Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Mr. Agent
I am inquiring of you because of my knowledge of your preference for complex military political struggles that satisfy a reader’s desire to savor a fresh stylized work.
Quantum physicist Pierce Daniels is lead up an alley of death to see if he can survive a gauntlet of assassins. A new technology leads to a struggle between America circa 2012 and an infinite array of futures viewed that always lead to America’s annihilation. Thirteen miles of Hellfire separate America’s death from
our protagonist 7337th death.
Each thoroughly crafted section of THE INCANTATA is a tightly mapped stand alone Science Fantasy saga of 125,000 words written for a broad audience based on comprehensive research and state of the art
understanding of the subject.
The first five pages are appended for easy browsing.
Thank You
Paralyzing force bound Pierce Daniels to the black chair. It was always a different face and always the same gun. The only constant known to a man who walked a lonely razors edge between two nations
forever at war.
Growling in the pit of the stomach sent gentle waves of euphoric
relief trembling across his slow silenced mind. The first word would come soon after wondering what the first word might actually be. Seven Three Three Seven.
He was known to both Gog and Magog as Mr. Magoo. A cartoon character nickname for someone both sides felt they could play with as they chose and slap around with impunity. No wife and children and parents buried long ago lead both versions of the United States of America to under estimate the titanic level of resolve with which he played this most fatal of games.
His eye twitched and he tried to smile but his body wasn’t ready yet. Alert to his quarry the shooter shuffled his feet. Pierce relished the return of his hearing. With that sense restored he fantasized about the sounds of waves and pieces of music he had heard and grown to love. Trying to rock forward from his chest he detected the movement in his groin area. Clocking forward he knew only two minutes remained before he would speak. Now, thinking clearly he silenced his mind voluntarily restoring his true instincts.
Sitting on a soft, carpet, antique desk-map to his right; was a bold typed message awaiting decryption. The encoding was obvious to anyone who had the knowledge to survive the great war of 2012. There were only two very popular television shows ever broadcast and viewed by a colossal sized audience in real time. The type of effect the government clandestine experimenters had sought to use as a process to acquire a benchmark gauge that would determine the power of synchronized mass consciousness on the quantum fields that generated the future and past.
The first show broadcast in 1966 was the hopelessly titled; THE TIME TUNNEL. Experimenters were unaware people existed who were already capable of using such simple cause and effect relationships as a
television broadcast and the power generated by the viewing audiences’ consciousness to initialize the type of devices required for time travel.
Einstein was long gone and the picture of reality had changed dramatically since his departure into the grave.
HUGO=HUE GO HUG15
YEMI=25EM-ATOMOSE
MR. EKO=51115 OK5
OG218=OG Vs. MAGOG
MR. FIVE = KNOCKOUT
The decoded message was a shop worn deception.
Pierce opened his eyes and looked at the shooter. This was the first executioner he had ever recognized. Struggling for composure he allowed no...
“Where is Einstein?”
“Heads in a jar; his dicks in Doc’s flux capacitor.”
Pierce waited for the muzzle flash. The shooter had yet to raise his weapon. Looking downward he noticed it was still the same Arsenal 44. Magnum used on him every time before. Unable to move his limbs yet he studied the face of the look alike wondering why it took the NSA so long to finally try this trick. The shooter looked at the single gold pen on the desk before moving to a semi-squatting position to examine the underside of the white board drafting table Pierce used as an oversized work board for math problems.
“There are no marks under the table.”
“The count is accurately reckoned at precisely 7337.”
“We’ll see.”
The shooter put the weapon on the table while asking if Pierce was a fan of Star Trex.
“Portnoy’s Complaint is more my cup of tea mate.”
“A Fool’s Mate can easily be avoided.”
The shooter began preparing a pot of tea by selecting three bags from the glass jar on the old kitchen’s counter.
Three bags were silently denuded of their strings and labels before being quickly watered logged in the stout white china tea pot now headed towards the far end of the top floor apartment in the 1920’s art deco building.
The shooter paused before entering 6:00 into the microwaves key pad. Pierce picked up the pistol and glanced under the table. Reassured there were no jump calibrations marked underneath he placed the gun in
his mouth and pulled the trigger. The shooter pressed the start button on the key pad hoping to avoid an awkward moment. The pistols firing hammer clicked resolutely against the empty chamber.
“How many times have you made it to Canyon De Chele and succeeded in jumping off the cliff?”
A sinking heart and an empty pistol were laid on the table for his opponent to play with as he pleased. The long interrogation followed by the innocuous opportunity for an escape was the standard script from this point on. The long drop from Mummy’s Cave into Canyon De Chele was now certain to lead right back into this chair paralyzed again by time.
“The CIA put LOST together for you with great care to assure you the mission was understood and very successful.”
“The Chekhov’s gun on the table bit then?”
“Orientation time. Can you move your legs?”
“Load the gun.”
The shooter pulled Pierce to his feet shouldering him forward and out the door left open on the previous trip to the microwave. The shooter loaded the gun while leading his target to the roof of the building. Loaded and replaced in its clip-on belt holster; the snap of its removal audible.
The weapon and holster were passed to Daniels, he complied by walking towards the sleek dark red four seat jet copter.
One minute later they were in the Shell gas station parking lot on the southern side of the railroad access way
obscured by well fed overgrown brush. They crossed the intersection formed by a rural highway and the rail bed.
Pierce knew the snipers nest were arrayed at both treetop and ground level interspersed at fifty yard markers all the way to Facility-1 of The Advanced Intraphase Research site.
Shooter and target walked calmly through the dense bramble curtain of prickly brush. The shooter smiled after holding the web of tangles aside for Pierce’s passage into the kill zone known as The Bell Devil’s Walk of Hellfire.
“Hurry Pierce.” That phrase was never spoken before. Daniels composure broke as he quickly tapped his beltline for tranquilizers. The first five dozen silenced shots spit out entered the shooter who let go and fell on his back quietly smiling. “God’s luck to Self 7338. Hang tough Doc.”
Pierce walked inwards. “Today is a good day to die.”
Click here for the discussion thread.
May 31, 2010
Query Me This...Star of Aurora
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Rick Daley,
I am seeking represenatation for my Adult Science Fiction/Fantasy novel, Star of Aurora, complete at 60,000 words, and hope that you will consider me for your list.
Fennel Starshade, an assassin and retrieval specialist, is assigned the task of retrieving Diandra Samadaxtra, the kidnapped heir to Helathon Samadaxtra, leader of the Planet Aurora Prime. Fennel is accustomed to dangerous missions, but he is more of an executer than a planner, so when he finds himself thrust into a tangled web of deadly interstellar political intrigue he finds himself in uncharted space.
To succeed on his mission, Fennel must join forces with a man he neither trusts nor likes, William Braxsis, an old classmate who was once his best friend. Together they rescue Diandra, but as if the tensions between himself and William wasn't enough to deal with, Fennel now finds that he has the added complication of controlling his feelings for Aurora First Princess.
After a shocking revelation, these three journey to five different Planets and find out that each leader of each Planet holds a terrible secret, each one horrifying by itself, but when all are fitted together, like the pieces of a sinister puzzle, spells disaster. Fennel and William with the help of Diandra solves this puzzle and find a solution, just in time to save millions of people from destruction.
I have pasted the first five pages in the body of the e-mail for your perusal.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K. D. Vassall
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
Fennel Starshade sat at a corner table nursing a drink that the bartender had dubbed Fireangel. Bluish flames licked the sugared rim of the glass and Fennel sucked in a breath intending to blow it out, but that breath, polluted with smoke and cheap perfume lodged in his throat when he saw the face of the woman that had just walked in.
She lingered at the door for several moments, the heavy winds behind her blowing her dress around her, molding it to the generous curves of her hips. She cast her eyes around. He knew the exact moment her gaze settled on him. Heat licked up his thighs to his groin, travelling in a rush through his belly to warm his cheeks. The woman gave him a slow smile, her plump lips spreading across even white teeth. He smiled back, enjoying his reaction to her. It made no sense to hide it, she would have seen the flair of red in his Aura.
She moved through the room towards him. The heat in the bar rising several degrees the deeper she came. One man fell off his stool as she lowered herself into the seat in front of him. Her blond hair bounced around her and intense green eyes settled on his face.
“Fennel. You look well,” she said, her voice dripping like honey.
“So do you…as always Layla.”
“Well, that is my job,” she said, raising a long, slim finger to summon the bartender over.
Fennel grinned. This was not the sort of place where clients were served at the table. You were expected to go to the bar and order your drink. Still Fennel wasn’t surprised when the bartender almost tripped over his feet in his rush to reach her.
Lalya Cynon was beautiful, and not just in the ordinary way. It was much deeper than that. It was her scent. It was the way she moved. Every shift and shuffle was pure seduction. He had known her for six years. She was one of ten recruited by the Demetrius organization to undergo aural enhancement and trained as a spy. Her number had been three. Classification: a Delilah. She had undergone the procedure to boost her natural talents, which was to capture the attention, to inspire lust and desire.
At first the other members of the group had underestimated the value of Layla’s ability. One man had called her ‘a glorified cocklifter’, but Layla had proved to be one of the most effective agents that Demetrius had ever recruited.
Off the ten of them only three remained, number seven, Matthias Vendry: Classification: a Solomon, a man with an incredible talent with computers and general intelligence gathering, and myself, a David. I whittled giants down to size.
“Demetrius has been in touch. We have an assignment,” said Layla, pushing a thin console across the table towards him.
Fennel saw her aura flair, and the air was suddenly filled with the heavy scent of her perfume, she shifted seductively in her chair. She had everyone’s attention. Fennel knew that this was a trick Layla used on purpose to distract the others sitting close by from what they were saying.
“What is this?” Fennel asked, even as he took the file and started reading.
“Details of a plan to invade Earth.”
Fennel’s eyes lifted to merge with Layla’s green gaze. “It says that the attack will come from Aurora Prime.”
“Yes.”
“The Mage Rulers of that planet have been Earth’s allies for the last three hundred years. They fought alongside us in the second Interstellar War. They would not betray us, not without reason.”
Layla broadened her aura. The man at the back of the room began to drool. She speared her fingers through her hair, all eyes in the bar fixed on that simple motion.
“But what if someone gave them a reason?” she asked.
Fennell froze.
“Have they?”
Layla gave an almost imperceptible nod. “A Mage Princess has been taken.”
Dread settled in Fennel’s stomach and wound itself tight. “There are several, which one?”
“The first Daughter of the Prime, and heir to the throne, Diandra Samadaxtra.”
Fennel felt the blood drain from his face. “The heir…The heir has been kidnapped…are they certain?”
Layla gave a curt nod.
“But by whom?”
“According to the intelligence, by a rogue faction within our own government.”
“Why would anyone within our government want to start a war? Surely The Mage Emperor would see that this is a set up?” asked Fennel.
Layla raised an eyebrow. “The mage Emperor is well versed in Earth History, and knows that there are many humans that value money and power far more than they value peace.”
Fennell sighed, he couldn’t argue with that.
“Who provided the information?” he asked.
Layla hesitated before she answered. “William.”
“William? William Braxsis? He is a traitor.”
“He likes to call himself a freelancer…” Layla began.
“He’s a traitor. The only person William is concerned with is himself. Why would Demetrius even think that any information coming from William is accurate?”
“Demetrius has never lost contact with William. He has given the organization several leads, all of which had proven to be true. Demetrius has no reason to doubt him now…however…”
“Yes?” snapped Fennel.
“Considering the gravity of this situation, Demetrius wants you to verify the information.”
Fennel nodded, “which is?”
“That he knows where the Heir is being held. If it’s true Demetrius wants you to escort her to Earth.”
Fennel’s eyebrows reached for the sky. “To Earth? Why not home to Aurora Prime?”
Layla gave a delicate shrug. “Proximity. If William is right, she is being held in our own solar system on the dwarf planet Haumea, in the catacombs under the Celestial City. The United Governments will arrange for her safe passage back to Aurora, when you bring her here.”
Fennel blew gently on the flames rising out of his glass. The red liquid underneath it swirled. He was silent for several moments, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. He controlled his aura easily, keeping it a steady dark blue so that Layla wouldn’t see his inner turmoil. William was once a member of the Demetrius organization, but his tendency to deceit had gotten him expelled from the program. William had been a David like himself, a highly trained assassin and retrieval specialist. He had a complex, devious mind. Fennel didn’t trust any information coming from William. However if Demetrius had checked it out and declared it to be accurate…
“This is not usually the sort of matter Demetrius handles. Why doesn’t the government send in its own people?” Fennell asked.
“You forget that the Haumean Emperor has no great regard for United President Suri. How do you think he would react if Earth’s government forces landed on his planet? Furthermore, Haumea has been in trade talks with Aurora Prime for the last Decade. They are anxious to go forward with their mining project on Jupiter’s moon, Ganymede, but they need Seraphim, which as you know can only be found on Aurora Prime, to run the drills. The First Prime has refused to provide them with it. What do you think they would do if they found out that the daughter of the First Prime…the heir at that was being held on their planet?”
“I see your point,” murmured Fennell.
“Will you take the assignment? Demetrius needs and answer tonight.”
Fennel looked down at his glass again. The fire had burnt the sugar into a slick paste. He took a deep breath and blew out the fire before bringing the glass to lips. The sugar burnt his lips even as the sweet red liquid slid down his throat.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Rick Daley,
I am seeking represenatation for my Adult Science Fiction/Fantasy novel, Star of Aurora, complete at 60,000 words, and hope that you will consider me for your list.
Fennel Starshade, an assassin and retrieval specialist, is assigned the task of retrieving Diandra Samadaxtra, the kidnapped heir to Helathon Samadaxtra, leader of the Planet Aurora Prime. Fennel is accustomed to dangerous missions, but he is more of an executer than a planner, so when he finds himself thrust into a tangled web of deadly interstellar political intrigue he finds himself in uncharted space.
To succeed on his mission, Fennel must join forces with a man he neither trusts nor likes, William Braxsis, an old classmate who was once his best friend. Together they rescue Diandra, but as if the tensions between himself and William wasn't enough to deal with, Fennel now finds that he has the added complication of controlling his feelings for Aurora First Princess.
After a shocking revelation, these three journey to five different Planets and find out that each leader of each Planet holds a terrible secret, each one horrifying by itself, but when all are fitted together, like the pieces of a sinister puzzle, spells disaster. Fennel and William with the help of Diandra solves this puzzle and find a solution, just in time to save millions of people from destruction.
I have pasted the first five pages in the body of the e-mail for your perusal.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K. D. Vassall
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
Star of Aurora
By K.D Vassall
Fennel Starshade sat at a corner table nursing a drink that the bartender had dubbed Fireangel. Bluish flames licked the sugared rim of the glass and Fennel sucked in a breath intending to blow it out, but that breath, polluted with smoke and cheap perfume lodged in his throat when he saw the face of the woman that had just walked in.
She lingered at the door for several moments, the heavy winds behind her blowing her dress around her, molding it to the generous curves of her hips. She cast her eyes around. He knew the exact moment her gaze settled on him. Heat licked up his thighs to his groin, travelling in a rush through his belly to warm his cheeks. The woman gave him a slow smile, her plump lips spreading across even white teeth. He smiled back, enjoying his reaction to her. It made no sense to hide it, she would have seen the flair of red in his Aura.
She moved through the room towards him. The heat in the bar rising several degrees the deeper she came. One man fell off his stool as she lowered herself into the seat in front of him. Her blond hair bounced around her and intense green eyes settled on his face.
“Fennel. You look well,” she said, her voice dripping like honey.
“So do you…as always Layla.”
“Well, that is my job,” she said, raising a long, slim finger to summon the bartender over.
Fennel grinned. This was not the sort of place where clients were served at the table. You were expected to go to the bar and order your drink. Still Fennel wasn’t surprised when the bartender almost tripped over his feet in his rush to reach her.
Lalya Cynon was beautiful, and not just in the ordinary way. It was much deeper than that. It was her scent. It was the way she moved. Every shift and shuffle was pure seduction. He had known her for six years. She was one of ten recruited by the Demetrius organization to undergo aural enhancement and trained as a spy. Her number had been three. Classification: a Delilah. She had undergone the procedure to boost her natural talents, which was to capture the attention, to inspire lust and desire.
At first the other members of the group had underestimated the value of Layla’s ability. One man had called her ‘a glorified cocklifter’, but Layla had proved to be one of the most effective agents that Demetrius had ever recruited.
Off the ten of them only three remained, number seven, Matthias Vendry: Classification: a Solomon, a man with an incredible talent with computers and general intelligence gathering, and myself, a David. I whittled giants down to size.
“Demetrius has been in touch. We have an assignment,” said Layla, pushing a thin console across the table towards him.
Fennel saw her aura flair, and the air was suddenly filled with the heavy scent of her perfume, she shifted seductively in her chair. She had everyone’s attention. Fennel knew that this was a trick Layla used on purpose to distract the others sitting close by from what they were saying.
“What is this?” Fennel asked, even as he took the file and started reading.
“Details of a plan to invade Earth.”
Fennel’s eyes lifted to merge with Layla’s green gaze. “It says that the attack will come from Aurora Prime.”
“Yes.”
“The Mage Rulers of that planet have been Earth’s allies for the last three hundred years. They fought alongside us in the second Interstellar War. They would not betray us, not without reason.”
Layla broadened her aura. The man at the back of the room began to drool. She speared her fingers through her hair, all eyes in the bar fixed on that simple motion.
“But what if someone gave them a reason?” she asked.
Fennell froze.
“Have they?”
Layla gave an almost imperceptible nod. “A Mage Princess has been taken.”
Dread settled in Fennel’s stomach and wound itself tight. “There are several, which one?”
“The first Daughter of the Prime, and heir to the throne, Diandra Samadaxtra.”
Fennel felt the blood drain from his face. “The heir…The heir has been kidnapped…are they certain?”
Layla gave a curt nod.
“But by whom?”
“According to the intelligence, by a rogue faction within our own government.”
“Why would anyone within our government want to start a war? Surely The Mage Emperor would see that this is a set up?” asked Fennel.
Layla raised an eyebrow. “The mage Emperor is well versed in Earth History, and knows that there are many humans that value money and power far more than they value peace.”
Fennell sighed, he couldn’t argue with that.
“Who provided the information?” he asked.
Layla hesitated before she answered. “William.”
“William? William Braxsis? He is a traitor.”
“He likes to call himself a freelancer…” Layla began.
“He’s a traitor. The only person William is concerned with is himself. Why would Demetrius even think that any information coming from William is accurate?”
“Demetrius has never lost contact with William. He has given the organization several leads, all of which had proven to be true. Demetrius has no reason to doubt him now…however…”
“Yes?” snapped Fennel.
“Considering the gravity of this situation, Demetrius wants you to verify the information.”
Fennel nodded, “which is?”
“That he knows where the Heir is being held. If it’s true Demetrius wants you to escort her to Earth.”
Fennel’s eyebrows reached for the sky. “To Earth? Why not home to Aurora Prime?”
Layla gave a delicate shrug. “Proximity. If William is right, she is being held in our own solar system on the dwarf planet Haumea, in the catacombs under the Celestial City. The United Governments will arrange for her safe passage back to Aurora, when you bring her here.”
Fennel blew gently on the flames rising out of his glass. The red liquid underneath it swirled. He was silent for several moments, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. He controlled his aura easily, keeping it a steady dark blue so that Layla wouldn’t see his inner turmoil. William was once a member of the Demetrius organization, but his tendency to deceit had gotten him expelled from the program. William had been a David like himself, a highly trained assassin and retrieval specialist. He had a complex, devious mind. Fennel didn’t trust any information coming from William. However if Demetrius had checked it out and declared it to be accurate…
“This is not usually the sort of matter Demetrius handles. Why doesn’t the government send in its own people?” Fennell asked.
“You forget that the Haumean Emperor has no great regard for United President Suri. How do you think he would react if Earth’s government forces landed on his planet? Furthermore, Haumea has been in trade talks with Aurora Prime for the last Decade. They are anxious to go forward with their mining project on Jupiter’s moon, Ganymede, but they need Seraphim, which as you know can only be found on Aurora Prime, to run the drills. The First Prime has refused to provide them with it. What do you think they would do if they found out that the daughter of the First Prime…the heir at that was being held on their planet?”
“I see your point,” murmured Fennell.
“Will you take the assignment? Demetrius needs and answer tonight.”
Fennel looked down at his glass again. The fire had burnt the sugar into a slick paste. He took a deep breath and blew out the fire before bringing the glass to lips. The sugar burnt his lips even as the sweet red liquid slid down his throat.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...On Her Majesty’s Special Service
Click here for the discussion thread.
Lady Alexandra Beckwith-Smythe’s mission was simple--infiltrate the household of William Payne, the suspected leader of the American colonial terrorist organization the Sons of Liberty, and stop him by any means necessary. Simple until she discovers the same Prussian agent who supplied information on Payne is also selling munitions to the Americans.
Simple until someone within the Special Services Ministry betrays her to the colonials.
Now, she has to convince Payne to help her, instead of blowing her brains out, because he let slip one crucial bit of information. The Prussians have a new weapon, modified Chinese rockets that can level a city. And she has no doubt that once the Prussian Kaiser is finished blowing Mother England to shreds, he’ll come after her colonies next.
On Her Majesty’s Special Service is an 80,000-word steampunk thriller.
Chapter 1
It took all of Lady Alexandra Beckwith-Smythe’s training and discipline not to scratch at her moustache. Jehoshaphat, the glue itched. If it weren’t for the infernal irritation underneath her nose, she’d more thoroughly enjoy the freedom of wearing trousers.
Instead, she raised the opera glasses to her eyes and scanned the crowd. A loud buzzing filled the hall, the peerage greeting each other before assuming their seats. Her body tensed each time a personage approached her charge, but most simply wanted an alliance with the Orleans heir to the French throne. It didn’t matter his own country had exiled him.
From the taunt lines of Prince Phillippe’s shoulders, the noble was too immersed in his own anxiety to notice hers. She had to give him credit though. His charming smile hid whatever nerves threatened his composure.
After sending another simpering baron’s daughter on her way, he leaned closer to Alexandra. “Have you seen anything?”
With the level of noise, his whisper didn’t carry more than the few inches between them. Still, she lowered the glasses and glanced around before answering. “No, Your Highness. The Ministry is closely watching the situation. I assure you there is no danger to yourself.”
An unprincely sound snorted in her ear. “I am not worried about myself.”
Alexandra bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Of course. He would be worried more about his mistress of the moment. And in the happenstance her associates should fail to protect the opera singer tonight, she had no doubt the prince would find another comely bed warmer rather rapidly.
But the light in his eyes made her reassess her estimate of the prince’s feelings. She dared to lay a hand on Phillippe’s arm. “I assure you. Miss Melba is quite safe.”
The dimming of the gas lamps prompted a hustle for seats. Alexandra nodded toward the prince’s box. He turned to follow.
Movement in the crowd caught her attention a moment before a masculine voice shouted, “A word with you, Prince Phillippe.” Something metallic rested in the man’s hand.
Protocol be damned.
Her hard shove sent the already off-balance prince sprawling into the crowd. A scream shattered the air. Alexandra charged the approaching man, focused on the derringer in his hand. Fear and exhilaration strangled her bowels upon the realization the firearm was double-barreled. A gunshot blasted in her ears as she grabbed the man’s fist.
***
The next morning Alexandra kept a stoic front as she stood in the wood paneled office of Captain James Stewart, the nominal chief of Her Majesty’s Special Service. The dressing down was unavoidable after the previous evening’s fiasco. Best to bear it and proceed with the next assignment.
He slapped the earliest edition of the newspaper on his desk, its headline emphasized her superior’s glare. Cuckolded Husband Attempts Murder. Underneath, the subtitle blared, “European Prince in Affair with Noted Opera Star Nellie Melba.” When Alexandra failed to wince at the gesture, he resumed his shouting.
“Just what am I supposed to do about this!”
She stared at the portrait of the queen hanging behind his desk. “With all due respect, sir, my task was to guard the prince’s person-”
“Not at the expense of his reputation!”
“For all I knew, the gentleman was anarchist assassin-”
“You shoved the prince into the Duchess of Wessex!”
“Given the duchess still wears old-fashioned hoop skirts, their falls were cushioned quite well, sir.”
A deep chuckle sounded behind her. She pivoted to find the unofficial head of the Special Service Ministry standing behind her. The curtsey was so automatic it took a second to realize she never heard the door open.
“Tut, none of that in here.” The Prince of Wales waved a hand before claiming a chair next to the desk. His expression turned serious as he eyed her. “However, Baby is quite upset this morning over the hole in her favorite hat.”
Alexandra did wince at that statement. The one wild shot Melba’s husband fired had come perilously close to hitting Princess Beatrice, the queen’s youngest daughter. She bowed her head once again. “My sincere apologies, Your Highness.”
“The queen wants you exiled,” he continued before taking a sip from the cup of tea the Captain handed him.
Pain stabbed Alexandra’s stomach. He wouldn’t go along with this demand, would he? “She must understand-”
“That will be enough, agent!”
She glared right back at the captain. “I performed my duties exactly as you ordered me-”
The prince’s raised finger silenced her far more effectively than the captain’s shouting. “At least Prince Phillippe relayed the information he brought to London before last night’s adventure. I believe we have a solution that will appease the queen and keep you in our employ.” He favored her with a smile, one she was sure boded ill. “What do you know about the Sons of Liberty?”
“An American revolutionist organization from a century ago. They failed in their attempt to secede from the empire. . .” She watched as the two men exchanged looks. “Surely, you are not suggesting they still exist?”
Stewart reached into his top drawer and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Someone is selling a great deal of munitions to unknown civilians in the American colonies. Our Prussian contact has confirmed the transactions.”
She stepped forward and took the papers from his outstretched hand. Her heart leapt to her throat as she perused the numbers. Numbers far greater than necessary to keep the colonial border with New Spain in check. A quick glance at the men confirmed this was no joke.
The prince set down his cup on the edge of the desk. “One of our local operatives in New York has obtained introductions for you to join the household of William Payne. We believe he is the head of the Sons.”
Her heart quit trying to exit through her mouth, instead seeking a different egress. It wasn’t pride instilling such desperation. It was fear of exposure.
He continued as if he was suggesting a walk through one of Buckingham’s gardens. “A zeppelin ticket and papers issued in the name of Alexandra Hemmings-”
Enough was enough. “You cannot be serious!” Her family had taken to many pains to erase their connection to the New World. For him to flaunt that link went far beyond the bounds of their relationship.
“I am serious, agent.” Ice blue eyes bore into hers. “Unless you are submitting your resignation?”
He knew she couldn’t resign, and damn him to Hell, he knew why. But arguing never worked with him.
Arms spread in supplication, she tried a different tack. “Bertie,” she ignored Stewart’s startled expression at her undue familiarity with the prince, “for whatever respect you had for my husband, whatever affection you may have had for me, I beg you not to ask this of me.”
He rose and reached for her free hand, his giant, pale palms encasing her much darker skin. The irony was not lost on her. Mother England swallowed everything she touched.
“Alex, darling, there is no one else who could succeed in this mission.”
Of course. Queen and country came before anything else with him. One would have thought she’d learned that bitter lesson in the months after Henry died. She swallowed the giant mound of sand in her throat. “And what exactly is my assignment, Your Highness?”
He withdrew his touch at her formal tone. “Discover who is supplying arms to the Sons of Liberty and assassinate their leader.”
Click here for the discussion thread.
Lady Alexandra Beckwith-Smythe’s mission was simple--infiltrate the household of William Payne, the suspected leader of the American colonial terrorist organization the Sons of Liberty, and stop him by any means necessary. Simple until she discovers the same Prussian agent who supplied information on Payne is also selling munitions to the Americans.
Simple until someone within the Special Services Ministry betrays her to the colonials.
Now, she has to convince Payne to help her, instead of blowing her brains out, because he let slip one crucial bit of information. The Prussians have a new weapon, modified Chinese rockets that can level a city. And she has no doubt that once the Prussian Kaiser is finished blowing Mother England to shreds, he’ll come after her colonies next.
On Her Majesty’s Special Service is an 80,000-word steampunk thriller.
Chapter 1
It took all of Lady Alexandra Beckwith-Smythe’s training and discipline not to scratch at her moustache. Jehoshaphat, the glue itched. If it weren’t for the infernal irritation underneath her nose, she’d more thoroughly enjoy the freedom of wearing trousers.
Instead, she raised the opera glasses to her eyes and scanned the crowd. A loud buzzing filled the hall, the peerage greeting each other before assuming their seats. Her body tensed each time a personage approached her charge, but most simply wanted an alliance with the Orleans heir to the French throne. It didn’t matter his own country had exiled him.
From the taunt lines of Prince Phillippe’s shoulders, the noble was too immersed in his own anxiety to notice hers. She had to give him credit though. His charming smile hid whatever nerves threatened his composure.
After sending another simpering baron’s daughter on her way, he leaned closer to Alexandra. “Have you seen anything?”
With the level of noise, his whisper didn’t carry more than the few inches between them. Still, she lowered the glasses and glanced around before answering. “No, Your Highness. The Ministry is closely watching the situation. I assure you there is no danger to yourself.”
An unprincely sound snorted in her ear. “I am not worried about myself.”
Alexandra bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Of course. He would be worried more about his mistress of the moment. And in the happenstance her associates should fail to protect the opera singer tonight, she had no doubt the prince would find another comely bed warmer rather rapidly.
But the light in his eyes made her reassess her estimate of the prince’s feelings. She dared to lay a hand on Phillippe’s arm. “I assure you. Miss Melba is quite safe.”
The dimming of the gas lamps prompted a hustle for seats. Alexandra nodded toward the prince’s box. He turned to follow.
Movement in the crowd caught her attention a moment before a masculine voice shouted, “A word with you, Prince Phillippe.” Something metallic rested in the man’s hand.
Protocol be damned.
Her hard shove sent the already off-balance prince sprawling into the crowd. A scream shattered the air. Alexandra charged the approaching man, focused on the derringer in his hand. Fear and exhilaration strangled her bowels upon the realization the firearm was double-barreled. A gunshot blasted in her ears as she grabbed the man’s fist.
***
The next morning Alexandra kept a stoic front as she stood in the wood paneled office of Captain James Stewart, the nominal chief of Her Majesty’s Special Service. The dressing down was unavoidable after the previous evening’s fiasco. Best to bear it and proceed with the next assignment.
He slapped the earliest edition of the newspaper on his desk, its headline emphasized her superior’s glare. Cuckolded Husband Attempts Murder. Underneath, the subtitle blared, “European Prince in Affair with Noted Opera Star Nellie Melba.” When Alexandra failed to wince at the gesture, he resumed his shouting.
“Just what am I supposed to do about this!”
She stared at the portrait of the queen hanging behind his desk. “With all due respect, sir, my task was to guard the prince’s person-”
“Not at the expense of his reputation!”
“For all I knew, the gentleman was anarchist assassin-”
“You shoved the prince into the Duchess of Wessex!”
“Given the duchess still wears old-fashioned hoop skirts, their falls were cushioned quite well, sir.”
A deep chuckle sounded behind her. She pivoted to find the unofficial head of the Special Service Ministry standing behind her. The curtsey was so automatic it took a second to realize she never heard the door open.
“Tut, none of that in here.” The Prince of Wales waved a hand before claiming a chair next to the desk. His expression turned serious as he eyed her. “However, Baby is quite upset this morning over the hole in her favorite hat.”
Alexandra did wince at that statement. The one wild shot Melba’s husband fired had come perilously close to hitting Princess Beatrice, the queen’s youngest daughter. She bowed her head once again. “My sincere apologies, Your Highness.”
“The queen wants you exiled,” he continued before taking a sip from the cup of tea the Captain handed him.
Pain stabbed Alexandra’s stomach. He wouldn’t go along with this demand, would he? “She must understand-”
“That will be enough, agent!”
She glared right back at the captain. “I performed my duties exactly as you ordered me-”
The prince’s raised finger silenced her far more effectively than the captain’s shouting. “At least Prince Phillippe relayed the information he brought to London before last night’s adventure. I believe we have a solution that will appease the queen and keep you in our employ.” He favored her with a smile, one she was sure boded ill. “What do you know about the Sons of Liberty?”
“An American revolutionist organization from a century ago. They failed in their attempt to secede from the empire. . .” She watched as the two men exchanged looks. “Surely, you are not suggesting they still exist?”
Stewart reached into his top drawer and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Someone is selling a great deal of munitions to unknown civilians in the American colonies. Our Prussian contact has confirmed the transactions.”
She stepped forward and took the papers from his outstretched hand. Her heart leapt to her throat as she perused the numbers. Numbers far greater than necessary to keep the colonial border with New Spain in check. A quick glance at the men confirmed this was no joke.
The prince set down his cup on the edge of the desk. “One of our local operatives in New York has obtained introductions for you to join the household of William Payne. We believe he is the head of the Sons.”
Her heart quit trying to exit through her mouth, instead seeking a different egress. It wasn’t pride instilling such desperation. It was fear of exposure.
He continued as if he was suggesting a walk through one of Buckingham’s gardens. “A zeppelin ticket and papers issued in the name of Alexandra Hemmings-”
Enough was enough. “You cannot be serious!” Her family had taken to many pains to erase their connection to the New World. For him to flaunt that link went far beyond the bounds of their relationship.
“I am serious, agent.” Ice blue eyes bore into hers. “Unless you are submitting your resignation?”
He knew she couldn’t resign, and damn him to Hell, he knew why. But arguing never worked with him.
Arms spread in supplication, she tried a different tack. “Bertie,” she ignored Stewart’s startled expression at her undue familiarity with the prince, “for whatever respect you had for my husband, whatever affection you may have had for me, I beg you not to ask this of me.”
He rose and reached for her free hand, his giant, pale palms encasing her much darker skin. The irony was not lost on her. Mother England swallowed everything she touched.
“Alex, darling, there is no one else who could succeed in this mission.”
Of course. Queen and country came before anything else with him. One would have thought she’d learned that bitter lesson in the months after Henry died. She swallowed the giant mound of sand in her throat. “And what exactly is my assignment, Your Highness?”
He withdrew his touch at her formal tone. “Discover who is supplying arms to the Sons of Liberty and assassinate their leader.”
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...LIONS AND TIGERS AND BEARS
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Agent,
Dan Weathers has a gambling problem, and he’s finally hit rock bottom. He’s $10,000 in the hole, he doesn’t have a dime to pay toward his debt, and he’s got high school to deal with. It’s going to be one hell of a senior year.
The situation worsens when Dan finds a bet that can clear his debts, but to win it he has to throw the game against the Tigers, the worst football team in the league. As quarterback of the top-ranked Lions, Dan is just the guy for the job. But if he pulls it off, the Lions won’t have a chance at the title, and Dan will lose a bet he already made: that the Lions will match up against the undefeated Bears in the playoffs. And then he’ll be right back where he started.
Dan’s online sports bookie – screen name Odd$Ball – wants his money. He sends Dan some signals: a flat tire here, a broken window there…but Odd$Ball himself remains hidden. Which is good for him, because as the head coach for the Bears, Odd$Ball has been playing the odds himself, coaxing Dan into each wager and trying to ensure big payouts on his own bets on the Lions and Tigers and Bears. Oh my.
LIONS AND TIGERS AND BEARS is a 65,000-word Young Adult novel. I’ve been following your blog, and I chose to query you based on your success in selling YA books and your love of sports.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Regards,
Rick Daley
Chapter 1
Dan closed and locked his bedroom door. His Dad never come in without knocking, but his little brother Jeffrey wouldn’t think twice about it, and if Jeffrey saw Dan with his laptop, the little shit would tell their father in a heartbeat.
Dan pulled the laptop from his backpack and sat down at his desk. He booted it up, but stopped it from connecting to the home wireless network. His father had been monitoring all network traffic since he caught Dan betting big – and losing big – online. Poker and football were the primary culprits, but an occasional round or six of blackjack snuck into Dan’s playing time. But Dan was on a winning streak now.
He scanned the available wireless networks. There it was, his ticket online: linksys- Unsecure Wireless Network. Luckily, the Millers next door weren’t as tech savvy as his Dad. Dan caught a free ride on to the Internet and sat back in his chair as his gaming account stats filled his monitor.
Account Balance: $5,000. More money than Dan ever had in his life. Made the sweaty rolls of ones and fives he earned delivering pizza seem like chump-change, something you just throw in a jar and let accumulate for a couple years. But this was real money. Dan liked to stare at the figure on the screen and spend it in his head.
Account Balance: $5,000. He bought his girlfriend Tara a sweet leather jacket and earrings. He took her out to dinner and gave them to her at the restaurant, that steakhouse downtown. Then he took her to a hotel, and he gave her the black lace lingerie. Tara was so thrilled with the jacket and earrings she modeled the lingerie for him, and afterward she finally granted him the access he’d been practically begging for since they started dating sophomore year.
Account Balance: $5,000. Dan got ground effects and a spoiler for the back of his Mustang, then installed the fattest sound system available. He tinted the windows and laid an inch of rubber halfway down the block, new tires squealing and bass thumping.
Account Balance: $5,000. Dan knew what he would really do. He would do the same thing he did when it was $50, and the same thing he did when it was $500. He would find the right bet, and double-down.
Then he would fantasize about spending $10,000.
Dan checked his inbox. A reminder from his Dad to clean the gutters. He started to reply, but deleted the draft email. It was a set-up. His Dad would know he had been online if he replied, and then Dan would lose the laptop forever. That was worse than being banned form the Internet and having to hop a ride on the Miller’s wireless network.
His SPAM filter held 17 items. Dan looked through them. Nigerian bank accounts, dick pills, some religious inspirational bullshit from his Aunt Sarah, and finally the message he was looking for. An email from Odd$Ball, his online bookie.
Odd$Ball was a Godsend. Dan met him at an internet poker table and bumped into him at other tables in the virtual casino from time to time. Dan started to hit real paydirt when Odd$Ball reached out to him about a bet on the Stanley Cup playoffs last year. Even though Dan didn’t follow hockey and had no clue which team was really better, he followed Odd$Ball’s advice and won $1,000.
Dan opened the email:
Got a sure thing for you. Fast action, have to act now. 5 grand gets you a 3:1 payout. Go double you get 5:1. Can’t beat those odds with a stick. You game?
Holy shit. If he went double, he’d be looking at a five-to-one payout on ten grand; $50,000 was much as his Dad made in a year. Never mind the fact that he didn’t have the other $5,000 if he lost. He didn’t need it to make the bet, and when Odd$Ball said sure thing, he always won. Always.
Dan replied:
I’m in for the large haul.
Fifty grand. This was going to be one hell of a senior year.
After school the next day, and stopped at Starbuck’s on the way home. His Dad was a fool for trying to keep him offline. The Internet was everywhere.
Dan ordered an iced coffee and a slice of lemon cake and took a table in the corner. He fired up his laptop and checked his email. There it was, in the SPAM filter. Message from Odd$Ball. He opened it:
Sorry, man, this one was a bust. Happens to us all from time to time. Payment due ASAP. Maybe next time.
“Fuck!” Dan yelled. Everyone in Starbucks looked over at him. His face was redder than the zit at the end of Artie Howard’s nose, and Dan was just as ready to pop. He read the message again. This has got to be a joke. No way. No FUCKING WAY!
Dan slammed his laptop closed so hard the lid cracked. He didn’t care. He shoved the laptop in his bag and walked out to his car as fast as he could, leaving his food and drink on the table, untouched.
He drove around to the loading docks behind the grocery store and parked. He started at the ford emblem in the center of his steering wheel until it blurred and he saw double. He owed Odd$Ball $10,000. He had one choice: he would have this evening to parley his $5,000 into bigger, better winnings to cover his debt. He could do it. He just needed some time at the high-roller table. Thursday was Dad’s date night so he wouldn’t be around. As long as Dan could keep Jeffrey out of his hair he could pull it off.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Agent,
Dan Weathers has a gambling problem, and he’s finally hit rock bottom. He’s $10,000 in the hole, he doesn’t have a dime to pay toward his debt, and he’s got high school to deal with. It’s going to be one hell of a senior year.
The situation worsens when Dan finds a bet that can clear his debts, but to win it he has to throw the game against the Tigers, the worst football team in the league. As quarterback of the top-ranked Lions, Dan is just the guy for the job. But if he pulls it off, the Lions won’t have a chance at the title, and Dan will lose a bet he already made: that the Lions will match up against the undefeated Bears in the playoffs. And then he’ll be right back where he started.
Dan’s online sports bookie – screen name Odd$Ball – wants his money. He sends Dan some signals: a flat tire here, a broken window there…but Odd$Ball himself remains hidden. Which is good for him, because as the head coach for the Bears, Odd$Ball has been playing the odds himself, coaxing Dan into each wager and trying to ensure big payouts on his own bets on the Lions and Tigers and Bears. Oh my.
LIONS AND TIGERS AND BEARS is a 65,000-word Young Adult novel. I’ve been following your blog, and I chose to query you based on your success in selling YA books and your love of sports.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Regards,
Rick Daley
Chapter 1
Dan closed and locked his bedroom door. His Dad never come in without knocking, but his little brother Jeffrey wouldn’t think twice about it, and if Jeffrey saw Dan with his laptop, the little shit would tell their father in a heartbeat.
Dan pulled the laptop from his backpack and sat down at his desk. He booted it up, but stopped it from connecting to the home wireless network. His father had been monitoring all network traffic since he caught Dan betting big – and losing big – online. Poker and football were the primary culprits, but an occasional round or six of blackjack snuck into Dan’s playing time. But Dan was on a winning streak now.
He scanned the available wireless networks. There it was, his ticket online: linksys- Unsecure Wireless Network. Luckily, the Millers next door weren’t as tech savvy as his Dad. Dan caught a free ride on to the Internet and sat back in his chair as his gaming account stats filled his monitor.
Account Balance: $5,000. More money than Dan ever had in his life. Made the sweaty rolls of ones and fives he earned delivering pizza seem like chump-change, something you just throw in a jar and let accumulate for a couple years. But this was real money. Dan liked to stare at the figure on the screen and spend it in his head.
Account Balance: $5,000. He bought his girlfriend Tara a sweet leather jacket and earrings. He took her out to dinner and gave them to her at the restaurant, that steakhouse downtown. Then he took her to a hotel, and he gave her the black lace lingerie. Tara was so thrilled with the jacket and earrings she modeled the lingerie for him, and afterward she finally granted him the access he’d been practically begging for since they started dating sophomore year.
Account Balance: $5,000. Dan got ground effects and a spoiler for the back of his Mustang, then installed the fattest sound system available. He tinted the windows and laid an inch of rubber halfway down the block, new tires squealing and bass thumping.
Account Balance: $5,000. Dan knew what he would really do. He would do the same thing he did when it was $50, and the same thing he did when it was $500. He would find the right bet, and double-down.
Then he would fantasize about spending $10,000.
Dan checked his inbox. A reminder from his Dad to clean the gutters. He started to reply, but deleted the draft email. It was a set-up. His Dad would know he had been online if he replied, and then Dan would lose the laptop forever. That was worse than being banned form the Internet and having to hop a ride on the Miller’s wireless network.
His SPAM filter held 17 items. Dan looked through them. Nigerian bank accounts, dick pills, some religious inspirational bullshit from his Aunt Sarah, and finally the message he was looking for. An email from Odd$Ball, his online bookie.
Odd$Ball was a Godsend. Dan met him at an internet poker table and bumped into him at other tables in the virtual casino from time to time. Dan started to hit real paydirt when Odd$Ball reached out to him about a bet on the Stanley Cup playoffs last year. Even though Dan didn’t follow hockey and had no clue which team was really better, he followed Odd$Ball’s advice and won $1,000.
Dan opened the email:
Got a sure thing for you. Fast action, have to act now. 5 grand gets you a 3:1 payout. Go double you get 5:1. Can’t beat those odds with a stick. You game?
Holy shit. If he went double, he’d be looking at a five-to-one payout on ten grand; $50,000 was much as his Dad made in a year. Never mind the fact that he didn’t have the other $5,000 if he lost. He didn’t need it to make the bet, and when Odd$Ball said sure thing, he always won. Always.
Dan replied:
I’m in for the large haul.
Fifty grand. This was going to be one hell of a senior year.
#
After school the next day, and stopped at Starbuck’s on the way home. His Dad was a fool for trying to keep him offline. The Internet was everywhere.
Dan ordered an iced coffee and a slice of lemon cake and took a table in the corner. He fired up his laptop and checked his email. There it was, in the SPAM filter. Message from Odd$Ball. He opened it:
Sorry, man, this one was a bust. Happens to us all from time to time. Payment due ASAP. Maybe next time.
“Fuck!” Dan yelled. Everyone in Starbucks looked over at him. His face was redder than the zit at the end of Artie Howard’s nose, and Dan was just as ready to pop. He read the message again. This has got to be a joke. No way. No FUCKING WAY!
Dan slammed his laptop closed so hard the lid cracked. He didn’t care. He shoved the laptop in his bag and walked out to his car as fast as he could, leaving his food and drink on the table, untouched.
He drove around to the loading docks behind the grocery store and parked. He started at the ford emblem in the center of his steering wheel until it blurred and he saw double. He owed Odd$Ball $10,000. He had one choice: he would have this evening to parley his $5,000 into bigger, better winnings to cover his debt. He could do it. He just needed some time at the high-roller table. Thursday was Dad’s date night so he wouldn’t be around. As long as Dan could keep Jeffrey out of his hair he could pull it off.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...IN DARKER TIMES
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query:
Dear Mr. Agent,
The year is 2020; seven of the fifty states of the Unites States have taken emancipation and separated – Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota and Wisconsin – and have formed Trenweca, a seven-year-old goldmine of a country. Timothy Westwood, an American expatriate with a grimy past involving suspicion for murder, has been given exclusive information via a covert Trenweccan agent about an imminent war Trenweca plans to go on against USA, in fear of USA itself declaring it, even with an unprepared army. Timothy is told by the agent that Canada is knowledgeable of these plans and that they will use Trenweca’s weaknesses to attempt an invasion over it. Timothy, with the help of this mysterious agent, is able to get into Trenweca’s parliament, and is given instructions that will supposedly cease any further ideas of war by Trenweca.
In Darker Times is a 90,000 word crime fantasy thriller about how an unwitting man is manipulated and catapulted into a world of lies, secrets and where no one is who they appear to be. With the help of the strong-headed Violet, an ex-agent for Trenweca, the only one who he can seemingly trust, Timothy races through a cornucopia of reverberating revelations of every turn, including facing the possibility of his own death.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Aleeza Rauf
Phone Number:
Email Address:
Mailing Address:
First Five Pages:
The office was dead silent, pitch black, devoid of any life except for me sitting in a desk in the right end corner beside the window with the panoramic view from the forty-fifth floor, and the light that shone from down below and the buildings surrounding the one where I worked, Gary & Wilkes Accounting Associates in the Edward Steyn Towers was blocked by the floor-length vanishing folds. A minute ago, there would be a spot of light from where I was sitting, emanating from my monitor that had just been put to rest after an extra-long day of work. Normally, my face would’ve been twisted in a disgruntled grimace at the indignation of working overtime, but at the moment I was much too in anticipation to be in any sort of complaining or somnolent state. The email I had received had erased any lethargy lurking in me, which it always did at the middle of the workday, ever since it had made its arrival on my inbox.
I was tempted to open it and read it again, but I managed to control the urge by reminding myself I had reread it at least fifteen times – I could almost recite it by heart now.
Hello Mr. Westwood,
You probably don’t know who I am, but I happen to know you somewhat, as I work as an agent for a secret department of the Trenweca Government. No, you are not being spied upon, but yes, I do have certain business with you that relates to your native country, the United States, and the country you currently reside in, Trenweca. As I am well aware, you are not in any way related to Politics at the moments, nor keep any significant interests centered on it, but you may be vital to its potential invasion by Canada.
Reply me a blank message if you wish to meet, which I advise should be done as soon as possible. I will arrive at your office at 12:00 A.M. sharp. Please make sure the office is empty completely except for your presence.
Sincerely,
James Cassidy
I drank another sip of my cappuccino and glanced once again at my cell phone as I waited for the mysterious sender of the email to arrive.
11:59, the bright numbers shone on the wide screen. There was still a minute to go before he’d make his grand entrance. Some punctuality he managed.
The door to the office opened after a light knock that acted as a rising action to the climax, thus erasing all doubts for any legitimacy of the email vanished, and my heart began to beat a notch faster.
“Mr. Westwood?” a smooth, generic voice rang out to me.
I stood up from my swivel leather seat and responded, “Yes, that would be me. Let me turn on the lights, please.”
Some shuffling of the feet took place while I walked faster than normal to the switches.
Lights illuminated the face of the speaker. A silver three-piece-suit topped off with a sheen outlined the slim, athletic figure of the man, whose face contained, clean-shaven, aristocratic features, topped by bronze, neat matted hair.
He held out his hand. “Cassidy, James Cassidy.”
I took it, surprised by the vigorous squeeze I received. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cassidy,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to quickly get ahead with our business. Quite frankly, I’m dying to hear more details about your brief but intriguing email. Not to mention baffling.”
He smiled as he took a seat on the desk nearest to us, then motioned for me to roll a chair beside him. After I had done so, he said with an air of, “I assure you, this talk will clear away all the baffling.”
“Let’s get straight to the point: Canada is threatening to take over Trenweca?”
“Why is it so surprising?”
I made a derisive snort. “Trenweca is one of the leading developing nations in the world. Our per capita income happens to be the fifth-highest in the world, and it’s been what, seven years since we declared our freedom from the United States? We took seven of USA’s fifty states – Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota and Wisconsin, and have turned them almost as wealthy as the United States – respective of their sizes. And now you’re telling me it might just be taken over by Canada.”
“It is very much all of the above you mentioned. What it is not is properly armed for a war.”
My cynical self evaporated. “War?”
“With the United States.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me right, Mr. Westwood. Although it isn’t out for anyone except the intense insiders to know, your beloved country may well as be preparing for it. The United States was never happy with your segregation, and its current President, Cynthia Faulkner is going to look to bring you back, and in the opinions of Trenweca’s Parliament, even if it involves a war between the two nations.”
A while after I drank it all in, I asked him, “Why are you telling me this?”
“You’ve done a Masters in American History from Brown University, summa cum laude. Back when the United States still consisted of fifty states.”
“But I work as an auditor. I don’t understand –”
“You worked two years as an assistant to the Secretary of State before you partook in the independence movement by Trenweca.”
“I moved mostly because I was incarcerated for involvement in the murder of Alexa Jennings and Walter Jennings. After that, I was forbidden to ever seek a political job in the States or in Trenweca.”
His smile was sly. “The charges will be removed from your records when you perform a task for us.”
“I don’t mind them being there in the first place, you see,” I retorted, “since they’re false. Alexa Jennings was killed at the hands of her psychopathic father, Walter, who attempted to kill me using the same knife. I grabbed it from him while he tried to thrust it into my abdomen, and I had no choice but to use it on him when he grabbed his loaded rifle. That’s why the knife contained my fingerprints, Mr. Cassidy. Not because I killed both of them, or because I am a mad killer running on loose.”
“Mr. Westwood, I assure you I am not blaming you for anything. I came here to ask you of a simple task you could do to let go then, of those charges, which may as well not matter to you, but have made you an outcast in USA, which is why you dislike their justice system so highly.”
Gritting my teeth in annoyance, I said, “What task do you have in mind?”
“When you sign my contact that includes all the minor details, the major ones will be that, first, I will erase all charges in all files in Trenweca that are held against your name. For this, you will need to apply for a job in the Trenweca Parliament, which, by my help, you will get easily. Your job will be to follow our instructions to prevent Trenweca declaring war in a rash movement before America does, in fear that it will any day do so themselves. What they don’t know is that Canada has gotten wind of this very interesting piece of news, and they plan to use it their advantage. While your country uselessly battles with USA, Canada will let USA suck out every ounce of blood from Trenweca, then when it’s about to collapse, it will lend a pillar of support in the form of their own army, which they will use as a route to gain into your country – and you know the rest.”
I stared at this man before me, who had just asked me to go as on a secret mission for the wellbeing of my country. “Who are you again?” I asked.
“I work for a covert division under Trenweca’s political offices. It was created by a leading leader in the Trenweca Independence Movement, Kyle Worthington, which I’m sure you know of. I don’t have much time Mr. Westwood, I can only grant you three days’ duration before we switch to another candidate. We, or I, thought you’d like a life free of stains of a crime you were never involved in. That you would like to save the country that granted you a second life, a life of normality and let you release the burden of living as a pariah. I hope I was not wrong. Till next time, if there is one, Mr. Timothy Westwood. Email me your response on the same ID as you did today by Monday. Have a safe weekend. I can say confidently it isn’t likely so many more are to come here.”
He left me without further ado, leaving me sitting in my chair, in a daze of disbelief and giddiness. And another feeling – an indescribable feeling that tugged at me. An unpleasant feeling.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query:
Dear Mr. Agent,
The year is 2020; seven of the fifty states of the Unites States have taken emancipation and separated – Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota and Wisconsin – and have formed Trenweca, a seven-year-old goldmine of a country. Timothy Westwood, an American expatriate with a grimy past involving suspicion for murder, has been given exclusive information via a covert Trenweccan agent about an imminent war Trenweca plans to go on against USA, in fear of USA itself declaring it, even with an unprepared army. Timothy is told by the agent that Canada is knowledgeable of these plans and that they will use Trenweca’s weaknesses to attempt an invasion over it. Timothy, with the help of this mysterious agent, is able to get into Trenweca’s parliament, and is given instructions that will supposedly cease any further ideas of war by Trenweca.
In Darker Times is a 90,000 word crime fantasy thriller about how an unwitting man is manipulated and catapulted into a world of lies, secrets and where no one is who they appear to be. With the help of the strong-headed Violet, an ex-agent for Trenweca, the only one who he can seemingly trust, Timothy races through a cornucopia of reverberating revelations of every turn, including facing the possibility of his own death.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Aleeza Rauf
Phone Number:
Email Address:
Mailing Address:
First Five Pages:
The office was dead silent, pitch black, devoid of any life except for me sitting in a desk in the right end corner beside the window with the panoramic view from the forty-fifth floor, and the light that shone from down below and the buildings surrounding the one where I worked, Gary & Wilkes Accounting Associates in the Edward Steyn Towers was blocked by the floor-length vanishing folds. A minute ago, there would be a spot of light from where I was sitting, emanating from my monitor that had just been put to rest after an extra-long day of work. Normally, my face would’ve been twisted in a disgruntled grimace at the indignation of working overtime, but at the moment I was much too in anticipation to be in any sort of complaining or somnolent state. The email I had received had erased any lethargy lurking in me, which it always did at the middle of the workday, ever since it had made its arrival on my inbox.
I was tempted to open it and read it again, but I managed to control the urge by reminding myself I had reread it at least fifteen times – I could almost recite it by heart now.
Hello Mr. Westwood,
You probably don’t know who I am, but I happen to know you somewhat, as I work as an agent for a secret department of the Trenweca Government. No, you are not being spied upon, but yes, I do have certain business with you that relates to your native country, the United States, and the country you currently reside in, Trenweca. As I am well aware, you are not in any way related to Politics at the moments, nor keep any significant interests centered on it, but you may be vital to its potential invasion by Canada.
Reply me a blank message if you wish to meet, which I advise should be done as soon as possible. I will arrive at your office at 12:00 A.M. sharp. Please make sure the office is empty completely except for your presence.
Sincerely,
James Cassidy
I drank another sip of my cappuccino and glanced once again at my cell phone as I waited for the mysterious sender of the email to arrive.
11:59, the bright numbers shone on the wide screen. There was still a minute to go before he’d make his grand entrance. Some punctuality he managed.
The door to the office opened after a light knock that acted as a rising action to the climax, thus erasing all doubts for any legitimacy of the email vanished, and my heart began to beat a notch faster.
“Mr. Westwood?” a smooth, generic voice rang out to me.
I stood up from my swivel leather seat and responded, “Yes, that would be me. Let me turn on the lights, please.”
Some shuffling of the feet took place while I walked faster than normal to the switches.
Lights illuminated the face of the speaker. A silver three-piece-suit topped off with a sheen outlined the slim, athletic figure of the man, whose face contained, clean-shaven, aristocratic features, topped by bronze, neat matted hair.
He held out his hand. “Cassidy, James Cassidy.”
I took it, surprised by the vigorous squeeze I received. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cassidy,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to quickly get ahead with our business. Quite frankly, I’m dying to hear more details about your brief but intriguing email. Not to mention baffling.”
He smiled as he took a seat on the desk nearest to us, then motioned for me to roll a chair beside him. After I had done so, he said with an air of, “I assure you, this talk will clear away all the baffling.”
“Let’s get straight to the point: Canada is threatening to take over Trenweca?”
“Why is it so surprising?”
I made a derisive snort. “Trenweca is one of the leading developing nations in the world. Our per capita income happens to be the fifth-highest in the world, and it’s been what, seven years since we declared our freedom from the United States? We took seven of USA’s fifty states – Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota and Wisconsin, and have turned them almost as wealthy as the United States – respective of their sizes. And now you’re telling me it might just be taken over by Canada.”
“It is very much all of the above you mentioned. What it is not is properly armed for a war.”
My cynical self evaporated. “War?”
“With the United States.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me right, Mr. Westwood. Although it isn’t out for anyone except the intense insiders to know, your beloved country may well as be preparing for it. The United States was never happy with your segregation, and its current President, Cynthia Faulkner is going to look to bring you back, and in the opinions of Trenweca’s Parliament, even if it involves a war between the two nations.”
A while after I drank it all in, I asked him, “Why are you telling me this?”
“You’ve done a Masters in American History from Brown University, summa cum laude. Back when the United States still consisted of fifty states.”
“But I work as an auditor. I don’t understand –”
“You worked two years as an assistant to the Secretary of State before you partook in the independence movement by Trenweca.”
“I moved mostly because I was incarcerated for involvement in the murder of Alexa Jennings and Walter Jennings. After that, I was forbidden to ever seek a political job in the States or in Trenweca.”
His smile was sly. “The charges will be removed from your records when you perform a task for us.”
“I don’t mind them being there in the first place, you see,” I retorted, “since they’re false. Alexa Jennings was killed at the hands of her psychopathic father, Walter, who attempted to kill me using the same knife. I grabbed it from him while he tried to thrust it into my abdomen, and I had no choice but to use it on him when he grabbed his loaded rifle. That’s why the knife contained my fingerprints, Mr. Cassidy. Not because I killed both of them, or because I am a mad killer running on loose.”
“Mr. Westwood, I assure you I am not blaming you for anything. I came here to ask you of a simple task you could do to let go then, of those charges, which may as well not matter to you, but have made you an outcast in USA, which is why you dislike their justice system so highly.”
Gritting my teeth in annoyance, I said, “What task do you have in mind?”
“When you sign my contact that includes all the minor details, the major ones will be that, first, I will erase all charges in all files in Trenweca that are held against your name. For this, you will need to apply for a job in the Trenweca Parliament, which, by my help, you will get easily. Your job will be to follow our instructions to prevent Trenweca declaring war in a rash movement before America does, in fear that it will any day do so themselves. What they don’t know is that Canada has gotten wind of this very interesting piece of news, and they plan to use it their advantage. While your country uselessly battles with USA, Canada will let USA suck out every ounce of blood from Trenweca, then when it’s about to collapse, it will lend a pillar of support in the form of their own army, which they will use as a route to gain into your country – and you know the rest.”
I stared at this man before me, who had just asked me to go as on a secret mission for the wellbeing of my country. “Who are you again?” I asked.
“I work for a covert division under Trenweca’s political offices. It was created by a leading leader in the Trenweca Independence Movement, Kyle Worthington, which I’m sure you know of. I don’t have much time Mr. Westwood, I can only grant you three days’ duration before we switch to another candidate. We, or I, thought you’d like a life free of stains of a crime you were never involved in. That you would like to save the country that granted you a second life, a life of normality and let you release the burden of living as a pariah. I hope I was not wrong. Till next time, if there is one, Mr. Timothy Westwood. Email me your response on the same ID as you did today by Monday. Have a safe weekend. I can say confidently it isn’t likely so many more are to come here.”
He left me without further ado, leaving me sitting in my chair, in a daze of disbelief and giddiness. And another feeling – an indescribable feeling that tugged at me. An unpleasant feeling.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...BLOOD LINES
Click here for the discussion thread.
Rick Daley,
My fictional thriller novel, Blood Lines, contains the action of John Grisham novels, the scientific intrigue of Jurassic Park, and a wry protagonist who longs to be as smooth as an Ian Fleming character. In my 65,000-word novel, Eric Brodie is dying of cancer. He also has first-hand knowledge that American is being lured into a war they won’t win against Britain.
Eric is invited to participate in human drug trials for a possible cure for cancer by Fred O’Brien, the head research chemist and a World War II army buddy to Eric’s late father. Unknowingly, Eric is the only participant in the trials being equally funded by Britain and the United States. After both Fred and the research results suddenly disappear, a bombing at the American military hospital containing the lab is announced to be the work of terrorists working for a British double-agent. America has declared they are willing to go to war if either the results or Eric are not in their hands within 48-hours. With the lab destroyed, Eric must untangle the web of promises and clues to locate Fred and the test results before anyone finds them, or him. For no one, not even Eric, knows for certain if the drug has failed or if he is the only living carrier of the cure for cancer.
I am an as-yet unpublished author of historical fiction, with one completed novel in editing with Kristen Weber. I have owned my own marketing and advertising agency for more than five years, writing creative and technical copy for my clients’ collateral and website projects. I’m the editor and lead writer for the Church Hill newsletter. I have selected to send my query to you because of the experiment you are conducting. I have used it as an opportunity to write something that was out of my genre just to see if I could do it, and with the outrageous hope that it will lead to a book deal. Thank you for your time and consideration, and for the fine premise. I embellished it based on a dream I had in which my particular blood had mixed with a drug resulting in the only known cure for cancer.
Karen
Chapter One
It is because of my cancer my country is preparing for war. Not my cancer, really. Me, really. Me and my damned habitual belief that I could throw enough of my father’s money at any problem and it would simply go away as quickly as he did. While I’d like to blame the man for the position I’m in, I’m not so stupid as to recognize everyone has choices.
It’s only now I can clearly see how poorly I’ve played the game since my father exercised his ability to finally stop living. I’ve been looking at the chessboard of my life completely wrong. I was so consumed with taking the most out of the move I was currently making that I couldn’t see I was the pawn and not the king. Nor did I realize even the king is there to protect the queen.
It’s only now, waiting for this call on my cell phone and successfully getting lost in a crowd in Manhattan, I know I have to visualize the moves ahead. In the next 48 hours if I don’t drastically change the game for everyone else, then what comes next will feel like an eternity. To the world. To me.
The phone is vibrating in my pocket, and the physical sensation triggers the thought that perhaps the best way to come up with a new strategy, is to examine some of the moves that lead me to standing in this spot. The number showing up on the phone is Fred’s. His voice, at this moment, I would love to hear more than any other in the world.
* * *
Dr. Fred O’Brien’s comforting voice was there for me two years ago. Fred always had that wonderful bedside manner they give to doctors on TV who work for their patients versus the pay. His head of fuzzy grey hair his large hands were constantly fingering, and the bushy eyebrows he could hind behind when the news was bad, seemed out of sorts with his tidy appearance. When his hands went up to his hair, and he bowed his head to deliver the news to me, I felt glad that he had to be the one to do it. Although Fred was only five-foot-seven, he suddenly seemed to be the one six inches taller than me. I heard some of the words, but not in full sentences because my heart was giving me such a pounding from the news. Prostate cancer. Went valiantly. Spoke of me. I’d have been proud of him. In the end.
My brow drew tight. “But he looked so healthy just last week,” I heard myself saying through the thunder and waves. “Did I just not see it? He was fine. He hadn’t told me.” It wouldn’t have been the first time my father hadn’t confide in me.
Again Fred spoke, as he placed his hand on my shoulder, and his words continued to come. Breathe deep. Was a good man. Didn’t want to burden you. Valiant decision. Stopped the treatment. A loss to so many.
“You’ll have to meet with the lawyers tomorrow, Eric,” he said. I finally met his eyes. “You’re obviously the executor of his will.” He looked at me steadily waiting for the realization to come. I was the only family I had left.
“I’m sure it’s precisely spelled out so I won’t be left making any important decisions,” I said. That was an understanding we had had for a long time. My father handles things. I don’t.
Fred stared at the floor, and then up at me through those eyebrows and said nothing. He handed me a business card for the attorney’s office with the appointment time scribbled on the back.
“Ten o’clock tomorrow,” he said, knowing I wasn’t going to be able to read the writing. “Do you want me to come?”
I shook my head, and he said, “I’m sure the estate is going to be enough for you to handle in the next few days, and I can arrange a proper military funeral. Your dad and I went through some terrible times together in France. We didn’t know which of us would go first, so we made promises. Let me do this for him and for you.”
I nodded and he steered me toward the door. “Where is he now?” I asked.
“He was at Walter Reed this morning under my care when we lost him, so his body is there. Do you want to see him?”
I thought about it briefly. “No, what good would that do? I’ll have plenty of time for that in the next few days.”
The truth was I wasn’t ready. I wanted to see how my father had left things before I decided how to look at him in the end. The thing about being my father’s son is I always have this irritable hope that maybe this time things will be different. Inevitably, the feeling usually lets me down. Or he does. Or I do.
The door was open, and I went through it trying to figure out what to do with my time between now and ten tomorrow. “Get some rest. Have a drink,” Fred said. The door clicked shut between us.
* * *
Now, as I flip open the phone to speak to him, my heart is once again driving the sound of waves into my ears. With a breath, I wrestle down the sound and calmly said hello.
“Where are you?” Fred asks.
“The nearest cell tower is letting everyone know where I am right now. Do you have the tickets for me?” I ask.
“It’s all arranged. Meet me in Washington Square tonight at seventeen hundred hours. Rush hour. Near the statue. I’ll give you the tickets. The passport. Tomorrow you’ll head to London. From there you’ll go to the new lab. It’s remote. Protected. No one will know you’re there except for the two of us, one security guard, and the lab tech. Any questions?”
“Nope.” I click the phone shut and toss it into the nearest trash bin. I set off on foot weaving through the crowds at Times Square until my brown tweed jacket and blue jeans disappear in a throng of people heading downtown.
I hate down time. It’s one of the few things I inherited from my father. Impatience. His resulted in a life of action. Mine in a series of unfinished jobs, hobbies and relationships. This is the first time in my life I can see action as the right course. I have two hours before the meeting with Fred–just enough time to duck into The Strand bookstore and do a little research on platelets in their medical stacks. “18 miles of books” as their tagline says, will surely contain the answers I need to fill in the last steps of the blood line that began in the attorney’s office in Washington, D.C. two years ago.
* * *
There is a sense of anticipation when you’re about to read someone’s will that you’ll finally get the real scoop on the person. Like seeing them in their underwear for the first time. Not naked. In underwear, which I think is much more revealing. It’s what they’ve really been walking around in all these years, and they’re finally letting you see it. It’s how they truly see themselves. Boxers? Prints or stripes? Thongs? You get the idea. Part of me wanted to find out my dad preferred the lifestyle of a bright pink push up bra. It certainly would be more exciting than the plain white briefs I know he wore every day.
At ten o’clock I was escorted down the hall and into a room to wait for Mr. Cutlass. The attorney’s office was cold–either because it was winter or because of the inhabitant. When Mr. Cutlass stepped into the room and shook my hand, his lifeless gaze confirmed which.
“This shouldn’t take long, Mr. Brodie. We met with your father only four weeks ago for the first time, and he came to us with a structure that was fairly simple and straightforward.” The attorney cleared his throat and looked down at the open, thin folder on his desk. “He had three homes, all of which he sold the before the end of last year, contents included. His four automobiles were sold as well, and all investments and/or stocks were cashed in or sold. All the monies from those assets went into a simple savings account.” Mr. Cutlass never raised his eyes as he licked his fingers then flipped the page. “His savings account also contained the military pension he had received for the last thirty years, which ceases upon his death, and any insurance money received after your mother’s death is still in the account as well. He had one life insurance policy, of which you are the sole beneficiary. Within the week, his remaining possessions will be delivered in three boxes to your residence by our office. The total of his savings account and the life insurance policy is 202 million. We only need to have you sign a few papers today to get everything transferred to you, and we’ll close out his yearly taxes three months from now. Any questions?”
I stared open-mouthed until finally Mr. Cutlass asked again. “Hell, yes I have questions, Mr. Cutlass. How did he amass 202 million? He was a retired soldier and a biology professor after that. And what about final requests? He left no instructions? Is there nothing else,” I hesitated and swallowed, “about me? I mean, did he leave nothing other than cash and the insurance?”
“The three boxes,” he smiled. The temperature in the room dropped. “But no note or last words, if that’s what you mean. I’m afraid everything I’ve told you is the extent of the will, Mr. Brodie. He wanted it wrapped up simply.”
He wore over 200 million dollars in plain, white briefs.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Rick Daley,
My fictional thriller novel, Blood Lines, contains the action of John Grisham novels, the scientific intrigue of Jurassic Park, and a wry protagonist who longs to be as smooth as an Ian Fleming character. In my 65,000-word novel, Eric Brodie is dying of cancer. He also has first-hand knowledge that American is being lured into a war they won’t win against Britain.
Eric is invited to participate in human drug trials for a possible cure for cancer by Fred O’Brien, the head research chemist and a World War II army buddy to Eric’s late father. Unknowingly, Eric is the only participant in the trials being equally funded by Britain and the United States. After both Fred and the research results suddenly disappear, a bombing at the American military hospital containing the lab is announced to be the work of terrorists working for a British double-agent. America has declared they are willing to go to war if either the results or Eric are not in their hands within 48-hours. With the lab destroyed, Eric must untangle the web of promises and clues to locate Fred and the test results before anyone finds them, or him. For no one, not even Eric, knows for certain if the drug has failed or if he is the only living carrier of the cure for cancer.
I am an as-yet unpublished author of historical fiction, with one completed novel in editing with Kristen Weber. I have owned my own marketing and advertising agency for more than five years, writing creative and technical copy for my clients’ collateral and website projects. I’m the editor and lead writer for the Church Hill newsletter. I have selected to send my query to you because of the experiment you are conducting. I have used it as an opportunity to write something that was out of my genre just to see if I could do it, and with the outrageous hope that it will lead to a book deal. Thank you for your time and consideration, and for the fine premise. I embellished it based on a dream I had in which my particular blood had mixed with a drug resulting in the only known cure for cancer.
Karen
Chapter One
It is because of my cancer my country is preparing for war. Not my cancer, really. Me, really. Me and my damned habitual belief that I could throw enough of my father’s money at any problem and it would simply go away as quickly as he did. While I’d like to blame the man for the position I’m in, I’m not so stupid as to recognize everyone has choices.
It’s only now I can clearly see how poorly I’ve played the game since my father exercised his ability to finally stop living. I’ve been looking at the chessboard of my life completely wrong. I was so consumed with taking the most out of the move I was currently making that I couldn’t see I was the pawn and not the king. Nor did I realize even the king is there to protect the queen.
It’s only now, waiting for this call on my cell phone and successfully getting lost in a crowd in Manhattan, I know I have to visualize the moves ahead. In the next 48 hours if I don’t drastically change the game for everyone else, then what comes next will feel like an eternity. To the world. To me.
The phone is vibrating in my pocket, and the physical sensation triggers the thought that perhaps the best way to come up with a new strategy, is to examine some of the moves that lead me to standing in this spot. The number showing up on the phone is Fred’s. His voice, at this moment, I would love to hear more than any other in the world.
* * *
Dr. Fred O’Brien’s comforting voice was there for me two years ago. Fred always had that wonderful bedside manner they give to doctors on TV who work for their patients versus the pay. His head of fuzzy grey hair his large hands were constantly fingering, and the bushy eyebrows he could hind behind when the news was bad, seemed out of sorts with his tidy appearance. When his hands went up to his hair, and he bowed his head to deliver the news to me, I felt glad that he had to be the one to do it. Although Fred was only five-foot-seven, he suddenly seemed to be the one six inches taller than me. I heard some of the words, but not in full sentences because my heart was giving me such a pounding from the news. Prostate cancer. Went valiantly. Spoke of me. I’d have been proud of him. In the end.
My brow drew tight. “But he looked so healthy just last week,” I heard myself saying through the thunder and waves. “Did I just not see it? He was fine. He hadn’t told me.” It wouldn’t have been the first time my father hadn’t confide in me.
Again Fred spoke, as he placed his hand on my shoulder, and his words continued to come. Breathe deep. Was a good man. Didn’t want to burden you. Valiant decision. Stopped the treatment. A loss to so many.
“You’ll have to meet with the lawyers tomorrow, Eric,” he said. I finally met his eyes. “You’re obviously the executor of his will.” He looked at me steadily waiting for the realization to come. I was the only family I had left.
“I’m sure it’s precisely spelled out so I won’t be left making any important decisions,” I said. That was an understanding we had had for a long time. My father handles things. I don’t.
Fred stared at the floor, and then up at me through those eyebrows and said nothing. He handed me a business card for the attorney’s office with the appointment time scribbled on the back.
“Ten o’clock tomorrow,” he said, knowing I wasn’t going to be able to read the writing. “Do you want me to come?”
I shook my head, and he said, “I’m sure the estate is going to be enough for you to handle in the next few days, and I can arrange a proper military funeral. Your dad and I went through some terrible times together in France. We didn’t know which of us would go first, so we made promises. Let me do this for him and for you.”
I nodded and he steered me toward the door. “Where is he now?” I asked.
“He was at Walter Reed this morning under my care when we lost him, so his body is there. Do you want to see him?”
I thought about it briefly. “No, what good would that do? I’ll have plenty of time for that in the next few days.”
The truth was I wasn’t ready. I wanted to see how my father had left things before I decided how to look at him in the end. The thing about being my father’s son is I always have this irritable hope that maybe this time things will be different. Inevitably, the feeling usually lets me down. Or he does. Or I do.
The door was open, and I went through it trying to figure out what to do with my time between now and ten tomorrow. “Get some rest. Have a drink,” Fred said. The door clicked shut between us.
* * *
Now, as I flip open the phone to speak to him, my heart is once again driving the sound of waves into my ears. With a breath, I wrestle down the sound and calmly said hello.
“Where are you?” Fred asks.
“The nearest cell tower is letting everyone know where I am right now. Do you have the tickets for me?” I ask.
“It’s all arranged. Meet me in Washington Square tonight at seventeen hundred hours. Rush hour. Near the statue. I’ll give you the tickets. The passport. Tomorrow you’ll head to London. From there you’ll go to the new lab. It’s remote. Protected. No one will know you’re there except for the two of us, one security guard, and the lab tech. Any questions?”
“Nope.” I click the phone shut and toss it into the nearest trash bin. I set off on foot weaving through the crowds at Times Square until my brown tweed jacket and blue jeans disappear in a throng of people heading downtown.
I hate down time. It’s one of the few things I inherited from my father. Impatience. His resulted in a life of action. Mine in a series of unfinished jobs, hobbies and relationships. This is the first time in my life I can see action as the right course. I have two hours before the meeting with Fred–just enough time to duck into The Strand bookstore and do a little research on platelets in their medical stacks. “18 miles of books” as their tagline says, will surely contain the answers I need to fill in the last steps of the blood line that began in the attorney’s office in Washington, D.C. two years ago.
* * *
There is a sense of anticipation when you’re about to read someone’s will that you’ll finally get the real scoop on the person. Like seeing them in their underwear for the first time. Not naked. In underwear, which I think is much more revealing. It’s what they’ve really been walking around in all these years, and they’re finally letting you see it. It’s how they truly see themselves. Boxers? Prints or stripes? Thongs? You get the idea. Part of me wanted to find out my dad preferred the lifestyle of a bright pink push up bra. It certainly would be more exciting than the plain white briefs I know he wore every day.
At ten o’clock I was escorted down the hall and into a room to wait for Mr. Cutlass. The attorney’s office was cold–either because it was winter or because of the inhabitant. When Mr. Cutlass stepped into the room and shook my hand, his lifeless gaze confirmed which.
“This shouldn’t take long, Mr. Brodie. We met with your father only four weeks ago for the first time, and he came to us with a structure that was fairly simple and straightforward.” The attorney cleared his throat and looked down at the open, thin folder on his desk. “He had three homes, all of which he sold the before the end of last year, contents included. His four automobiles were sold as well, and all investments and/or stocks were cashed in or sold. All the monies from those assets went into a simple savings account.” Mr. Cutlass never raised his eyes as he licked his fingers then flipped the page. “His savings account also contained the military pension he had received for the last thirty years, which ceases upon his death, and any insurance money received after your mother’s death is still in the account as well. He had one life insurance policy, of which you are the sole beneficiary. Within the week, his remaining possessions will be delivered in three boxes to your residence by our office. The total of his savings account and the life insurance policy is 202 million. We only need to have you sign a few papers today to get everything transferred to you, and we’ll close out his yearly taxes three months from now. Any questions?”
I stared open-mouthed until finally Mr. Cutlass asked again. “Hell, yes I have questions, Mr. Cutlass. How did he amass 202 million? He was a retired soldier and a biology professor after that. And what about final requests? He left no instructions? Is there nothing else,” I hesitated and swallowed, “about me? I mean, did he leave nothing other than cash and the insurance?”
“The three boxes,” he smiled. The temperature in the room dropped. “But no note or last words, if that’s what you mean. I’m afraid everything I’ve told you is the extent of the will, Mr. Brodie. He wanted it wrapped up simply.”
He wore over 200 million dollars in plain, white briefs.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...AGE OF STEEL AND STONE
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query:
Dear Mr. Agent,
Emma is a mayor's daughter in a frontier America full of magic. Humans hold power over machines, while sprites--evil spirits forced into hiding by humanity's wards--can manipulate nature. When Emma fails her magic test and turns out to have sprite magic, the sprites claim her as their savior in a battle against the elves and brownies of England.
As Emma learns to use her magic, she also learns that the sprites' fight with the English fae has ties to the United States' increasing aggression against England and uneasy coexistence with the neighboring French colony of Louisiana. She finds herself increasingly in sympathy with the downtrodden sprites and repelled by the human world of politics that her father's bid for governor propels her into. But as she learns more about the sprites and their plans, the more she suspects she's being deceived.
When Emma discovers that the help she's giving the sprites is actually provoking the United States to go to war with England, exposing their flanks to Louisiana, she refuses to help them anymore. But the sprites can't fulfill their plans without her, and if she won't help them, her murder--supposedly at the hands of English spies--will. Emma must save herself and outwit the sprites to keep her father and her country from an onslaught on three fronts: England, Louisiana, and the sprites themselves.
Age of Steel and Stone is a fantasy novel complete at 112,000 words.
This is my first novel. Thank you for your time.
Best wishes,
Jennifer Shafer
Pages:
Mr. Chambers opened the door to the examination room, and Emma knew she had failed. His face was too kind, his mustache too rumpled from furious rubbing, for any other conclusion.
Her heart felt hollow, and her hands cold despite the weltering heat. She was surrounded in magical debris, but she had allowed herself to hope that perhaps the onslaught had been part of the test. What will
Daddy say? she thought, followed by, What will Michael say? Her older brother had passed his test with one of the highest marks possible.
Everyone had expected her to do the same. She had expected it, until the objects on the examination table had started flying around the room and she had been unable to stop them. What had gone wrong?
"Thank you, Miss Pierce," Mr. Chambers said, then hesitated. "Shall we join your parents so that they can hear the results?"
She followed him with her head carefully erect, shoulders straight, face calm. She would not embarrass him or her family by breaking down. The dark, narrow walls of the corridor, smelling like damp wood in the
heat, were a comforting presence flanking her. She felt exposed when they entered the town hall in the center of the building, where her parents sat waiting.
"Mr. Pierce," said Mr. Chambers, with a nod, and Emma wondered how he felt, delivering such bad news to the mayor. "Mrs. Pierce. Your daughter has completed her magic test."
"Completed?" her father said, half rising. "Not passed?"
"I'm afraid not," Mr. Chambers said, and patted Emma on the shoulder without seeming to notice what she was doing. "I've never seen anything like it before. At first she seemed to have a good grasp of magic, but when presented with the test objects she was completely unable to manipulate them."
"What does that mean?" her father said, on his feet now, his dark eyes locked on Mr. Chambers's.
"I don't know," Mr. Chambers said, but of course he did. Everyone could work magic, except for the disabled and the very stupid. Emma was neither...as far as she knew.
Her father dismissed Mr. Chambers and gave Emma his hand. "You can retake the test," he said. "Michael can help you practice. I'm sure it was just nerves."
He kept up a stream of comfort all the way to the carriage, which Emma hardly listened to because she was watching her mother. Her mother didn't look surprised, or suspicious, or sad. She merely looked thoughtful, as though she had learned nothing new today but only been reminded of something she had known long before. But she said nothing on the drive home, and nothing when they entered the house, and in having to face Michael's politely kept back incredulity and her younger brother Bobby's confusion she had no chance to ask.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query:
Dear Mr. Agent,
Emma is a mayor's daughter in a frontier America full of magic. Humans hold power over machines, while sprites--evil spirits forced into hiding by humanity's wards--can manipulate nature. When Emma fails her magic test and turns out to have sprite magic, the sprites claim her as their savior in a battle against the elves and brownies of England.
As Emma learns to use her magic, she also learns that the sprites' fight with the English fae has ties to the United States' increasing aggression against England and uneasy coexistence with the neighboring French colony of Louisiana. She finds herself increasingly in sympathy with the downtrodden sprites and repelled by the human world of politics that her father's bid for governor propels her into. But as she learns more about the sprites and their plans, the more she suspects she's being deceived.
When Emma discovers that the help she's giving the sprites is actually provoking the United States to go to war with England, exposing their flanks to Louisiana, she refuses to help them anymore. But the sprites can't fulfill their plans without her, and if she won't help them, her murder--supposedly at the hands of English spies--will. Emma must save herself and outwit the sprites to keep her father and her country from an onslaught on three fronts: England, Louisiana, and the sprites themselves.
Age of Steel and Stone is a fantasy novel complete at 112,000 words.
This is my first novel. Thank you for your time.
Best wishes,
Jennifer Shafer
Pages:
Mr. Chambers opened the door to the examination room, and Emma knew she had failed. His face was too kind, his mustache too rumpled from furious rubbing, for any other conclusion.
Her heart felt hollow, and her hands cold despite the weltering heat. She was surrounded in magical debris, but she had allowed herself to hope that perhaps the onslaught had been part of the test. What will
Daddy say? she thought, followed by, What will Michael say? Her older brother had passed his test with one of the highest marks possible.
Everyone had expected her to do the same. She had expected it, until the objects on the examination table had started flying around the room and she had been unable to stop them. What had gone wrong?
"Thank you, Miss Pierce," Mr. Chambers said, then hesitated. "Shall we join your parents so that they can hear the results?"
She followed him with her head carefully erect, shoulders straight, face calm. She would not embarrass him or her family by breaking down. The dark, narrow walls of the corridor, smelling like damp wood in the
heat, were a comforting presence flanking her. She felt exposed when they entered the town hall in the center of the building, where her parents sat waiting.
"Mr. Pierce," said Mr. Chambers, with a nod, and Emma wondered how he felt, delivering such bad news to the mayor. "Mrs. Pierce. Your daughter has completed her magic test."
"Completed?" her father said, half rising. "Not passed?"
"I'm afraid not," Mr. Chambers said, and patted Emma on the shoulder without seeming to notice what she was doing. "I've never seen anything like it before. At first she seemed to have a good grasp of magic, but when presented with the test objects she was completely unable to manipulate them."
"What does that mean?" her father said, on his feet now, his dark eyes locked on Mr. Chambers's.
"I don't know," Mr. Chambers said, but of course he did. Everyone could work magic, except for the disabled and the very stupid. Emma was neither...as far as she knew.
Her father dismissed Mr. Chambers and gave Emma his hand. "You can retake the test," he said. "Michael can help you practice. I'm sure it was just nerves."
He kept up a stream of comfort all the way to the carriage, which Emma hardly listened to because she was watching her mother. Her mother didn't look surprised, or suspicious, or sad. She merely looked thoughtful, as though she had learned nothing new today but only been reminded of something she had known long before. But she said nothing on the drive home, and nothing when they entered the house, and in having to face Michael's politely kept back incredulity and her younger brother Bobby's confusion she had no chance to ask.
Click here for the discussion thread.
May 29, 2010
Query, The Spinner's Wheel,plus excerpt
Dear Super luscious Agent,
When Valerius Anaxandros time travels from his home on the Planet Elledra to Earth he is faced with espionage, intrigue and surprise attacks, as Elledra’s chosen Time Rider it’s just part of his job description. The Watchers, a group of men and women on Earth who think that time travel is an abomination, are always willing to help him into the next life, but Valerius’s most recent encounter is not with one of the Watchers, but with a scarred face man who knows what he is.
Valerius’s problems don’t end there, his niece, fifteen year old Sara Gallager, is a genetically gifted time traveler who needs to be relocated from her home in the United States to Elledra to be trained. Valerius finds himself overseeing her training while dealing with Crassius Atrapes, the man he met earlier, who turns out to be a rogue time traveler from 40 BC who wants to wrest control of Rome from Julius Caesar and rule as Emperor.
When Crassius goes back in time to recruit two of Earths great warriors, Hannibal of Carthage from 300 B.C and Cassivellaunus of Britannia from 50 B.C, Valerius must act to preserve the true history of Earth which he is sworn to protect. If he doesn’t succeed, Earth as we know it will be changed forever.
The Spinner’s Wheel, is a Fantasy/Science Fiction novel complete at 75,000 words.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K.D. Vassall
The great entrance hall of Antiquitas was still and quiet, its massive columns looming high to support a domed shaped roof. On the floor in the center of the room, a large circle was cut into the pale colored stone, and at its very heart sat a milky white rock. A sudden shift in the wind had the fallen leaves resting near the circle swirling, and the stone in the core of the circle flared with light. Out of nowhere the ghostly outline of a man dressed in black, atop of an equally black horse appeared. The image wavered for a moment, and then seemed to fade. Finally there came a burst of light and the man and the horse came clearly into view.
Valerius Anaxandros instinctively glanced behind him, his jaw clenching as he surveyed the empty spot off to his right. Dismounting, he busied himself with his saddle and forced his features into more relaxed lines. He was a young man, no older than twenty one, but his lean face had a settled look to it that most typical men of his age didn’t have; a look that said that he already knew who he was. Everything about him was quick yet deliberate, his movements were economical, and his green eyes, when they settled on you were unthreatening yet penetrating. All in all he gave the impression that he was someone to be reckoned with. And he was.
His mouth was what spoiled his almost perfect control; it had a tendency to tilt this way and that, and hinted at a capacity for humor and a propensity towards mischief. Right now, however, it was on a downward descent, and plunged even further as he thought back to the encounter he had earlier today. Who was the man that had attacked him on that narrow road outside Rome? How did he know what he was? He was a threat, Valerius was sure of that, at some point in time he will have to be dealt with.
A whisper of thought, distinctly feminine, touched his mind.
It was a touch he was familiar with, a presence inside him that knew his mind as thoroughly as he himself did.
“We should speak to the Proceris about him.”
“I know, I will,” Valerius thought back.
A flash of silver caught Valerius’s eye. A Sphinx, made of beaten silver strolled into the room from the balcony off to the right. Valerius was surprised, but he held up his hand, palm up as protocol required, as it’s lion’s body stalked over to him. It surveyed Valerius dispassionately.
Its face looked like a human male’s, with high, broad cheekbones highlighted in gold. Its chin was solid and square except for the ears, which were pointed. Those ears twitched back and forth slowly as he processed Valerius’s palm print, his bone structure and his iris. He looked up at Valerius, a question in its topaz eyes.
Valerius knew what he was waiting for.
“Galatia?” said Valerius.
Immediately a golden disc melted out of his right arm. Adhagen fixed his attention on the disc, there seemed to be a moment of communication, a type of communion that Valerius didn’t fully understand. After a few moments Adhagen nodded his head, gave a slight bow before he turned and padded away.
“He’s gone” murmured Valerius. At once the disc melted back into his flesh.
“I know” said Galatia. “If Adhagan is here then the Proceris must be close by,” she added.
Valerius nodded.
It was written that the Sphinx’s job was to guard the six Travelers Circle’s, set at different points on the planet, in times of trouble. But there had been no trouble in the four thousand years that humans had inhabited Elledra. The guard had been withdrawn. The Male of the pride, Adhagan, was the only one left in service and was always with The Proceris. He would have reported to Lycurgus that he was here by now.
He decided to unstrap Sorcerers saddle while he waited, but changed his mind when he heard a familiar tapping sound. It was Lycurgus. His old, weathered face was twisted up into a scowl and his white eyebrows were furrowed down to meet in the middle. His unruly, curly white hair surrounded his face like a halo, but Valerius knew from long association, there was nothing remotely angelic about Proceris Lycurgus. The sphinx drew up beside him, swished its tail and tossed his head in Valerius’s direction as if to say, ‘there he is’.
Lycurgus nodded at the Sphinx before turning his sharp blue gaze on him.
“I was surprised when Adhagan told me you had arrived. Your assignment wasn’t supposed to end for another three days,” said Lycurgus, flicking back the collar of his gold and purple tunic and striking a dashing pose with his cane.
Valerius’s lips twitch upwards, an inevitable reaction to Lycurgus’s presence. With his flamboyant nature and unusual sense of style, many people were surprised when Lycurgus was elected to the highest position in the land, but Valerius knew that Lycurgus’s exterior hid a shrewd and clever man.
“Proceris Lycurgus” said Valerius, giving him a formal bow, “I must speak with you.”
Lygurgus nodded, his gaze skidding off to the right, before fixing itself again on Valerius’s face. Valerius pressed his lips together, making an effort to keep his expression impassive. He didn’t
think he succeeded, because Lycurgus dropped his gaze. Valerius realised that he was trying to give him some privacy.
“Its not about Sayuri…something…unexpected has happened, but since we’re on the topic, has the Knight Priests found anything…?” asked Valerius.
“No, not yet. There is no sign of her. You must know Valerius that it’s likely that she is…well, that she will not be found.”
“Yes, I know.”
Lycurgus didn’t linger on the matter, indeed he seemed anxious to change the topic. He rapped his cane twice sharply on the floor. At once a young man hurried around the corner.
“See to Lord Valerius’s horse,” he said. The young man bowed, giving Lycurgus a wide smile as he led Sorcerer away.
Lycurgus glowered after him, “no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to intimidate that one.”
Valerius lips quirked upwards, “that must disappoint you.”
“Yes. Yes it does.”
Pulling off his well worn black, leather gloves Valerius glanced around him. They were alone. “There has been an incident…”
Lycurgus held up a wrinkled hand. “Not now, we will talk in my personal chambers.”
The faint whir of a police siren interrupted their conversation. Valerius peered outside and saw a yellow Airsurfer hover car hurtling through the air with three police cars in close pursuit. The Airsurfer careened towards the hall and then pulled up suddenly, zooming over the roof. His glimpse of the driver confirmed his suspicions. A freckled teenager was manning the wheel, his blond head bobbing to the heavy beat of hip hop music.
When Valerius Anaxandros time travels from his home on the Planet Elledra to Earth he is faced with espionage, intrigue and surprise attacks, as Elledra’s chosen Time Rider it’s just part of his job description. The Watchers, a group of men and women on Earth who think that time travel is an abomination, are always willing to help him into the next life, but Valerius’s most recent encounter is not with one of the Watchers, but with a scarred face man who knows what he is.
Valerius’s problems don’t end there, his niece, fifteen year old Sara Gallager, is a genetically gifted time traveler who needs to be relocated from her home in the United States to Elledra to be trained. Valerius finds himself overseeing her training while dealing with Crassius Atrapes, the man he met earlier, who turns out to be a rogue time traveler from 40 BC who wants to wrest control of Rome from Julius Caesar and rule as Emperor.
When Crassius goes back in time to recruit two of Earths great warriors, Hannibal of Carthage from 300 B.C and Cassivellaunus of Britannia from 50 B.C, Valerius must act to preserve the true history of Earth which he is sworn to protect. If he doesn’t succeed, Earth as we know it will be changed forever.
The Spinner’s Wheel, is a Fantasy/Science Fiction novel complete at 75,000 words.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K.D. Vassall
The Spinners Wheel
Chapter 1
The great entrance hall of Antiquitas was still and quiet, its massive columns looming high to support a domed shaped roof. On the floor in the center of the room, a large circle was cut into the pale colored stone, and at its very heart sat a milky white rock. A sudden shift in the wind had the fallen leaves resting near the circle swirling, and the stone in the core of the circle flared with light. Out of nowhere the ghostly outline of a man dressed in black, atop of an equally black horse appeared. The image wavered for a moment, and then seemed to fade. Finally there came a burst of light and the man and the horse came clearly into view.
Valerius Anaxandros instinctively glanced behind him, his jaw clenching as he surveyed the empty spot off to his right. Dismounting, he busied himself with his saddle and forced his features into more relaxed lines. He was a young man, no older than twenty one, but his lean face had a settled look to it that most typical men of his age didn’t have; a look that said that he already knew who he was. Everything about him was quick yet deliberate, his movements were economical, and his green eyes, when they settled on you were unthreatening yet penetrating. All in all he gave the impression that he was someone to be reckoned with. And he was.
His mouth was what spoiled his almost perfect control; it had a tendency to tilt this way and that, and hinted at a capacity for humor and a propensity towards mischief. Right now, however, it was on a downward descent, and plunged even further as he thought back to the encounter he had earlier today. Who was the man that had attacked him on that narrow road outside Rome? How did he know what he was? He was a threat, Valerius was sure of that, at some point in time he will have to be dealt with.
A whisper of thought, distinctly feminine, touched his mind.
It was a touch he was familiar with, a presence inside him that knew his mind as thoroughly as he himself did.
“We should speak to the Proceris about him.”
“I know, I will,” Valerius thought back.
A flash of silver caught Valerius’s eye. A Sphinx, made of beaten silver strolled into the room from the balcony off to the right. Valerius was surprised, but he held up his hand, palm up as protocol required, as it’s lion’s body stalked over to him. It surveyed Valerius dispassionately.
Its face looked like a human male’s, with high, broad cheekbones highlighted in gold. Its chin was solid and square except for the ears, which were pointed. Those ears twitched back and forth slowly as he processed Valerius’s palm print, his bone structure and his iris. He looked up at Valerius, a question in its topaz eyes.
Valerius knew what he was waiting for.
“Galatia?” said Valerius.
Immediately a golden disc melted out of his right arm. Adhagen fixed his attention on the disc, there seemed to be a moment of communication, a type of communion that Valerius didn’t fully understand. After a few moments Adhagen nodded his head, gave a slight bow before he turned and padded away.
“He’s gone” murmured Valerius. At once the disc melted back into his flesh.
“I know” said Galatia. “If Adhagan is here then the Proceris must be close by,” she added.
Valerius nodded.
It was written that the Sphinx’s job was to guard the six Travelers Circle’s, set at different points on the planet, in times of trouble. But there had been no trouble in the four thousand years that humans had inhabited Elledra. The guard had been withdrawn. The Male of the pride, Adhagan, was the only one left in service and was always with The Proceris. He would have reported to Lycurgus that he was here by now.
He decided to unstrap Sorcerers saddle while he waited, but changed his mind when he heard a familiar tapping sound. It was Lycurgus. His old, weathered face was twisted up into a scowl and his white eyebrows were furrowed down to meet in the middle. His unruly, curly white hair surrounded his face like a halo, but Valerius knew from long association, there was nothing remotely angelic about Proceris Lycurgus. The sphinx drew up beside him, swished its tail and tossed his head in Valerius’s direction as if to say, ‘there he is’.
Lycurgus nodded at the Sphinx before turning his sharp blue gaze on him.
“I was surprised when Adhagan told me you had arrived. Your assignment wasn’t supposed to end for another three days,” said Lycurgus, flicking back the collar of his gold and purple tunic and striking a dashing pose with his cane.
Valerius’s lips twitch upwards, an inevitable reaction to Lycurgus’s presence. With his flamboyant nature and unusual sense of style, many people were surprised when Lycurgus was elected to the highest position in the land, but Valerius knew that Lycurgus’s exterior hid a shrewd and clever man.
“Proceris Lycurgus” said Valerius, giving him a formal bow, “I must speak with you.”
Lygurgus nodded, his gaze skidding off to the right, before fixing itself again on Valerius’s face. Valerius pressed his lips together, making an effort to keep his expression impassive. He didn’t
think he succeeded, because Lycurgus dropped his gaze. Valerius realised that he was trying to give him some privacy.
“Its not about Sayuri…something…unexpected has happened, but since we’re on the topic, has the Knight Priests found anything…?” asked Valerius.
“No, not yet. There is no sign of her. You must know Valerius that it’s likely that she is…well, that she will not be found.”
“Yes, I know.”
Lycurgus didn’t linger on the matter, indeed he seemed anxious to change the topic. He rapped his cane twice sharply on the floor. At once a young man hurried around the corner.
“See to Lord Valerius’s horse,” he said. The young man bowed, giving Lycurgus a wide smile as he led Sorcerer away.
Lycurgus glowered after him, “no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to intimidate that one.”
Valerius lips quirked upwards, “that must disappoint you.”
“Yes. Yes it does.”
Pulling off his well worn black, leather gloves Valerius glanced around him. They were alone. “There has been an incident…”
Lycurgus held up a wrinkled hand. “Not now, we will talk in my personal chambers.”
The faint whir of a police siren interrupted their conversation. Valerius peered outside and saw a yellow Airsurfer hover car hurtling through the air with three police cars in close pursuit. The Airsurfer careened towards the hall and then pulled up suddenly, zooming over the roof. His glimpse of the driver confirmed his suspicions. A freckled teenager was manning the wheel, his blond head bobbing to the heavy beat of hip hop music.
Query- Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence
Colsen Deming is seventeen and suffers daily encounters of abuse from his foster parent. His one goal in life is to shield his younger foster brother Alex from Beverly’s drunken attacks. But Colsen has a problem. He is turning eighteen next year and won’t be able to take Alex along when Beverly kicks him out.
Colsen tries talking to Alex about moving out on their way home but upsets the boy and finds himself chasing Alex into an abandoned alley. With no explanation or reasoning of any kind, the boys are attacked by two wicked men who will forever change Colsen in ways he never imagined possible.
Certain he is about to die, Colsen experiences a surge of adrenaline as his body morphs into that of a Nephilim to protect himself and Alex from attack, resulting in the death of the strange duo.
Terrified from murdering the two men, the mysterious disappearance of their corpses and the almost overnight transformation of his body, he returns to the scene of the crime for answers. Once there Colsen encounters Nerissa, a fellow Nephilim, who helps him come to terms with his new form and offers insight into his murky past.
Colsen soon finds his father is a fallen angel disgraced by God for impregnating his human mother. And now his father wants to have Colsen by his side while he seeks to destroy everything Colsen has learned to love.
When Alex is kidnapped by Colsen’s father in an attempt to lure Colsen away from protection, he is faced with the ultimate decision. Does Colsen save the only brother he has ever known from death, taking his rightful place by his father’s side? Or does he sit idly by while Nerissa and her family risk their lives to rescue Alex without him?
Please let me know if you would be interested in reading Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence, a 73,000-word young adult fantasy novel about friendship, trust, and the Nephilim race. You can reach me via e-mail at (redacted) or by phone at (redacted). I would like to mention this is a simultaneous query. Thank for your time and consideration.
Colsen tries talking to Alex about moving out on their way home but upsets the boy and finds himself chasing Alex into an abandoned alley. With no explanation or reasoning of any kind, the boys are attacked by two wicked men who will forever change Colsen in ways he never imagined possible.
Certain he is about to die, Colsen experiences a surge of adrenaline as his body morphs into that of a Nephilim to protect himself and Alex from attack, resulting in the death of the strange duo.
Terrified from murdering the two men, the mysterious disappearance of their corpses and the almost overnight transformation of his body, he returns to the scene of the crime for answers. Once there Colsen encounters Nerissa, a fellow Nephilim, who helps him come to terms with his new form and offers insight into his murky past.
Colsen soon finds his father is a fallen angel disgraced by God for impregnating his human mother. And now his father wants to have Colsen by his side while he seeks to destroy everything Colsen has learned to love.
When Alex is kidnapped by Colsen’s father in an attempt to lure Colsen away from protection, he is faced with the ultimate decision. Does Colsen save the only brother he has ever known from death, taking his rightful place by his father’s side? Or does he sit idly by while Nerissa and her family risk their lives to rescue Alex without him?
Please let me know if you would be interested in reading Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence, a 73,000-word young adult fantasy novel about friendship, trust, and the Nephilim race. You can reach me via e-mail at (redacted) or by phone at (redacted). I would like to mention this is a simultaneous query. Thank for your time and consideration.
May 28, 2010
Query-Mystic Draft 2
Click here to read the original query.
I am seeking representation for my completed 55,000-word upper middle grade fantasy, Mystic. (insert reason why I have chosen specific agent)
Crip, it’s fourteen-year-old Amelia Dean’s new nickname since a mystifying accident put her in a wheelchair. When Amelia hears a strange voice calling to her from her computer, asking for help, she needs to escape and agrees to go on a camping trip with her friend Greg and his eccentric Grandma K.
A car accident leaves Grandma K. unconscious and transports Amelia and Greg to the magical land of Mystic, where Amelia is healed, Greg disappears and a nefarious wizard named Ralient sees Amelia as his only obstacle to ruling Mystic. Amelia discovers Mystic is the home of her ancestors and she has inherited great powers but all she wants is to live a quiet life with the use of her legs. Amelia must face Ralient, rescue Greg, solve the mystery of the voice and decide if she will return home to the family she loves… and the wheelchair.
Mystic was inspired by my daughter, Arielle. At the age of ten she was in a car accident and became a paraplegic. The wheelchair has been part of our lives for six years and while Amelia is very different from Arielle their wheelchairs and desire for freedom are the same. This is my first novel.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Krista Rausin
I am seeking representation for my completed 55,000-word upper middle grade fantasy, Mystic. (insert reason why I have chosen specific agent)
Crip, it’s fourteen-year-old Amelia Dean’s new nickname since a mystifying accident put her in a wheelchair. When Amelia hears a strange voice calling to her from her computer, asking for help, she needs to escape and agrees to go on a camping trip with her friend Greg and his eccentric Grandma K.
A car accident leaves Grandma K. unconscious and transports Amelia and Greg to the magical land of Mystic, where Amelia is healed, Greg disappears and a nefarious wizard named Ralient sees Amelia as his only obstacle to ruling Mystic. Amelia discovers Mystic is the home of her ancestors and she has inherited great powers but all she wants is to live a quiet life with the use of her legs. Amelia must face Ralient, rescue Greg, solve the mystery of the voice and decide if she will return home to the family she loves… and the wheelchair.
Mystic was inspired by my daughter, Arielle. At the age of ten she was in a car accident and became a paraplegic. The wheelchair has been part of our lives for six years and while Amelia is very different from Arielle their wheelchairs and desire for freedom are the same. This is my first novel.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Krista Rausin
May 24, 2010
Query-Mystic
When fourteen year old Amelia Dean hears a voice calling to her from her computer, she decides it’s time to get out of town. Amelia heads to Brocton, NY. with her friend Greg and his eccentric Grandma. But a car accident and a magical String transport Amelia and Greg to Mystic, where Amelia is healed, Greg disappears and a nefarious wizard named Ralient insists Amelia join him or die. Amelia must face Ralient, rescue Greg and decide whether to stay in the land of her ancestors or return home to the family she loves and her wheelchair.
My 55,000 word fantasy, Mystic explores how a teen in a wheelchair must rely on inner strength while facing constant physical and emotional challenges.
Thank you for taking the time to consider my submission.
Sincerely,
Krista Rausin
My 55,000 word fantasy, Mystic explores how a teen in a wheelchair must rely on inner strength while facing constant physical and emotional challenges.
Thank you for taking the time to consider my submission.
Sincerely,
Krista Rausin
Query- SEAWEEDS
DATE
Dear AGENT,
On the shore, an unusual love triangle arises between a young man, a mermaid, and a man-killing siren in SEAWEEDS, a 65,000-word contemporary fantasy.
Sky Hunter never thought turning twenty-three would bring him a boat party, strange presents, and birthday sex. He and his hook-up, Melanie, ride it out until Sky falls off the boat and nearly drowns. He survives and winds up on the beach the next morning to discover a naked girl with violet eyes washed up on the shore. She can’t talk and has trouble with basic motor skills like walking or using silverware. Sky is led to believe the girl is a mermaid and was the one that rescued him. He names her Pearl, teaches her to be human, and falls head over heels for her.
There’s just one problem. Melanie isn’t too thrilled about Sky’s new girlfriend. She slaughters his cat and threatens to murder his family if he chooses to stay with Pearl. Sky isn’t going to give in without a fight, but when he discovers Melanie is a siren who has to seduce a man before feeding him to the ocean, he must find a way to stop her before she screws him over. Meanwhile, he faces the ultimate task of figuring out a way to prevent Pearl from turning back into a mermaid.
SEAWEEDS is The Little Mermaid with sex, violence, and alcohol. INSERT SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF. Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
N. Blank
CONTACT INFO
Dear AGENT,
On the shore, an unusual love triangle arises between a young man, a mermaid, and a man-killing siren in SEAWEEDS, a 65,000-word contemporary fantasy.
Sky Hunter never thought turning twenty-three would bring him a boat party, strange presents, and birthday sex. He and his hook-up, Melanie, ride it out until Sky falls off the boat and nearly drowns. He survives and winds up on the beach the next morning to discover a naked girl with violet eyes washed up on the shore. She can’t talk and has trouble with basic motor skills like walking or using silverware. Sky is led to believe the girl is a mermaid and was the one that rescued him. He names her Pearl, teaches her to be human, and falls head over heels for her.
There’s just one problem. Melanie isn’t too thrilled about Sky’s new girlfriend. She slaughters his cat and threatens to murder his family if he chooses to stay with Pearl. Sky isn’t going to give in without a fight, but when he discovers Melanie is a siren who has to seduce a man before feeding him to the ocean, he must find a way to stop her before she screws him over. Meanwhile, he faces the ultimate task of figuring out a way to prevent Pearl from turning back into a mermaid.
SEAWEEDS is The Little Mermaid with sex, violence, and alcohol. INSERT SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF. Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
N. Blank
CONTACT INFO
May 18, 2010
Query - The Shard, epic fantasy 130,000 words
Three years ago the minor noble MIDAS lost a son in an ambush by a troll. Now with his marriage crumbling and the Known Lands threatened by an invasion from a mysterious race of dragon men, Midas is torn between his duty to raise his two remaining sons -- peaceful ANTOS and ultra-competitive ALEKAS -- to be proper warriors, and the insistence of his wife that he keep the boys safe.
He takes his sons to war, but hopes to shield them from danger. His intentions go awry when a seer involves them in a plan to defeat the dragon men by finding a shard of a shattered magical relic, lost centuries ago in the lair of the most vicious dragon ever known.
After surviving the dragon, cannibals, deadly ice-wraiths, and a chase through a lost underground city, Midas and his remaining friends find the shard and join the armies of men, elves, and dwarves to confront the horde of dragon men, only to discover that the magic of the shard doesn’t work as expected. Midas is faced with the most excruciating of decisions -- save his sons, or save the realm and risk losing everyone that he loves.
He takes his sons to war, but hopes to shield them from danger. His intentions go awry when a seer involves them in a plan to defeat the dragon men by finding a shard of a shattered magical relic, lost centuries ago in the lair of the most vicious dragon ever known.
After surviving the dragon, cannibals, deadly ice-wraiths, and a chase through a lost underground city, Midas and his remaining friends find the shard and join the armies of men, elves, and dwarves to confront the horde of dragon men, only to discover that the magic of the shard doesn’t work as expected. Midas is faced with the most excruciating of decisions -- save his sons, or save the realm and risk losing everyone that he loves.
May 17, 2010
Query- REINCARNATE
Dear XXX,
Heaven hath no fury like a saint reborn—even if that saint is atheist Jeanne Delacey. Being the reincarnation of Jeanne d’Arc is no picnic. Sure, she now has a divinely empowered bracelet that turns into a sword, and Luca Griffith—tall, dark, and definitely hiding something—to guard her, but she’s going to need, well, a hell of a lot more. Especially since she’s also inherited nightmares of burning to death, a centuries old arch-nemesis—one Pierre Cauchon—who’s been reincarnated as well, and—oh yeah, there’s that pesky business of an impending war between Heaven and Hell.
Torn between anger and fear, Jeanne tries to do what any spoiled little rich girl would: ignore the problem. But as demonic attacks grow more frequent, she realizes she’ll have to suck it up and deal. Cauchon sent her to the stake in her past life; he’s more than willing to do it again. And this time, the entire world will burn with her.
REINCARNATE is an 82,000 word adult urban fantasy. I would be happy to forward the complete manuscript at your request.
Thank you for your time and consideration,
Sincerely,
Heaven hath no fury like a saint reborn—even if that saint is atheist Jeanne Delacey. Being the reincarnation of Jeanne d’Arc is no picnic. Sure, she now has a divinely empowered bracelet that turns into a sword, and Luca Griffith—tall, dark, and definitely hiding something—to guard her, but she’s going to need, well, a hell of a lot more. Especially since she’s also inherited nightmares of burning to death, a centuries old arch-nemesis—one Pierre Cauchon—who’s been reincarnated as well, and—oh yeah, there’s that pesky business of an impending war between Heaven and Hell.
Torn between anger and fear, Jeanne tries to do what any spoiled little rich girl would: ignore the problem. But as demonic attacks grow more frequent, she realizes she’ll have to suck it up and deal. Cauchon sent her to the stake in her past life; he’s more than willing to do it again. And this time, the entire world will burn with her.
REINCARNATE is an 82,000 word adult urban fantasy. I would be happy to forward the complete manuscript at your request.
Thank you for your time and consideration,
Sincerely,
May 14, 2010
QUERY- STRAPPED
I see you are looking for heros with a sense of humor and I believe you would be the perfect agent for my 94,000 word love story, disguised as a horror novel, entitled STRAPPED, which will appeal to the millions of fans who consistently make horror movies debut at number one at the box office on a regular basis.
A bad batch of flu shots has just turned over half of the population into flesh-eating corpses, leaving Paul Thomas-an unemployed shock jock- fighting for his life in a world where no one dares even go to the bathroom without a handgun strapped to their side. With the power out in the dead of a harsh Iowa winter, Paul works his way south from snowy farmhouses to a well-equipped boat in the Gulf of Mexico with his girlfriend, Sophia, and his buddy, Dan. Tragically, Paul loses both of them during their migration and must now decide wether or not to continue on with only Wendy, a blond stripper they’d recently met in Kansas. Few survivors, however, and seemingly endless nights of solitude together could lead to temptation for tormented and frightened souls, that will only serve to make matters worse.
Like Paul, I am also an unemployed radio guy and devoted fan of horror movies. I have worked at four rock stations and one outlaw country station in four states, affording me the ability to successfully make a living over the past twelve years writing and editing compelling content for live on-air breaks, celebrity interviews, commercial production and stage-intros at concerts and events ranging from Rob Zombie to the WWE.
STRAPPED is set to be the first in a dark trilogy and my completed manuscript is ready to be sent at your request. I would love to work with you and thank you for your time!
Sincerely,
Sean Fisher
A bad batch of flu shots has just turned over half of the population into flesh-eating corpses, leaving Paul Thomas-an unemployed shock jock- fighting for his life in a world where no one dares even go to the bathroom without a handgun strapped to their side. With the power out in the dead of a harsh Iowa winter, Paul works his way south from snowy farmhouses to a well-equipped boat in the Gulf of Mexico with his girlfriend, Sophia, and his buddy, Dan. Tragically, Paul loses both of them during their migration and must now decide wether or not to continue on with only Wendy, a blond stripper they’d recently met in Kansas. Few survivors, however, and seemingly endless nights of solitude together could lead to temptation for tormented and frightened souls, that will only serve to make matters worse.
Like Paul, I am also an unemployed radio guy and devoted fan of horror movies. I have worked at four rock stations and one outlaw country station in four states, affording me the ability to successfully make a living over the past twelve years writing and editing compelling content for live on-air breaks, celebrity interviews, commercial production and stage-intros at concerts and events ranging from Rob Zombie to the WWE.
STRAPPED is set to be the first in a dark trilogy and my completed manuscript is ready to be sent at your request. I would love to work with you and thank you for your time!
Sincerely,
Sean Fisher
May 13, 2010
Non-Fiction Proposal- Canary in a Coalmine: How One Southern State is leading the Nation to a Renewable Energy Future
In 1933, unemployment in America was estimated to be nearly 25 percent.
As part of President Franklin Roosevelt's first 100 days in office, on May 18, 1933, he signed the Tennessee Valley Authority Act, creating the first effort in America to create a government-sponsored clean energy system.
The first damn built to create non-polluting, clean energy was the Norris damn on the Tennessee River near Muscle Shoals, Alabama. The federal government had purchased the land years before, but the project languished until the desire for free, clean, easy-to-create electricity met the need for skilled and unskilled labor.
In 2009, unemployment in America is just over 10 percent with most of the job losses in manufacturing. Again, the government was looking for ways to create new jobs required skilled and unskilled labor with the goal of making the country more energy independent.
It seems that history is repeating itself and Tennessee is again in the spotlight.
Historic Announcements
Two major international firms recently decided to build multibillion-dollar plants in Tennessee. Two government-sponsored, clean energy research institutions are being established in Tennessee with federal stimulus money.
Here is a link to the groundbreaking celebration for the Hemlock semi-conductor and photovoltaic plant being built just north of Nashville.
Http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4Hu412gEBM
Here is the link for the groundbreaking announcement for the new Wacker Chemie chemical plant being built southeast of Nashville.
Wacker Chemie announcementHttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGATeXLdFP8&feature=PlayList&p=9F806328A559900D&index=2
A billion-dollar Volkswagen assembly plant recently broke ground just outside Chattanooga. The facility will assemble a small, energy efficient sedan for the North American market. Http://www.chattanoogachamber.com/newsandvideo/071508_VolkswagenChoosesChattanoogaEnterpriseSouth.asp
Most recently, Nissan Motor Manufacturing, North America has announced their intention to build between 50,000 and 100,000 battery powered cars at the assembly plant in Smyrna, just south of Nashville with funds from a federal loan designated to help America switch from fossil-fueled transportation to electric vehicles.
Meanwhile, in the time period before these announcements, Tennessee was sighted as one of the top three states in the country in creation of clean energy producing jobs.
The Pugh Charitable Trust names Tennessee one of the top three in creation of clean energy manufacturing in this link.
Http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-5XJbNb-VU
Here's my story from that same news conference.
http://www.publicbroadcasting.net/wmot/news.newsmain?action=article&ARTICLE_ID=1518544
Government Support
Federal stimulus spending of over 62 million dollars will create two new clean energy/solar power entities in Tennessee.
In west Tennessee, a "solar farm" with row after row of solar collectors will power hundreds of homes in Haywood County near Brownsville. It would be operated in partnership with TVA and coordinate with research conducted in Knoxville.
The five-megawatt, 20-acre solar farm would be part of a proposed industrial development "mega site" and one of the largest solar installations in the Southeast.
While in east Tennessee, research would be conducted at a new Tennessee Solar Institute that would be headquartered in Knoxville at the University of Tennessee's planned Cherokee Farm Innovation Campus and would be operated by UT and Oak Ridge National Laboratory.
Why I Should Write This Book…
For over thirty years, Middle Tennessee has been my beat. While I've covered just about every kind of story you can imagine, I've always felt that part of my job at the News Director at a public radio station licensed to a university was to find ways of making subjects involving science and history pertinent to the listener.
Here are links from the Publish2 website that show a variety of profiles and articles I've recently published.
A very entertaining article about essayist David Sedaris:
http://audiofilemagazine.com/features/A1460.html
An interview about an award-winning science book:
http://www.publicbroadcasting.net/wmot/news.newsmain?action=article&ARTICLE_ID=1437407
A profile of author Dennis LeHane:
http://www.audiofilemagazine.com/features/A2114.html
Over the years I've met hundreds of people, many with very unusual stories that I was happy to cover. There once was a young congressman who represented the multicounty district in middle Tennessee. His father had been a Congressman and Senator, but up until that time he'd shied away from the "family business."
Al Gore Jr. was a well-schooled and disciplined campaigner. And while I didn't talk with him every day, I have several pictures of the two of us when we were both much thinner and much less gray. The story of this father's efforts to help "electrify" the Southeast United States and his efforts to bring "renewable" energy sources to this same region will allow me the opportunity to attempt to interview him again after all these years.
Given the scope of the book and his family's involvement, there's at least a faint hope that he might even contribute a blurb or a forward.
Technical assistance
A friend of mine, Jonathan Gilligan (Ph.D. Yale University 1991 and currently Research Assistant Professor and former Senior Lecturer, Dept. of Earth and Environmental Sciences at Vanderbilt University) has agreed to help guide the organization of the book from outline to checking the facts and figures in the final draft. He has also offered to write a blurb for the cover.
As part of President Franklin Roosevelt's first 100 days in office, on May 18, 1933, he signed the Tennessee Valley Authority Act, creating the first effort in America to create a government-sponsored clean energy system.
The first damn built to create non-polluting, clean energy was the Norris damn on the Tennessee River near Muscle Shoals, Alabama. The federal government had purchased the land years before, but the project languished until the desire for free, clean, easy-to-create electricity met the need for skilled and unskilled labor.
In 2009, unemployment in America is just over 10 percent with most of the job losses in manufacturing. Again, the government was looking for ways to create new jobs required skilled and unskilled labor with the goal of making the country more energy independent.
It seems that history is repeating itself and Tennessee is again in the spotlight.
Historic Announcements
Two major international firms recently decided to build multibillion-dollar plants in Tennessee. Two government-sponsored, clean energy research institutions are being established in Tennessee with federal stimulus money.
Here is a link to the groundbreaking celebration for the Hemlock semi-conductor and photovoltaic plant being built just north of Nashville.
Http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4Hu412gEBM
Here is the link for the groundbreaking announcement for the new Wacker Chemie chemical plant being built southeast of Nashville.
Wacker Chemie announcementHttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGATeXLdFP8&feature=PlayList&p=9F806328A559900D&index=2
A billion-dollar Volkswagen assembly plant recently broke ground just outside Chattanooga. The facility will assemble a small, energy efficient sedan for the North American market. Http://www.chattanoogachamber.com/newsandvideo/071508_VolkswagenChoosesChattanoogaEnterpriseSouth.asp
Most recently, Nissan Motor Manufacturing, North America has announced their intention to build between 50,000 and 100,000 battery powered cars at the assembly plant in Smyrna, just south of Nashville with funds from a federal loan designated to help America switch from fossil-fueled transportation to electric vehicles.
Meanwhile, in the time period before these announcements, Tennessee was sighted as one of the top three states in the country in creation of clean energy producing jobs.
The Pugh Charitable Trust names Tennessee one of the top three in creation of clean energy manufacturing in this link.
Http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-5XJbNb-VU
Here's my story from that same news conference.
http://www.publicbroadcasting.net/wmot/news.newsmain?action=article&ARTICLE_ID=1518544
Government Support
Federal stimulus spending of over 62 million dollars will create two new clean energy/solar power entities in Tennessee.
In west Tennessee, a "solar farm" with row after row of solar collectors will power hundreds of homes in Haywood County near Brownsville. It would be operated in partnership with TVA and coordinate with research conducted in Knoxville.
The five-megawatt, 20-acre solar farm would be part of a proposed industrial development "mega site" and one of the largest solar installations in the Southeast.
While in east Tennessee, research would be conducted at a new Tennessee Solar Institute that would be headquartered in Knoxville at the University of Tennessee's planned Cherokee Farm Innovation Campus and would be operated by UT and Oak Ridge National Laboratory.
Why I Should Write This Book…
For over thirty years, Middle Tennessee has been my beat. While I've covered just about every kind of story you can imagine, I've always felt that part of my job at the News Director at a public radio station licensed to a university was to find ways of making subjects involving science and history pertinent to the listener.
Here are links from the Publish2 website that show a variety of profiles and articles I've recently published.
A very entertaining article about essayist David Sedaris:
http://audiofilemagazine.com/features/A1460.html
An interview about an award-winning science book:
http://www.publicbroadcasting.net/wmot/news.newsmain?action=article&ARTICLE_ID=1437407
A profile of author Dennis LeHane:
http://www.audiofilemagazine.com/features/A2114.html
Over the years I've met hundreds of people, many with very unusual stories that I was happy to cover. There once was a young congressman who represented the multicounty district in middle Tennessee. His father had been a Congressman and Senator, but up until that time he'd shied away from the "family business."
Al Gore Jr. was a well-schooled and disciplined campaigner. And while I didn't talk with him every day, I have several pictures of the two of us when we were both much thinner and much less gray. The story of this father's efforts to help "electrify" the Southeast United States and his efforts to bring "renewable" energy sources to this same region will allow me the opportunity to attempt to interview him again after all these years.
Given the scope of the book and his family's involvement, there's at least a faint hope that he might even contribute a blurb or a forward.
Technical assistance
A friend of mine, Jonathan Gilligan (Ph.D. Yale University 1991 and currently Research Assistant Professor and former Senior Lecturer, Dept. of Earth and Environmental Sciences at Vanderbilt University) has agreed to help guide the organization of the book from outline to checking the facts and figures in the final draft. He has also offered to write a blurb for the cover.
Query - The Destiny Stone (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear X,
THE DESTINY STONE is a Young Adult fantasy and is complete at 106,000 words.
After receiving a visit from a mysterious 'Magic Wielder', seventeen-year-old Haythem is certain about three things: he is the sole possessor of a magical stone that allows him to alter his destiny, a great and terrible task has been bestowed upon him, and he will need to use the stone to restore order in the conflict riddled realm.
If Haythem is to succeed, he must learn to fight with swords and magic, place his trust in a hot-tempered creature that is part-dragon, and shield his heart against the temptations of a female warrior. And that's just the beginning of his difficulties. By chance, Haythem uncovers a disturbing truth about the stone when it attempts to bind his will to its own ends. Bound by promises he can't ignore, Haythem comes to terms with the daunting nature of the task before him and recognizes that possessing the stone does not guarantee his survival and using it may result in his destruction.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
*insert name & contact info in actual letter
Dear X,
THE DESTINY STONE is a Young Adult fantasy and is complete at 106,000 words.
After receiving a visit from a mysterious 'Magic Wielder', seventeen-year-old Haythem is certain about three things: he is the sole possessor of a magical stone that allows him to alter his destiny, a great and terrible task has been bestowed upon him, and he will need to use the stone to restore order in the conflict riddled realm.
If Haythem is to succeed, he must learn to fight with swords and magic, place his trust in a hot-tempered creature that is part-dragon, and shield his heart against the temptations of a female warrior. And that's just the beginning of his difficulties. By chance, Haythem uncovers a disturbing truth about the stone when it attempts to bind his will to its own ends. Bound by promises he can't ignore, Haythem comes to terms with the daunting nature of the task before him and recognizes that possessing the stone does not guarantee his survival and using it may result in his destruction.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
*insert name & contact info in actual letter
Query- A Tale of Youth and Sorrow
Dear AGENT NAME:
I visited AGENCY NAME's website and noticed that you are interested in YA and fantasy projects. A Tale of Youth and Sorrow, my 53,400-word novel, might interest you. Its sequel, Capita Mortua, a stand-alone tale featuring returning characters and newcomers, has also been completed.
Twelve-year-old orphan and Potioneer girl Minette Bublee knows next to nothing about the Rogue, Ilona Njis; the ill-tempered, perpetually suspicious master thief who, strangely enough, has been her guardian for the past two years. Then comes the shocking revelation: that Ilona is a murderer, and possibly linked to Belphelial, a restless demon rumored to have broken free from the bonds of his ancient prison. Torn between escape and saving her only friend from spiraling further into self-destruction, Minette unwittingly opens a door into an arcane realm, where past and present intertwine, and a confrontation with a grim remnant of their world's tumultuous history transforms a young woman into a monster. With the ghosts of their yesteryears threatening to tear them apart, Minette will voyage through time to learn one of life's greatest lessons, and unlock the secrets of a power greater than any magic.
Five of my short stories were published in Malate Literary Folio (De La Salle University, Philippines) between 1997 and 2002, one of which won second place in my university's 1999 Literary Awards. A member of Writing.com, I received the 2007 WDC Wonderfuls Award for outstanding writing. In my most recent job, I was a game writer tasked with the detailed write-ups of characters, settings, and stories for games. I am currently residing in the Philippines.
I would be glad to send you my complete manuscript for your review. Thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Sincerely yours,
Michael Cunanan Logarta
I visited AGENCY NAME's website and noticed that you are interested in YA and fantasy projects. A Tale of Youth and Sorrow, my 53,400-word novel, might interest you. Its sequel, Capita Mortua, a stand-alone tale featuring returning characters and newcomers, has also been completed.
Twelve-year-old orphan and Potioneer girl Minette Bublee knows next to nothing about the Rogue, Ilona Njis; the ill-tempered, perpetually suspicious master thief who, strangely enough, has been her guardian for the past two years. Then comes the shocking revelation: that Ilona is a murderer, and possibly linked to Belphelial, a restless demon rumored to have broken free from the bonds of his ancient prison. Torn between escape and saving her only friend from spiraling further into self-destruction, Minette unwittingly opens a door into an arcane realm, where past and present intertwine, and a confrontation with a grim remnant of their world's tumultuous history transforms a young woman into a monster. With the ghosts of their yesteryears threatening to tear them apart, Minette will voyage through time to learn one of life's greatest lessons, and unlock the secrets of a power greater than any magic.
Five of my short stories were published in Malate Literary Folio (De La Salle University, Philippines) between 1997 and 2002, one of which won second place in my university's 1999 Literary Awards. A member of Writing.com, I received the 2007 WDC Wonderfuls Award for outstanding writing. In my most recent job, I was a game writer tasked with the detailed write-ups of characters, settings, and stories for games. I am currently residing in the Philippines.
I would be glad to send you my complete manuscript for your review. Thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Sincerely yours,
Michael Cunanan Logarta
May 12, 2010
Query--The Middle Princess
Dear [Agent Name]:
Princesses are born into a life of privilege, glamour and prestige—but sixteen year old Fortuna, the fourth girl out of seven daughters, realizes that fairy tales discriminate against all middle princesses and unless she does something about it—nothing will ever change.
Fortuna spends her time breaking the mold of a princess by creating disasters in the castle, pulling pranks on her sisters, and sneaking into sword practice, but it isn’t enough. Seven princes have disappeared and Fortuna, along with her sisters and their kingdom, take the blame for the disappearance. While the Barriers may prevent attack from outside the kingdom, they won’t prevent it from shattering within.
Resolved to prove she’s more than a prankster middle princess Fortuna sets out on a quest to find the missing princes. But she can’t even make it past the castle gates without Aaron, a handsome master swordsman, catching her, and she wonders if she is doomed to middle princess mediocrity.
Aaron, to protect Fortuna from harm, leaves with her and they make their way to the fairy kingdom. Fortuna’s determined to prove that middle princesses are worthy of fame. With her focus set solidly on finding the missing princes and saving the kingdom, she loses sight of what is right in front of her—Aaron. And when she finally realizes that, she must choose to follow her heart or return home a hero.
I am seeking representation for THE MIDDLE PRINCESS, a YA fantasy, complete at 88,000 words. Fans of Gail Carson Levine’s ELLA ENCHANTED and M. M. Kaye’s THE ORDINARY PRINCESS will enjoy the humor of THE MIDDLE PRINCESS.
I would be happy to send you the partial or complete manuscript. Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Shanna Blythe
Princesses are born into a life of privilege, glamour and prestige—but sixteen year old Fortuna, the fourth girl out of seven daughters, realizes that fairy tales discriminate against all middle princesses and unless she does something about it—nothing will ever change.
Fortuna spends her time breaking the mold of a princess by creating disasters in the castle, pulling pranks on her sisters, and sneaking into sword practice, but it isn’t enough. Seven princes have disappeared and Fortuna, along with her sisters and their kingdom, take the blame for the disappearance. While the Barriers may prevent attack from outside the kingdom, they won’t prevent it from shattering within.
Resolved to prove she’s more than a prankster middle princess Fortuna sets out on a quest to find the missing princes. But she can’t even make it past the castle gates without Aaron, a handsome master swordsman, catching her, and she wonders if she is doomed to middle princess mediocrity.
Aaron, to protect Fortuna from harm, leaves with her and they make their way to the fairy kingdom. Fortuna’s determined to prove that middle princesses are worthy of fame. With her focus set solidly on finding the missing princes and saving the kingdom, she loses sight of what is right in front of her—Aaron. And when she finally realizes that, she must choose to follow her heart or return home a hero.
I am seeking representation for THE MIDDLE PRINCESS, a YA fantasy, complete at 88,000 words. Fans of Gail Carson Levine’s ELLA ENCHANTED and M. M. Kaye’s THE ORDINARY PRINCESS will enjoy the humor of THE MIDDLE PRINCESS.
I would be happy to send you the partial or complete manuscript. Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Shanna Blythe
May 11, 2010
Revised Query - THE DREAM PLAYER
Click here to read the original query.
Jake Wakely is no stranger to being a stranger. He’s lived abroad for the first thirteen years of his life. But after being sent to his father's childhood hometown of Sleepy Valley to live with his grandparents, his ‘new kid’ mystique is fading fast.
Much has changed in Sleepy Valley since Jake's father lived there as a boy. Crater Lake mysteriously disappeared, and the Plateau and the Valley no longer play the Unity Game, an annual lacrosse match founded to celebrate their cross-cultural cooperation. Jake discovers that his father played in the games—including the final game fifteen years ago which was never finished. No one in the valley plays lacrosse anymore, and no one wants to talk about the unfinished game.
Jake’s unpopular friendship with Simon, a native Duwali from the Plateau, disrupts the town's spurious peace by exposing their prejudice. The unrest leads Jake to a government plot to keep the public segregated and dazedly productive in the town’s pharmaceutical factory.
Armed with lacrosse sticks and an erratic cell phone, Jake and Simon must awaken the people by convincing them to complete the final game, with Jake and Simon playing in place of their fathers. But when Jake uncovers his father’s fateful role in the original contest, he gets caught between his friendship with Simon and his own family legacy.
THE DREAM PLAYER, a young adult thriller, chronicles Jake’s miraculous journey. Readers may find this similar to HOLES, with a touch of LORD OF THE FLIES and BRAVE NEW WORLD. The completed manuscript is 74,000 words.
Sincerely,
Name
Jake Wakely is no stranger to being a stranger. He’s lived abroad for the first thirteen years of his life. But after being sent to his father's childhood hometown of Sleepy Valley to live with his grandparents, his ‘new kid’ mystique is fading fast.
Much has changed in Sleepy Valley since Jake's father lived there as a boy. Crater Lake mysteriously disappeared, and the Plateau and the Valley no longer play the Unity Game, an annual lacrosse match founded to celebrate their cross-cultural cooperation. Jake discovers that his father played in the games—including the final game fifteen years ago which was never finished. No one in the valley plays lacrosse anymore, and no one wants to talk about the unfinished game.
Jake’s unpopular friendship with Simon, a native Duwali from the Plateau, disrupts the town's spurious peace by exposing their prejudice. The unrest leads Jake to a government plot to keep the public segregated and dazedly productive in the town’s pharmaceutical factory.
Armed with lacrosse sticks and an erratic cell phone, Jake and Simon must awaken the people by convincing them to complete the final game, with Jake and Simon playing in place of their fathers. But when Jake uncovers his father’s fateful role in the original contest, he gets caught between his friendship with Simon and his own family legacy.
THE DREAM PLAYER, a young adult thriller, chronicles Jake’s miraculous journey. Readers may find this similar to HOLES, with a touch of LORD OF THE FLIES and BRAVE NEW WORLD. The completed manuscript is 74,000 words.
Sincerely,
Name
May 10, 2010
QUERY- THE DREAM PLAYER
Dear Agent:
Jake Wakely is no stranger to being a stranger. He’s lived abroad for the first thirteen years of his life. But after being sent to his father's childhood hometown of Sleepy Valley to live with his grandparents, his ‘new kid’ mystique is fading fast.
Jake’s unpopular friendship with Simon, a native Duwali from the Plateau, disrupts the town's spurious peace by exposing their prejudice. The unrest leads Jake to a government plot to keep the public segregated yet dazedly productive in the town’s pharmaceutical factory.
Jake and Simon must awaken the people by convincing them to complete an unfinished lacrosse game from generations past, with Jake and Simon playing in place of their fathers. But when Jake uncovers his father’s fateful role in the unfinished game, he gets caught between his friendship with Simon and his own family legacy.
THE DREAM PLAYER, a young adult thriller, chronicles Jake’s miraculous journey. Readers may find this similar to Holes or Lord of the Flies—real people in imagined settings challenged by nature, the depravity of man and the bioelectrical effects of targeted infrasonic wave generation. (A cliché, admittedly) The completed manuscript is 74,000 words.
Sincerely,
Name
Jake Wakely is no stranger to being a stranger. He’s lived abroad for the first thirteen years of his life. But after being sent to his father's childhood hometown of Sleepy Valley to live with his grandparents, his ‘new kid’ mystique is fading fast.
Jake’s unpopular friendship with Simon, a native Duwali from the Plateau, disrupts the town's spurious peace by exposing their prejudice. The unrest leads Jake to a government plot to keep the public segregated yet dazedly productive in the town’s pharmaceutical factory.
Jake and Simon must awaken the people by convincing them to complete an unfinished lacrosse game from generations past, with Jake and Simon playing in place of their fathers. But when Jake uncovers his father’s fateful role in the unfinished game, he gets caught between his friendship with Simon and his own family legacy.
THE DREAM PLAYER, a young adult thriller, chronicles Jake’s miraculous journey. Readers may find this similar to Holes or Lord of the Flies—real people in imagined settings challenged by nature, the depravity of man and the bioelectrical effects of targeted infrasonic wave generation. (A cliché, admittedly) The completed manuscript is 74,000 words.
Sincerely,
Name
Query- Winter Roses Never Die
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Queries for this novel have been posted a few times before, and I thank everyone for their great suggestions! This time I'm trying something more succinct while focusing more on the inspirational side of the story. I think everyone is becoming blaise about good vampire as paramour type stories.
Dear Agent,
Grateful no one noticed her watching from the shadows, Jennie felt like an unworthy, unwanted outsider before this surreal, sumptuous, candlelit world.
How this shy,imaginative, niave woman arrives on the border of Charos' decadent and surreal world makes for the first half of Winter Roses Never Die. How she breaks through her own barricades and those created by the cynical, elusive and troubled Charos makes for the second half. The story of Jennie's inspired journey through the maze of life's mysteries and misleading negativities, brings hope and answers for all.
Winter Roses Never Die is a paranormal and inspirational romance for adults of 94,000 words.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Author Name
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Queries for this novel have been posted a few times before, and I thank everyone for their great suggestions! This time I'm trying something more succinct while focusing more on the inspirational side of the story. I think everyone is becoming blaise about good vampire as paramour type stories.
Dear Agent,
Grateful no one noticed her watching from the shadows, Jennie felt like an unworthy, unwanted outsider before this surreal, sumptuous, candlelit world.
How this shy,imaginative, niave woman arrives on the border of Charos' decadent and surreal world makes for the first half of Winter Roses Never Die. How she breaks through her own barricades and those created by the cynical, elusive and troubled Charos makes for the second half. The story of Jennie's inspired journey through the maze of life's mysteries and misleading negativities, brings hope and answers for all.
Winter Roses Never Die is a paranormal and inspirational romance for adults of 94,000 words.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Author Name
May 9, 2010
QUERY - FAITH AND A .45
June, 1850. Again.
For two hundred years the silver monorail of the Midnight Train has been a silent reminder of a bygone era where Gunslingers, Outlaws, Ostrich Hunters and Redskins roamed the storm wracked flatland of the tornado plains.
Dust in her hair and lye soap burning the creases of her washtub hands, farmhand Faith Gale fears that her life's ambitions will end with her trapped as the trophy wife of a corn farmer -- until she sees the smokestacks of the black train rolling into an abandoned station on the far edge of the farming town of Topica.
A lone passenger disembarks, hiding knowledge of the past, the present and the many parallel lines of the future behind metallic green eyes.
Beaten and raped by Jebediah Green, Faith is held hostage by his bulletless guns and the temptation to follow him as he cuts a pathway of brutality and murder into Topica's rural bliss on a quest for an artifact he thinks can return him to his home. Wherever, whenever, that may be.
Pursued by a trio of gunfighters, Jebediah and Faith ride the twisting rail of the Midnight Train to the wall at the edge of the world -- and beyond -- as Faith takes gun in hand and becomes the villain of her own life story.
Faith and a .45 is a 90,000 word Sci Fi Western in the spirit of Stephen King's Gunslinger novels.
Thank you for your time and consideration!
-Philip Hansen
philip.hansen@gmail.com
For two hundred years the silver monorail of the Midnight Train has been a silent reminder of a bygone era where Gunslingers, Outlaws, Ostrich Hunters and Redskins roamed the storm wracked flatland of the tornado plains.
Dust in her hair and lye soap burning the creases of her washtub hands, farmhand Faith Gale fears that her life's ambitions will end with her trapped as the trophy wife of a corn farmer -- until she sees the smokestacks of the black train rolling into an abandoned station on the far edge of the farming town of Topica.
A lone passenger disembarks, hiding knowledge of the past, the present and the many parallel lines of the future behind metallic green eyes.
Beaten and raped by Jebediah Green, Faith is held hostage by his bulletless guns and the temptation to follow him as he cuts a pathway of brutality and murder into Topica's rural bliss on a quest for an artifact he thinks can return him to his home. Wherever, whenever, that may be.
Pursued by a trio of gunfighters, Jebediah and Faith ride the twisting rail of the Midnight Train to the wall at the edge of the world -- and beyond -- as Faith takes gun in hand and becomes the villain of her own life story.
Faith and a .45 is a 90,000 word Sci Fi Western in the spirit of Stephen King's Gunslinger novels.
Thank you for your time and consideration!
-Philip Hansen
philip.hansen@gmail.com
May 5, 2010
Query Me This...
I'd like to conduct a little exercise / experiment. Deadline for submissions is Friday, May 28 at 10pm Eastern Time. Please read on for details...
Send me a query and the first five pages for a novel based on this premise:
(I'll explain why in a second)
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
I'm curious to see the following results:
- How good the queries are, and if it seems easier to write a good query than a good novel. I bet we'll see some pretty good queries that don't have a manuscript to back them up.
- The sample pages should shed some light on our fears about a plot/concept being ripped off by another writer. I think the sample pages will illustrate how different each writer's voice is, and even though all submissions are based on the same premise some will be much better than others.
- How different each response is in terms of genre. The premise is vague enough to be fantasy, mystery/thriller, crime, sci-fi, urban fantasy, steampunk, and even YA. I know there are many talented storytellers out there, show us your chops!
Hopefully three-and-a-half weeks will be enough time for you to craft a submission.
Email submissions to rjdaley101071@gmail.com
Each entry will have its own post, and posts will be up on Monday, May 31. Comments and critiques for each post are encouraged, so long as they are polite and professional.
On Friday, June 4, after we have all had several days to read through the submissions, I will post a discussion thread.
There are no prizes. I can dig up the clip about "eternal consciousness" from Caddyshack if you feel the need for a fiscal reward for participating.
Send me a query and the first five pages for a novel based on this premise:
(I'll explain why in a second)
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
I'm curious to see the following results:
- How good the queries are, and if it seems easier to write a good query than a good novel. I bet we'll see some pretty good queries that don't have a manuscript to back them up.
- The sample pages should shed some light on our fears about a plot/concept being ripped off by another writer. I think the sample pages will illustrate how different each writer's voice is, and even though all submissions are based on the same premise some will be much better than others.
- How different each response is in terms of genre. The premise is vague enough to be fantasy, mystery/thriller, crime, sci-fi, urban fantasy, steampunk, and even YA. I know there are many talented storytellers out there, show us your chops!
Hopefully three-and-a-half weeks will be enough time for you to craft a submission.
Email submissions to rjdaley101071@gmail.com
Each entry will have its own post, and posts will be up on Monday, May 31. Comments and critiques for each post are encouraged, so long as they are polite and professional.
On Friday, June 4, after we have all had several days to read through the submissions, I will post a discussion thread.
There are no prizes. I can dig up the clip about "eternal consciousness" from Caddyshack if you feel the need for a fiscal reward for participating.
QUERY/ A PLACE TO BE (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear,
I am seeking representation. My novel, A Place to Be, is a piece of literary fiction (95 271 words) that is both plot and character-driven.
Kamala Karthigesu is about to hang herself in Tranquil Asylum where she’s spent the last two years trying to come to terms with the betrayals of her past. Her childhood best friends, Lim Pei Lu and Rashid Mansur were meant to be her constant companions but when they fell in love, Kamala was forced to grapple with her own unrequited love for Rashid and the disintegration of their friendship. Two things happened as a result of her dejection: the start of her “symbol-making” on her arms and her departure from Malaysia for England to pursue her studies.
In England, facing a new and alienating environment, she has multiple affairs with men until she meets Vincent Garland, an artist she falls in love with, seeing him as Rashid’s replacement. After five years, he too betrays her and Kamala undergoes her first mental collapse which she later finds out drove her to perform an unspeakable act, resulting in her return to Malaysia. But Kamala has always been skilled at dodging the realities of her condition either through alcohol, “symbol-making” or downright denial. When she is saved from suicide by Nurse Fatimah who has been taking care of her at the asylum she is forced to face the realities of her past which becomes clear to her through Nurse Fatimah’s confession about her own secret as a murderer.
My poems have been published in several US and UK publications including “Agenda” Broadsheet and The Wolf magazine and my story “Redemption” was shortlisted for the Fish Publishing One-page Story Prize 2010.
Please let me know if you would be interested in reading part or all of A Place to Be.
Thanks for your time and I hope to hear from you soon.
Dear,
I am seeking representation. My novel, A Place to Be, is a piece of literary fiction (95 271 words) that is both plot and character-driven.
Kamala Karthigesu is about to hang herself in Tranquil Asylum where she’s spent the last two years trying to come to terms with the betrayals of her past. Her childhood best friends, Lim Pei Lu and Rashid Mansur were meant to be her constant companions but when they fell in love, Kamala was forced to grapple with her own unrequited love for Rashid and the disintegration of their friendship. Two things happened as a result of her dejection: the start of her “symbol-making” on her arms and her departure from Malaysia for England to pursue her studies.
In England, facing a new and alienating environment, she has multiple affairs with men until she meets Vincent Garland, an artist she falls in love with, seeing him as Rashid’s replacement. After five years, he too betrays her and Kamala undergoes her first mental collapse which she later finds out drove her to perform an unspeakable act, resulting in her return to Malaysia. But Kamala has always been skilled at dodging the realities of her condition either through alcohol, “symbol-making” or downright denial. When she is saved from suicide by Nurse Fatimah who has been taking care of her at the asylum she is forced to face the realities of her past which becomes clear to her through Nurse Fatimah’s confession about her own secret as a murderer.
My poems have been published in several US and UK publications including “Agenda” Broadsheet and The Wolf magazine and my story “Redemption” was shortlisted for the Fish Publishing One-page Story Prize 2010.
Please let me know if you would be interested in reading part or all of A Place to Be.
Thanks for your time and I hope to hear from you soon.
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