep and sounded like it should have had a British accent.
I jerked with surprise, banging my hip painfully against the fountain as I spun around to face the man who had spoken. He was very tall, and handsome in a way-too-old-for-me kind of way, with a firm jaw and a full head of thick black hair that had a hint of white at the edges. His suit looked expensive, not that I was any kind of judge. A half-smile played along his lips. He had the most extraordinary grey eyes—piercing and intelligent and unsettling.
Suddenly chilled, I rubbed my arms, feeling goose bumps.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, leaning away from him and setting my chin in that stubborn way my mother hated. “I never broke the rules.”
I wasn’t sure why he made me feel so uncomfortable. We were in a public place; if I raised my voice there was a crowd of people who would rush to my aid.
“I never said you did,” he said. “Nor am I chastising you. That was well done.”
Oh. That was unexpected. And didn’t make me any better. “Thanks.” He seemed to be waiting for me to say something else, and at last I blurted, “Are you some kind of chess talent scout or something? Because I’m not interested.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’m a scout, of sorts, but not of chess,” he said.
His hands were empty, but he gave his right hand a little flourish and suddenly he was holding a business card between his index and middle finger. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I was a little too old to be impressed by magic tricks. He held out the card and I took it, tucking it into the pocket of my jeans without looking at it.
“I’m Grey. Grey Koniges,” he said, keeping his hand out.
The name sent a strange little tingle down my spine. It felt like a warning.
I hesitated. In most situations I didn’t go around giving my name to strangers. Of course, that caution seemed silly given the way my name, in bold, capital letters, was currently being pinned at the top of the tournament chart for all to see.
“Shale,” I said, taking his hand, which was pleasantly warm, and making sure that my grip was as strong as his.
“Interesting name,” he said.
I nodded, extracting my hand from his. There was the briefest moment of resistance, as if he didn’t want to let me go.
“Isn’t it, though. It was nice to meet you.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and began to walk away.
“Weren’t you going to have a drink?” he called after me.
I turned back, my eyes narrowed. “The fountain doesn’t work.”
“Oh?” He leaned over the water fountain, pressed the button, and took a long, slow gulp as sparkling water arched from the spout.
I was sixteen years old the first time I met Grey Koniges, at a high school chess tournament in a crappy gym on a dreary day.
The bleachers were less than a quarter full, only the most tenacious of parents and contenders staying to watch the championship match. They shifted constantly under the fluorescent lights, searching for a comfortable position on the hard benches. Many stifled yawns, and a few grandparents and small children were asleep. One father’s pockets bulged with cash he’d gotten from selling the puzzles in his sudoku book to other parents for five dollars a piece; but all of the puzzles had been solved hours before and now all there was to do was wait, and watch. The only sounds were the recurring sniffle of a child with a bad cold and the light patter of rain against the roof and high, grimy windows.
Down on the main floor, folding card tables were arranged in a neat grid across the lines of the basketball court. All except one were laden with finished games, pawns discarded, queens attacking, kings fallen. Abandoned battlefields.
It had been a long day.
I wasn’t particularly good at chess. I had the potential to be, since I was intelligent enough and had been told—both by people who liked me and those who did not—that I had an aggressive and cunning mind. However, I lacked the interest or the patience. Protracted battles weren’t my thing. The only reason I was there at all was to get a few points extra credit from my math teacher, Mrs. Mendez, which would push my grade from a tenuous B- to a solid B.
Before the tournament, Mrs. Mendez had pulled me away from the chess team, whose pimply, super-intelligent members were somewhat skeptical about my participation, to reassure me that I wasn’t expected to win and that I should “just try to have a good time.”
Mrs. Mendez was new to the school. She didn’t know me well. She didn’t know that I didn’t start things if I thought I would do poorly in them, and I never, ever lost.
It was the last round of the tournament, and I was winning.
My opponent was a boy several years younger than me, small for his age, with thick glasses and thin limbs. I’d forgotten his name, but he looked like a Simon.
Simon had obviously skipped a few grades. As Mrs. Mendez had told me in an excited whisper, he’d blown through all of his previous games more quickly than was strictly polite. I, on the other hand, had won my previous five rounds through sheer determination and the occasional lucky guess.
Simon’s face was pinched as he examined our board, contemplating his next move. I had fewer pieces left than he did, but while most of his were pawns, most of mine weren’t. Finally he reached forward, setting one small hand on his queen, the beginnings of a grin on his face that I did not like at all. I could practically hear the audience take a collective deep breath.
“I’m going to win, you know,” I said, tapping one of my murdered pawns lightly against the edge of the table.
Simon blinked and pulled his hand away. The audience exhaled. “Oh yeah?” He tilted his head and squinted at me suspiciously.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back in my squeaky chair and crossing my arms over my chest. I ignored the ache in my back from sitting in one position too long. “You know why?”
He twitched, his eyes darting from my face to the board and back again. “Why?”
I smirked. “Because I know exactly what you’re going to do next. You’re predictable. It’ll be all too easy.”
Come on, kid. Mess up, I thought intently.
“We’ll see about that,” he blustered, but now his forehead was furrowed and there was fear in his eyes. He reached for the queen again, his hand hovering over her. He stayed like that for almost a minute before he let out a put-upon sigh and moved his remaining bishop instead.
I smoothed a hand down my face to conceal my grin. Whatever Simon had been about to do with that queen would have been bad for me, I was sure. Even better, now that I’d made him flinch once, I knew how to do it again. A studied slouch to my posture, a certain gleam in my eye at the right time, and he was lost. Five moves later, Simon used his stubby pointer finger to tip over his king, then slumped back in his chair, staring at the board and wondering when, exactly, things had gone so wrong.
The moderator, who’d been struggling to stay awake while watching the progress of the game from a chair a few feet away, didn’t realize at first what had happened. It was only when I stood to shake Simon’s hand that his eyes widened and he leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat and announced, “Shale Peterson is the winner!”
The audience burst into a smattering of applause. Most of the parents headed eagerly for the exits, their disheartened children by their sides. A few came across the gymnasium floor to offer their congratulations, Mrs. Mendez foremost among them. She seemed to bounce with each step, beaming with astonished pride.
“I can’t believe it,” she told me, near tears. “I’m so proud of you, Shale.”
She seized me by the arm, her hands like pincers, and pulled me toward the mob of well-wishers and enthusiasts. They congratulated me and shook my hand and used a lot of chess terms I didn’t know.
“However did you think to set that trap for his knight?” one man asked.
I shrugged. “Intuition?”
They all laughed.
“Well, I knew all along that she would go far,” Mrs. Mendez kept saying, arm around my shoulders. “One of my best students, you know.” She winked and tapped my forehead with one long-nailed finger. “Mind like a steel trap.”
I didn’t much care for public attention—that wasn’t the reason I was so competitive—and the approbation from my fans quickly became too much. I tried to step back but found myself held in place by Mrs. Mendez’s iron grip. She was conversing so enthusiastically with a young man holding a notepad—a news reporter, perhaps—that she didn’t seem to have noticed my attempt to move.
Finally I smiled awkwardly and told the group, “Excuse me, I need to grab a drink of water.” With a twist of my body only possible because I was a tae kwon do student, I slipped out from under Mrs. Mendez’s arm and made my escape.
The water fountain was in an alcove out of sight of the main floor and for a few minutes I just leaned against the sticky wall with my eyes closed, feeling oddly tired. I could hear the murmur of voices and the squeaks of tennis shoes against the laminated wooden floor. After a moment I realized that I really was thirsty and held down the round metal button, only to watch in annoyance as a dribble of water seeped half-heartedly from the spout.
“Some might say that that was bad sportsmanship.” The voice came from behind me, and was rich and deep and sounded like it should have had a British accent.
I jerked with surprise, banging my hip painfully against the fountain as I spun around to face the man who had spoken. He was very tall, and handsome in a way-too-old-for-me kind of way, with a firm jaw and a full head of thick black hair that had a hint of white at the edges. His suit looked expensive, not that I was any kind of judge. A half-smile played along his lips. He had the most extraordinary grey eyes—piercing and intelligent and unsettling.
Suddenly chilled, I rubbed my arms, feeling goose bumps.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, leaning away from him and setting my chin in that stubborn way my mother hated. “I never broke the rules.”
I wasn’t sure why he made me feel so uncomfortable. We were in a public place; if I raised my voice there was a crowd of people who would rush to my aid.
“I never said you did,” he said. “Nor am I chastising you. That was well done.”
Oh. That was unexpected. And didn’t make me any better. “Thanks.” He seemed to be waiting for me to say something else, and at last I blurted, “Are you some kind of chess talent scout or something? Because I’m not interested.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’m a scout, of sorts, but not of chess,” he said.
His hands were empty, but he gave his right hand a little flourish and suddenly he was holding a business card between his index and middle finger. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I was a little too old to be impressed by magic tricks. He held out the card and I took it, tucking it into the pocket of my jeans without looking at it.
“I’m Grey. Grey Koniges,” he said, keeping his hand out.
The name sent a strange little tingle down my spine. It felt like a warning.
I hesitated. In most situations I didn’t go around giving my name to strangers. Of course, that caution seemed silly given the way my name, in bold, capital letters, was currently being pinned at the top of the tournament chart for all to see.
“Shale,” I said, taking his hand, which was pleasantly warm, and making sure that my grip was as strong as his.
“Interesting name,” he said.
I nodded, extracting my hand from his. There was the briefest moment of resistance, as if he didn’t want to let me go.
“Isn’t it, though. It was nice to meet you.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and began to walk away.
“Weren’t you going to have a drink?” he called after me.
I turned back, my eyes narrowed. “The fountain doesn’t work.”
“Oh?” He leaned over the water fountain, pressed the button, and took a long, slow gulp as sparkling water arched from the spout.
QUERY- SOUTH BEACH STAR (Revision 2)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal. Jamie opts for a new life and escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR where his star burns brightly but eventually falls from the sky.
Without looking back, Jamie Kidd leaves the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie can barely face himself, much less his family or friends who know nothing of his hidden relationship. Packing in the middle of the night for a new life, Jamie drives until he lands in Miami. Feeling out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach, Jamie discovers a town where beauty and wealth outclass talent and skill. After a chance meeting with the gregarious editor of SOUTH BEACH STAR, a trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers, Jamie lands a job as editorial assistant. As promised writing assignments never material, Jamie turns an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity. His coverage of the celebrity party proves Jamie’s talent and secures him the position as the STAR’s weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
South Beach opens its arms and doors to Jamie, who, like an actor taking on a new role, throws himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingles with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie transforms himself into the nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality, is an out-of-control roller-coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his gradual addiction to crystal meth. Like many before him, Jamie loses control and finds himself jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives unexpectedly, offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York but he eventually returns to South Beach.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to Miami from Virginia, where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve also been a contributing writer for publications such as V Magazine, ZED Magazine, Miamigo, Ocean Drive, Genre, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM, Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip, and the Miami Herald. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Click here to read the first revision.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal. Jamie opts for a new life and escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR where his star burns brightly but eventually falls from the sky.
Without looking back, Jamie Kidd leaves the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie can barely face himself, much less his family or friends who know nothing of his hidden relationship. Packing in the middle of the night for a new life, Jamie drives until he lands in Miami. Feeling out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach, Jamie discovers a town where beauty and wealth outclass talent and skill. After a chance meeting with the gregarious editor of SOUTH BEACH STAR, a trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers, Jamie lands a job as editorial assistant. As promised writing assignments never material, Jamie turns an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity. His coverage of the celebrity party proves Jamie’s talent and secures him the position as the STAR’s weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
South Beach opens its arms and doors to Jamie, who, like an actor taking on a new role, throws himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingles with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie transforms himself into the nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality, is an out-of-control roller-coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his gradual addiction to crystal meth. Like many before him, Jamie loses control and finds himself jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives unexpectedly, offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York but he eventually returns to South Beach.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to Miami from Virginia, where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve also been a contributing writer for publications such as V Magazine, ZED Magazine, Miamigo, Ocean Drive, Genre, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM, Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip, and the Miami Herald. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Jul 8, 2009
QUERY- SOUTH BEACH STAR (Revision 1)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read revision 2.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal, so he escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR but falls victim to a life of debauchery.
Jamie Kidd left his heart in the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie could barely face himself or deal with being dumped by his secret lover, so he packed his car and drove until he landed in Miami. Jamie felt out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach but found a job as an editor’s assistant at a local trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers. Promised writing assignments never materialized so Jamie turned an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity and a job promotion. His coverage of the celebrity party transformed Jamie into a weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
Jamie’s old life was quickly forgotten as he hurled himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingled with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie gradually morphed into a nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality an out-of-control roller coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his addiction to crystal meth, soon crashed leaving him jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives to save the day offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to South Beach from Virginia where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve been a contributing writer and photographer for publications such as Miamigo, Ocean Drive, D’Vox, Genre, SKIN, Contemporary Woman, Scoop, Groove, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM (Lincoln Road Magazine), Closer Magazine, MAP (Music Art People),Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip Magazine, and Miami Herald as well as websites like MiamiArtZine.com, cooljunkie.com and MiamiStar.com. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Click here to read revision 2.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal, so he escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR but falls victim to a life of debauchery.
Jamie Kidd left his heart in the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie could barely face himself or deal with being dumped by his secret lover, so he packed his car and drove until he landed in Miami. Jamie felt out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach but found a job as an editor’s assistant at a local trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers. Promised writing assignments never materialized so Jamie turned an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity and a job promotion. His coverage of the celebrity party transformed Jamie into a weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
Jamie’s old life was quickly forgotten as he hurled himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingled with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie gradually morphed into a nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality an out-of-control roller coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his addiction to crystal meth, soon crashed leaving him jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives to save the day offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to South Beach from Virginia where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve been a contributing writer and photographer for publications such as Miamigo, Ocean Drive, D’Vox, Genre, SKIN, Contemporary Woman, Scoop, Groove, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM (Lincoln Road Magazine), Closer Magazine, MAP (Music Art People),Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip Magazine, and Miami Herald as well as websites like MiamiArtZine.com, cooljunkie.com and MiamiStar.com. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Query-A Profusion of Want
Click here to read the first revision (Retitled as KINGMAKER).
Click here to read the sample pages.
Click here to read the second revision (KINGMAKER).
Dear [Agent],
When sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson really wants something to happen, it does. That’s how she wins every competition she enters, from tennis to chess. According to her soon-to-be stepfather Grey, it’s also the reason her mother Leah is still alive long after doctors say that a brain tumor should have killed her. Shale admires Grey, the head of an international corporation and the only person she’s ever known as strong-willed as she is. But she mistrusts him too—because he seems to care more about becoming Shale’s father than becoming Leah’s husband.
Bit by bit, Shale’s doubts melt away as Grey draws her into his world of power and possibilities, of duty and privilege—a world hidden in plain sight and filled with people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same—a world which, unbeknownst to Shale, Grey intends for her to one day rule. Shortly after Grey and Leah leave on their honeymoon an attempt on Shale’s life lands her in the hospital, and repeated covert attacks after she is released prove that she’s not safe anywhere—and worse, that she can’t trust anyone. What galvanizes Shale to action, however, is not fear for her own life but for her mother’s: because Grey and Leah have disappeared on their honeymoon and Leah is still very sick.
Uncertain of whether her strong will really is a form of magic, Shale must overcome an unfamiliar enemy, doubt—because, magic or not, the only thing she can rely on now is her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her mysterious assassin, and she's going to ensure that they can never touch her again. With it, she is going to get Leah back.
And if they've hurt her mother? Shale is going to burn their world down.
A PROFUSION OF WANT is a young adult novel, complete at 80,000 words.
Click here to read the sample pages.
Click here to read the second revision (KINGMAKER).
Dear [Agent],
When sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson really wants something to happen, it does. That’s how she wins every competition she enters, from tennis to chess. According to her soon-to-be stepfather Grey, it’s also the reason her mother Leah is still alive long after doctors say that a brain tumor should have killed her. Shale admires Grey, the head of an international corporation and the only person she’s ever known as strong-willed as she is. But she mistrusts him too—because he seems to care more about becoming Shale’s father than becoming Leah’s husband.
Bit by bit, Shale’s doubts melt away as Grey draws her into his world of power and possibilities, of duty and privilege—a world hidden in plain sight and filled with people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same—a world which, unbeknownst to Shale, Grey intends for her to one day rule. Shortly after Grey and Leah leave on their honeymoon an attempt on Shale’s life lands her in the hospital, and repeated covert attacks after she is released prove that she’s not safe anywhere—and worse, that she can’t trust anyone. What galvanizes Shale to action, however, is not fear for her own life but for her mother’s: because Grey and Leah have disappeared on their honeymoon and Leah is still very sick.
Uncertain of whether her strong will really is a form of magic, Shale must overcome an unfamiliar enemy, doubt—because, magic or not, the only thing she can rely on now is her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her mysterious assassin, and she's going to ensure that they can never touch her again. With it, she is going to get Leah back.
And if they've hurt her mother? Shale is going to burn their world down.
A PROFUSION OF WANT is a young adult novel, complete at 80,000 words.
QUERY- SOUTH BEACH STAR
A revision of this query has been posted, click here to read it. It's the same one posted in the comments below.
Click here to read revision 2.
ATTN: AGENT
To become a star is everyone’s dream. To become a star in New York you have to make it on Broadway, in Hollywood you need a hit television show or a top grossing movie, in Milan you have to be a world renowned fashion designer but in South Beach everyone, well practically everyone, thinks that he or she is already a star or at least has dreams to become one. South Beach, the home of the beautiful, flamboyant and fabulous, was once the playground of models, celebrities, playboys, drag queens, gay circuit boys and millionaires. Today the party is over, well almost, and the developers have taken over, but in 1996 everyone was a star and the parties were incredible. And I was at every party.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I survived the millions of air kisses and late night parties but like a war correspondent I have plenty of memories and scars. I’ve written an adventurous fictional tell-all of the real behind the scenes South Beach. They say that truth is often more unbelievable than fiction but while much of this story rings true it’s pure fiction. Or possibly it’s all true as my memory has been warped by years of living in a world where lies passed as truth. Fantasy or reality, it didn’t really matter as everyone looked great and I had a great time. Or did I?
SOUTH BEACH STAR is a fictional account of a nightlife writer’s adventures in wonderland and is filled with quirky characters reminiscent of Holly Golightly of BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S and Little Kiwi from Ethan Mordden’s BUDDIES. Imagine THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA but the main character gets a job as a nightlife writer and suddenly finds himself fighting to survive in BRIGHT LIGHTS BIG CITY while partying with the crew from CELBUTANTES. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 64,942 words.
Click here to read revision 2.
ATTN: AGENT
To become a star is everyone’s dream. To become a star in New York you have to make it on Broadway, in Hollywood you need a hit television show or a top grossing movie, in Milan you have to be a world renowned fashion designer but in South Beach everyone, well practically everyone, thinks that he or she is already a star or at least has dreams to become one. South Beach, the home of the beautiful, flamboyant and fabulous, was once the playground of models, celebrities, playboys, drag queens, gay circuit boys and millionaires. Today the party is over, well almost, and the developers have taken over, but in 1996 everyone was a star and the parties were incredible. And I was at every party.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I survived the millions of air kisses and late night parties but like a war correspondent I have plenty of memories and scars. I’ve written an adventurous fictional tell-all of the real behind the scenes South Beach. They say that truth is often more unbelievable than fiction but while much of this story rings true it’s pure fiction. Or possibly it’s all true as my memory has been warped by years of living in a world where lies passed as truth. Fantasy or reality, it didn’t really matter as everyone looked great and I had a great time. Or did I?
SOUTH BEACH STAR is a fictional account of a nightlife writer’s adventures in wonderland and is filled with quirky characters reminiscent of Holly Golightly of BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S and Little Kiwi from Ethan Mordden’s BUDDIES. Imagine THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA but the main character gets a job as a nightlife writer and suddenly finds himself fighting to survive in BRIGHT LIGHTS BIG CITY while partying with the crew from CELBUTANTES. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 64,942 words.
Agent Interview- Jessica Faust of BookEnds, LLC
Attention Slushpile Readers:
Jessica Faust, a literary agent with BookEnds, LLC, was gracious enough with her time to respond to an interview request. Thank you Jessica!
She also maintains the BookEnds blog, which is well worth your time (if you are not already a regular reader...I see some of your names in the comments regularly.)
So without further ado...
1. What is the most recent novel you’ve read (that was not directly
related to your job as an agent)? I’ve actually just started My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Piccoult. I’m embarrassed to say this has been sitting on my nightstand since the book was first published and I’m just now getting around to it.
2. What did you like best about that book? So far the best I can say is that her writing is really amazing.
3. What is the most challenging aspect of your job these days? I think it’s keeping all of the balls in the air. My inbox right now has 300+ unanswered emails and there are a stack of requested proposals sitting in my office. Unfortunately, those all have to wait while I work with my clients to revise and edit their proposals and manuscripts (sometimes multiple times), negotiate and review contracts, and generally answer any and all questions they might have. Of course, adding the blog to my daily to-do list certainly doesn’t help keep my schedule light, but it’s something I love so I think I’ll keep it.
4. What is the most rewarding aspect of your job, overall? It’s that I get to do what I love every single day. As a child I loved nothing more then losing myself in a book and now I get paid to do just that. I admire writers because I know I don’t have the fortitude to sit and put 100,000 words on paper and have them make sense so in my mind I get to do the next best thing and it appeals more to my strengths, I get to be the right hand woman to those writers and really work with them to make their dreams become reality.
5. How do the following factors influence the genres you rep:
- Network of editors you know While there’s no doubt that comes into play the truth is that I don’t worry about it too much. If I really love a project I can always add new editors to my network and I do on a daily basis.
- Current / anticipated market conditions To some degree. Certainly, when erotic romance first started to hit big I was lucky enough to have seen it coming and have a couple of really great authors in my stable ready to go. However, as I will always say, we can’t write or agent to the market so while I’m less likely to take on a book if I think the market might be tough, if the book is really great I’m going to go for it anyway.
- Personal reading preference I think this is probably the greatest influence, but what I think authors need to understand is that it’s different then say, your personal reading preference. What I read for pleasure and how I read for work are two very different things. When I say personal reading preference with my agent hat on I mean books that I enjoy, that I get excited about and that I think I can sell. It doesn’t necessarily mean a book I can just curl up on my couch and read. That would be too easy.
Jessica Faust, a literary agent with BookEnds, LLC, was gracious enough with her time to respond to an interview request. Thank you Jessica!
She also maintains the BookEnds blog, which is well worth your time (if you are not already a regular reader...I see some of your names in the comments regularly.)
So without further ado...
1. What is the most recent novel you’ve read (that was not directly
related to your job as an agent)? I’ve actually just started My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Piccoult. I’m embarrassed to say this has been sitting on my nightstand since the book was first published and I’m just now getting around to it.
2. What did you like best about that book? So far the best I can say is that her writing is really amazing.
3. What is the most challenging aspect of your job these days? I think it’s keeping all of the balls in the air. My inbox right now has 300+ unanswered emails and there are a stack of requested proposals sitting in my office. Unfortunately, those all have to wait while I work with my clients to revise and edit their proposals and manuscripts (sometimes multiple times), negotiate and review contracts, and generally answer any and all questions they might have. Of course, adding the blog to my daily to-do list certainly doesn’t help keep my schedule light, but it’s something I love so I think I’ll keep it.
4. What is the most rewarding aspect of your job, overall? It’s that I get to do what I love every single day. As a child I loved nothing more then losing myself in a book and now I get paid to do just that. I admire writers because I know I don’t have the fortitude to sit and put 100,000 words on paper and have them make sense so in my mind I get to do the next best thing and it appeals more to my strengths, I get to be the right hand woman to those writers and really work with them to make their dreams become reality.
5. How do the following factors influence the genres you rep:
- Network of editors you know While there’s no doubt that comes into play the truth is that I don’t worry about it too much. If I really love a project I can always add new editors to my network and I do on a daily basis.
- Current / anticipated market conditions To some degree. Certainly, when erotic romance first started to hit big I was lucky enough to have seen it coming and have a couple of really great authors in my stable ready to go. However, as I will always say, we can’t write or agent to the market so while I’m less likely to take on a book if I think the market might be tough, if the book is really great I’m going to go for it anyway.
- Personal reading preference I think this is probably the greatest influence, but what I think authors need to understand is that it’s different then say, your personal reading preference. What I read for pleasure and how I read for work are two very different things. When I say personal reading preference with my agent hat on I mean books that I enjoy, that I get excited about and that I think I can sell. It doesn’t necessarily mean a book I can just curl up on my couch and read. That would be too easy.
AMELIA'S MONSTERS SAMPLE PAGES
Click here to read the queries. Link goes to the revision, and the original is linked there.
So in the next coming months I’m going to finish polishing up my manuscript and send out the query letter to see what happens.
To make sure I’m heading in the right direction, I thought it would be a good idea to post the first few pages on here for all you wonderful people to view and critique. So here it is and thank you for your time and comments.
CHAPTER 1:
Monsters were following her right now. Amelia knew it. It didn’t matter where she went, or how far she traveled; they were following her, like wolves on the hunt. Daylight could only last for so long, and once it ended, and night took control of the day, she knew they would find her and continue to terrorize her from inside her closet.
Amelia rolled down the window and stuck her head out a little ways, the rushing wind drying out her eyes, causing them to water a little. Houses whizzed by her like a slideshow that showcased the city’s richness. Bright blue and yellow houses seemed as if they were going to collide with one another as the car drove by them. Sprinklers chattered in an attempt to keep the lawns quenched and satisfied from the summer’s heat. At first glance it seemed as if things were going to be different here for her and her family, but Amelia knew this wasn’t the case.
The car rolled up to a stop sign and Amelia pulled her head back into the car, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.
“You’re going to like it here,” Amelia’s dad said, peering through the rearview mirror.
Amelia looked back outside the window at the next row of houses that stretched out like a tie-dye wall on the other side of the intersection. She turned and looked at her cousin Lily sitting next to her and gave her a nervous smile. Lily tried to do the same, but it came out more like a twitch than a smile.
“Beautiful neighborhood, nice people, and a peaceful atmosphere,” Amelia’s dad continued to say. “Just what you two need.”
Amelia thought maybe this was what they needed. They grew up in the city—only five houses away from one another—where car alarms sounded, music blasted from nearby houses, and people screamed at one another. It was stressful and it didn’t help her or her cousin’s problems. The neighborhood did look quiet and peaceful; Amelia gave it that much.
Amelia turned once more to Lily and said, “Are you ok?”
Lily hadn’t said a word since they had gotten in the car, and that was over two hours ago. She turned to Amelia, brushed some of her blonde hair away from her eyes, and just nodded at Amelia.
Lily had always been quiet, and she kept to herself most of the time. The therapist tried to get her to talk, but she never said a word. When Amelia had sat on the couch in the waiting room of Dr. Ivan’s office, she could hear bits of Dr. Ivan’s conversation with Lily from inside his office. And from what Amelia could gather from listening, Dr. Ivan had seemed to do most of the talking, and not once did she hear Lily’s quiet chatter. The only time Amelia really heard Lily was when she had shifted in the squeaky black leather chair.
Amelia turned away from Lily and pressed the button to roll down the window, the soft electric hum ruining the silence as the window scrolled down till it slipped between its thin rubber doors.
There weren’t a lot of trees around, Amelia noticed, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. Her father told her that Evelyn Heights was a gated community and it was a lot different from their previous homes and neighborhoods. Here, Amelia noted, different must mean the same. It seemed the more they moved the less and less unique the neighborhoods became.
Before the monsters began to lurk in her closet and conceal themselves in the shadows of her room, and before they ever thought about moving, they had lived in a town where houses were all different shapes and colors and trees surrounded their old home. All day she would roam through the woods, looking at birds, bugs, and insects, inspecting dead trees and holes in the ground.
Of course, she didn’t do that anymore.
So in the next coming months I’m going to finish polishing up my manuscript and send out the query letter to see what happens.
To make sure I’m heading in the right direction, I thought it would be a good idea to post the first few pages on here for all you wonderful people to view and critique. So here it is and thank you for your time and comments.
CHAPTER 1:
Monsters were following her right now. Amelia knew it. It didn’t matter where she went, or how far she traveled; they were following her, like wolves on the hunt. Daylight could only last for so long, and once it ended, and night took control of the day, she knew they would find her and continue to terrorize her from inside her closet.
Amelia rolled down the window and stuck her head out a little ways, the rushing wind drying out her eyes, causing them to water a little. Houses whizzed by her like a slideshow that showcased the city’s richness. Bright blue and yellow houses seemed as if they were going to collide with one another as the car drove by them. Sprinklers chattered in an attempt to keep the lawns quenched and satisfied from the summer’s heat. At first glance it seemed as if things were going to be different here for her and her family, but Amelia knew this wasn’t the case.
The car rolled up to a stop sign and Amelia pulled her head back into the car, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.
“You’re going to like it here,” Amelia’s dad said, peering through the rearview mirror.
Amelia looked back outside the window at the next row of houses that stretched out like a tie-dye wall on the other side of the intersection. She turned and looked at her cousin Lily sitting next to her and gave her a nervous smile. Lily tried to do the same, but it came out more like a twitch than a smile.
“Beautiful neighborhood, nice people, and a peaceful atmosphere,” Amelia’s dad continued to say. “Just what you two need.”
Amelia thought maybe this was what they needed. They grew up in the city—only five houses away from one another—where car alarms sounded, music blasted from nearby houses, and people screamed at one another. It was stressful and it didn’t help her or her cousin’s problems. The neighborhood did look quiet and peaceful; Amelia gave it that much.
Amelia turned once more to Lily and said, “Are you ok?”
Lily hadn’t said a word since they had gotten in the car, and that was over two hours ago. She turned to Amelia, brushed some of her blonde hair away from her eyes, and just nodded at Amelia.
Lily had always been quiet, and she kept to herself most of the time. The therapist tried to get her to talk, but she never said a word. When Amelia had sat on the couch in the waiting room of Dr. Ivan’s office, she could hear bits of Dr. Ivan’s conversation with Lily from inside his office. And from what Amelia could gather from listening, Dr. Ivan had seemed to do most of the talking, and not once did she hear Lily’s quiet chatter. The only time Amelia really heard Lily was when she had shifted in the squeaky black leather chair.
Amelia turned away from Lily and pressed the button to roll down the window, the soft electric hum ruining the silence as the window scrolled down till it slipped between its thin rubber doors.
There weren’t a lot of trees around, Amelia noticed, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. Her father told her that Evelyn Heights was a gated community and it was a lot different from their previous homes and neighborhoods. Here, Amelia noted, different must mean the same. It seemed the more they moved the less and less unique the neighborhoods became.
Before the monsters began to lurk in her closet and conceal themselves in the shadows of her room, and before they ever thought about moving, they had lived in a town where houses were all different shapes and colors and trees surrounded their old home. All day she would roam through the woods, looking at birds, bugs, and insects, inspecting dead trees and holes in the ground.
Of course, she didn’t do that anymore.
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