Dear Agent,
THE NIGHT STARTS HERE is a young adult paranormal novel. It is complete at 70,000 words.
Simon Hawkins is undead. Not alive, not dead. Regardless of his condition, Simon is a walking, talking, handsome young man. He's also in love with a very much human girl named Beth. The only issue is that Beth is going to break up Simon and he knows it and he's really not actually as nice of a guy as he seems.
Because Simon believes that he can still make Beth love him, he orchestrates a car crash that kills Beth. Then on the side of the road, as she drifts out of the world, Simon does the unforgivable. He changes Beth into one of the undead.
A day later, Beth wakes up in a coffin. Buried.
Instead of throwing herself into his arms with gratitude at “saving her life” like Simon hopes, Beth runs away in fear and confusion.
While sitting alone on the side of a road one night, Beth is approached by two young men who are members of a gang that live in a mysterious city beneath the human world called the Underground. Beth goes with the two young men and joins the ranks of the gang, making some new friends and new enemies very quickly.
However, Beth's painful past resurfaces when Everyone's Favorite Psychopath Boyfriend Simon shows up Underground-- to his old gang, the exact one that Beth is now a part of. He is welcomed back, as the gang does not know the history between Beth and Simon. Simon then proceeds to blackmail Beth into silence, once again abusing his control over her helpless nature.
When the leader of the gang, Dominik, devises a plot against the evil Aristocracy (the corrupt ruling class of the Underground) that could potentially benefit all the members of the gang, they decide to go for it. Will they be able to leave the usual un-dead gang drama at home for a night and come together to bring down the powerful establishment? More importantly, will Beth be able to reveal Simon for the manipulative jerk he really is?
Thank you for your consideration,
Jul 17, 2009
Query- Blood From Heaven [version 4]
Click here to read the original.
Click here to read the version 3.
Question: I was considering changing the title to "Trial By Fire"--what do you think?
Thanks-
E.J.
Dear Agent,
Samone Fisher is a Priestess with ancient powers. She is a woman who has the ability to act as a gateway for angels and gods, and demons too when things don’t go so well.
What happens when things don’t go so well? You lose your body.
Luckily for Samone, she has an angel watching out for her, the fiery Serafina, who has possessed her body to keep it alive.
Now, Serafina must enlist the help of two special men to find Samone’s soul and bring it back to her body where it belongs. The men soon succumb to the angel’s fiery energy. The clock is ticking. The body is dying. Under the angel’s mysterious influence the men are able to return Samone’s soul to her body.
And here is where their new lives begin.
The men soon find out that Samone is as fiery as the angel that kept her body alive, and they will do anything to be with her. But the demons are closing in. They want Samone and people are starting to die. So Samone and her two men summon the angels for help, and that is when they learn that angels are not always what they seem.
I would like to submit for your review the manuscript for my paranormal urban fantasy, Blood From Heaven, which is complete at 82,700 words. This is the first novel of a series, which can also stand alone.
In writing this novel I have drawn upon my expertise in occult and paranormal subjects as well as professional experience with psychology, investigation and law enforcement.
Thank you for your time and consideration,
Click here to read the version 3.
Question: I was considering changing the title to "Trial By Fire"--what do you think?
Thanks-
E.J.
Dear Agent,
Samone Fisher is a Priestess with ancient powers. She is a woman who has the ability to act as a gateway for angels and gods, and demons too when things don’t go so well.
What happens when things don’t go so well? You lose your body.
Luckily for Samone, she has an angel watching out for her, the fiery Serafina, who has possessed her body to keep it alive.
Now, Serafina must enlist the help of two special men to find Samone’s soul and bring it back to her body where it belongs. The men soon succumb to the angel’s fiery energy. The clock is ticking. The body is dying. Under the angel’s mysterious influence the men are able to return Samone’s soul to her body.
And here is where their new lives begin.
The men soon find out that Samone is as fiery as the angel that kept her body alive, and they will do anything to be with her. But the demons are closing in. They want Samone and people are starting to die. So Samone and her two men summon the angels for help, and that is when they learn that angels are not always what they seem.
I would like to submit for your review the manuscript for my paranormal urban fantasy, Blood From Heaven, which is complete at 82,700 words. This is the first novel of a series, which can also stand alone.
In writing this novel I have drawn upon my expertise in occult and paranormal subjects as well as professional experience with psychology, investigation and law enforcement.
Thank you for your time and consideration,
Jul 16, 2009
QUERY- BROKEN (new query)
A revision has been posted, click here to read it.
Dear [Agent X],
Madeline “Madd” Gunn is a fallen cop who knows where to find the best breaded steak sandwich in Chicago, how to fire a .45 without missing, and who murdered her kid sister.
After every lead on her sister’s case dries up, Madd quits the force and teams up with a group of well-connected vigilantes who hunt down violent criminals and arrange their deaths. When “The Protectors” hand Madd the name of her sister’s killer and an untraceable .45, she fires four bullets into his chest and watches him die.
There’s only one problem. She killed the wrong man.
Once a phone call confirms her worst fears, Madd knows that someone has set her up. But who? Now her name is on The Protectors’ hit list and finding her sister’s killer is only the beginning of her problems. She needs to live long enough to uncover the truth, and some very powerful people want her dead.
BROKEN is an 86, 127 word thriller about the irreversible consequences of revenge. My short stories have appeared in [redacted] and [redacted].
Thank you for your time.
Dear [Agent X],
Madeline “Madd” Gunn is a fallen cop who knows where to find the best breaded steak sandwich in Chicago, how to fire a .45 without missing, and who murdered her kid sister.
After every lead on her sister’s case dries up, Madd quits the force and teams up with a group of well-connected vigilantes who hunt down violent criminals and arrange their deaths. When “The Protectors” hand Madd the name of her sister’s killer and an untraceable .45, she fires four bullets into his chest and watches him die.
There’s only one problem. She killed the wrong man.
Once a phone call confirms her worst fears, Madd knows that someone has set her up. But who? Now her name is on The Protectors’ hit list and finding her sister’s killer is only the beginning of her problems. She needs to live long enough to uncover the truth, and some very powerful people want her dead.
BROKEN is an 86, 127 word thriller about the irreversible consequences of revenge. My short stories have appeared in [redacted] and [redacted].
Thank you for your time.
QUERY- UNTITLED
Click here to read the sample pages.
A revision of this query has been posted, click here to read it.
I can handle large amounts of criticism. I'm just starting out writing and i am almost finished with my first novel. I have no ending paragraphs to my letter because I don't have any credentials or degree to mention - not sure what I should do with that?
Dear Mr. Agent,
I fell in love with your blog in my desperate need to learn as much as possible about writing a gold medal query letter. I am currently seeking representation for my Young Adult novel, UNTITLED, complete at 100,000 words.
Holly Flynn is a well respected English teacher and aspiring novelist married to her wonderful and attentive high school boyfriend. Her life is exactly as she always planned. That is until an old friend shows up at her door step handing over an item she hasn’t seen in ten years, her journal. Her eighteen year old self preserved in the form of a pink velvet notebook. As she opens the book, a photograph falls to the floor. A picture of herself embracing a mysterious boy who's face happens to be identical to the boy from her novel. A face she thought only existed in her fictional world. A face she’s devoted over 300 pages to.
After reading the journal she discovers her own written words tell a story different from the one she knows. Holly must decide to stay in the life she’s always known or to take a chance and leave everything behind. Is true love worth the pain? Her discoveries bring the conclusion that the world is much bigger than she ever imagined and the mystery surrounding the boy she loves is almost too much for any human to accept. The power to change the past is like playing God in a battle where right and wrong are not the only two sides competing.
A revision of this query has been posted, click here to read it.
I can handle large amounts of criticism. I'm just starting out writing and i am almost finished with my first novel. I have no ending paragraphs to my letter because I don't have any credentials or degree to mention - not sure what I should do with that?
Dear Mr. Agent,
I fell in love with your blog in my desperate need to learn as much as possible about writing a gold medal query letter. I am currently seeking representation for my Young Adult novel, UNTITLED, complete at 100,000 words.
Holly Flynn is a well respected English teacher and aspiring novelist married to her wonderful and attentive high school boyfriend. Her life is exactly as she always planned. That is until an old friend shows up at her door step handing over an item she hasn’t seen in ten years, her journal. Her eighteen year old self preserved in the form of a pink velvet notebook. As she opens the book, a photograph falls to the floor. A picture of herself embracing a mysterious boy who's face happens to be identical to the boy from her novel. A face she thought only existed in her fictional world. A face she’s devoted over 300 pages to.
After reading the journal she discovers her own written words tell a story different from the one she knows. Holly must decide to stay in the life she’s always known or to take a chance and leave everything behind. Is true love worth the pain? Her discoveries bring the conclusion that the world is much bigger than she ever imagined and the mystery surrounding the boy she loves is almost too much for any human to accept. The power to change the past is like playing God in a battle where right and wrong are not the only two sides competing.
Jul 15, 2009
Revising Queries
Slushpile follower / commenter Elana Johnson wrote an excellent post on the QueryTracker.net blog today, click here to read it.
I won't re-hash the entire thing (you really should read it for yourself!), but the gist is that you are better off if you let the criticism you receive sink in before rushing directly into your query revisions.
Take your time. Like in cooking, slower produces a better result. Never microwave a roast...
I won't re-hash the entire thing (you really should read it for yourself!), but the gist is that you are better off if you let the criticism you receive sink in before rushing directly into your query revisions.
Take your time. Like in cooking, slower produces a better result. Never microwave a roast...
Query - ACADIA, BOOK I: THE LOST KING AND THE GODDESS OF TIME
Have you heard of a place far in the cosmos called Acadia? No? Not surprising, for even the name is nothing but a whisper to most who know of its lore. Alien as it may sound; Acadia is a world much like ours. It is a world of strife and a world of harmony—a home to many heroes and to many villains. But what if the villain was a hero—the hero a villain?
In the years after the Great War, a proud king has sacrificed his own life to rid the world of an evil that consumed his body and now his soul. But his sacrifice goes in vain, for the evil survived and nested itself in the only thing most precious to him: his only son. Damont Langörn, a young lord of an estate, comes to learn the truth behind his blood and a cryptic prophecy that unfolds before him. Leaving him thus with only two choices: To bring a new era of peace to Acadia or to accept his ominous future that would bring another era of darkness and the death of the Acadian gods.
The future is inevitable. Damont Langörn, ruler of Acadia and the world of the divine, is challenged and slain by his once closest ally and friend: Derrick Avren. Instead of the void, the once middle-aged man wakes up in the farmlands of Garribus in the bloom of his youth, and recalls nothing but the chores he had to do. An ancient prophecy is soon revealed, and then comes to him visions of an uncertain future. Embarking on a quest with the aid of a sorceress and a hunter to fulfill a prophecy, Damont learns the truth of his parents. He is the child of an ancient king and the goddess of time, carrying in his veins a legendary bloodline: the house of Langörn!
Before the throne of Haldina, home to his ancestors, is relinquished into the birth of his reign, Damont is betrayed by the city’s steward, Duke Therodyll. The Duke has chosen another to entrust his realm: Derrick Avren, prince of the Empire of Zafrëal. With the god of war at his side, Derrick instigates a new war between the east and west—and one he plans to win. To avail his cause and to empower his name, the queen of the Kingdom of Illyiümia offers her crown and realm to Damont Langörn. But to win the war, Damont seeks an ancient weapon his father once wielded—the sword of cosmos! A sword that feasts upon his blood, and hungers for the blood of the divine; but through its power, Damont puts an end to the onslaught and invasion of Zafrëal. In the end, he reclaims the throne of his forefathers and brings peace to the war-torn lands with the death of the god of war, while sparing the life of Derrick Avren.
Little did he know that his dark and malevolent future still awaited him in the decades to come…
My novel of 189,000 words, ACADIA, BOOK I: THE LOST KING AND THE GODDESS OF TIME, is an epic fantasy aimed for general readers, but more hopefully, for readers who appreciate great works such as the Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R Tolkien, the Shadowmarch trilogy by Tad Williams, and the Crown of Stars series by Kate Elliott.
Thank you once again for your time and patience in considering my query.
Best regards,
Ali M. Naqvi
(angeluztb@gmail.com)
In the years after the Great War, a proud king has sacrificed his own life to rid the world of an evil that consumed his body and now his soul. But his sacrifice goes in vain, for the evil survived and nested itself in the only thing most precious to him: his only son. Damont Langörn, a young lord of an estate, comes to learn the truth behind his blood and a cryptic prophecy that unfolds before him. Leaving him thus with only two choices: To bring a new era of peace to Acadia or to accept his ominous future that would bring another era of darkness and the death of the Acadian gods.
The future is inevitable. Damont Langörn, ruler of Acadia and the world of the divine, is challenged and slain by his once closest ally and friend: Derrick Avren. Instead of the void, the once middle-aged man wakes up in the farmlands of Garribus in the bloom of his youth, and recalls nothing but the chores he had to do. An ancient prophecy is soon revealed, and then comes to him visions of an uncertain future. Embarking on a quest with the aid of a sorceress and a hunter to fulfill a prophecy, Damont learns the truth of his parents. He is the child of an ancient king and the goddess of time, carrying in his veins a legendary bloodline: the house of Langörn!
Before the throne of Haldina, home to his ancestors, is relinquished into the birth of his reign, Damont is betrayed by the city’s steward, Duke Therodyll. The Duke has chosen another to entrust his realm: Derrick Avren, prince of the Empire of Zafrëal. With the god of war at his side, Derrick instigates a new war between the east and west—and one he plans to win. To avail his cause and to empower his name, the queen of the Kingdom of Illyiümia offers her crown and realm to Damont Langörn. But to win the war, Damont seeks an ancient weapon his father once wielded—the sword of cosmos! A sword that feasts upon his blood, and hungers for the blood of the divine; but through its power, Damont puts an end to the onslaught and invasion of Zafrëal. In the end, he reclaims the throne of his forefathers and brings peace to the war-torn lands with the death of the god of war, while sparing the life of Derrick Avren.
Little did he know that his dark and malevolent future still awaited him in the decades to come…
My novel of 189,000 words, ACADIA, BOOK I: THE LOST KING AND THE GODDESS OF TIME, is an epic fantasy aimed for general readers, but more hopefully, for readers who appreciate great works such as the Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R Tolkien, the Shadowmarch trilogy by Tad Williams, and the Crown of Stars series by Kate Elliott.
Thank you once again for your time and patience in considering my query.
Best regards,
Ali M. Naqvi
(angeluztb@gmail.com)
Jul 14, 2009
Sample Pages - Quest Support (First Revision)
Well, I'm back. I've done some tweaking to the first chapter of Quest Support, and I think it's improved somewhat. The first chapter is only 6 pages, so I've posted the whole thing. Thanks!
Quest Support
Chapter One: In Which, Appropriately Enough, the Story Begins
The magic mirror rang again. Gilbert adjusted his headset and pressed the “talk” button on the mirror’s frame. His reflection dissolved into an image of a bleak landscape.
“Thank you for calling Quest Support,” said Gilbert. “My name is Gilbert. How can I help you?”
A young man clad in silver armor stood in a torrential rain and glowered at him. “Why isn’t my magic sword working?” he said.
“Could you be more specific?”
“I just told you, it's not working.” The caller tossed his head, long blond hair trailing out behind him.
“Yes, but what's it supposed to do?”
“How should I know?” said the caller. “The Elves who gave it to me said I would know what to do with it at the proper time. Well, we’re attacking the Dark Lord’s tower tight now, and the sword hasn't done anything. It must be broken.” A flash of lightning gleamed off his armor, immaculate save for an artistically-placed dent on the breastplate.
“I'll decide that,” said Gilbert, already taking a dislike to this caller. “Hold it up to the Quest Orb so I can see it.”
“Quest Orb?”
Gilbert sighed. “The round purple crystal you’re talking into right now. Hold the sword in front of it so I can see it.” Moron, he added to himself.
The man drew a gaudy sword with a shining blade and a gold crosspiece.
That's an actual sword? Gilbert thought. It looks like it should be hanging on some rich guy’s wall. “Let me look that up,” he told the caller.
Sword, silver blade with leaf pattern, gold grip that looks like dragon head with ruby eyes, Gilbert wrote on a piece of parchment on his desk. The words vanished, and Please wait appeared in their place as an enchantment searched Quest Support’s catalog of known magical artifacts. With a muffled thump, a stack of eight or ten pages appeared on the desk. 1 match found, the first page read, Legendary Sword Darkbane.
Gilbert groaned. “Okay, I’m going to have to put you on hold for a minute.”
“What? How dare you?”
“Look, you’ve got a Legendary Sword here. I’m going to have to wade through a few dozen pages of cryptic prophecy and shabby verse before I can figure out how the thing works.”
“But that’s….”
Gilbert punched the “Hold” button on the mirror frame. Caller on Hold, the mirror announced as he began flipping through the heap of parchment on his desk. “Let’s see,” he muttered to himself.
“Forged by elves in the fires of…not important. Some prophecy that’s already been fulfilled…bad poetry…more bad poetry…come on, that doesn’t even rhyme…ha!” He’d found something that could be useful. He skipped the text at the start of the paragraph, which was usually irrelevant, and went straight to the end. In dark of night, when all seems lost, Darkbane shall light, to burn the dross, Gilbert read. Why did the people who wrote this junk always fancy themselves bards? The verse concluded, The might of its flame shall fell the Dark, and save the land from fate most stark.
“Okay,” Gilbert said, taking the mirror off of hold. “I've got something.”
“About time!” said the caller.
“Let me ask you a question,” said Gilbert. “Has all hope been lost yet?”
“Well, no. Our army is taking a beating, but we haven't given up yet.”
“Well, there you go—the sword will only work when all hope has been lost.”
The client frowned. “Are you sure of this, boy?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Gilbert snapped. “This is good old Magical Weapon 74: the Deus Ex Machina on a stick.” He’d seen this type of sword at least four times this year.
“What are you babbling about, boy?”
“All I’m saying is…”
Phwoomph! Suddenly the sword Darkbane ignited with a flickering blue glow. “Ha!” cried the caller. “It’s working! I knew it all along! The Dark Lord will fall before me!”
“Suuuure you did.”
“I have no more time for idle talk, boy!” sneered the caller. “Destiny awaits!”
“Fine,” said Gilbert. “Goodbye. Jerk.” Gilbert pressed the “End” button on the mirror, and the caller’s image vanished. He disentangled his headset from his unkempt straw-colored hair and laid it on his desk. He’d been taking calls for the last eight hours, and the thing had been digging into his scalp something fierce.
“I need coffee,” Gilbert muttered. He wasn’t scheduled for a break until quitting time, but no one would notice his absence if he was quick. Gilbert shut off his mirror with another button press and stepped out of his cubicle. He made his way to the coffee machine at the other end of the cavernous call center, snatches of dozens of mirror calls flitting past his ears as he walked.
“…hold the wand firmly in your right hand and recite this incantation…”
“…how many kobolds are we talking about here?”
“…off-hand I’d say it’s probably poisoned, but let me check…”
Gilbert had poured himself a cup of coffee and was heading back toward his cubicle when someone called his name. “Gilbert! Hey, Gilbert!” He turned and looked down at the goblin who had grabbed hold of his belt. The green, bat-eared creature only came up to his belly button, and he stared up at him with imploring yellow eyes.
So much for being quick. “What now, uh….,”
“My name’s Knarf! I’ve worked here since last week, remember?”
“Oh, right, the guy who got his foot stuck in the snack machine.”
“Yeah! That was so embarrassing! So, I’m kind of having trouble with a call, and I thought maybe you could help. You’re a smart guy.”
“Knarf, I’m….”
“You’re not supposed to be on break, Gilbert!” boomed a thunderous voice from somewhere over his head. He looked up and found his way blocked by a scaly wall of red dragon.
“I’m…uh…helping Knarf with a call, Mr. Bloodscales,” said Gilbert.
Knarf’s nodded. “Yeah, Gilbert’s helping me with a call!”
The dragon Bloodscales rattled his wings and blew a puff of smoke out his nostrils. “Very well. But I want you back at your desk as soon as you’re finished. Understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Bloodscales.”
The division manager stormed off to bother some other employee. “Oh boy!” said Knarf.
“Thanks, Gilbert!”
“Don’t mention it,” Gilbert grunted.
He followed Knarf into his cubicle where the mirror showed a surly orc holding a withered branch in one hand. “He’s having problems with his Staff of Flame,” Knarf explained. “It’s shooting water instead of fire. I put him on hold so I could try to look up how to fix it, but I can’t find anything.”
Gilbert squinted at the mirror. “Is it shooting clear water or muddy water?”
“It’s pretty muddy.”
“Yeah, these staffs have this problem all the time. I’ve already taken two calls about it today.”
“What should I do?”
“Just call the Repairs department and they’ll send someone out with a replacement.”
“Okay! Mirror, get me the Repairs department.”
A droopy little man appeared in the mirror. “Hi, you’ve reached Frank in Repairs,” he wheezed. There was a pause while he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “I’m out sick right now, but if you’ll leave a message our backup enchanter will get to your request as soon as possible.”
“Huh,” said Gilbert. “I didn’t know we had a backup enchanter. Wonder who that could be?”
“Hi!” Knarf said to the mirror. “Groghclaw the orc has a Staff of Fire that’s shooting water. Could you please send someone out to help him as soon as you can?” He turned to Gilbert. “Boy, do I feel dumb. I just spent a half-hour trying to get that thing to work. Guess I’m just not thinking straight – it’s been a long day.”
“Tell me about it.” Gilbert took a swig of coffee. “Things should quiet down soon enough, though. By this time tomorrow, the Dark Lord will be defeated.”
“Oh, that’s good. And there won’t be so many calls any more?”
“Nope. Not until the next Dark Lord arises.” Gilbert glanced down the hall. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I should get back to my desk. I don’t want to get yelled at again.”
Gilbert made it back to his cubicle without attracting Bloodscales’ attention. As he turned his mirror on, he glanced at the stack of parchment that still sat on the desk. Directly below the part he’d read to the caller was another bit of verse he’d missed.
But strike forthwith, without delay, it read, for Darkbane’s power will not long stay.
Oops, thought Gilbert. Maybe I should call the guy back. The mirror rang again, and he jammed his headset back on. Never mind, I don’t have time now. He’ll be fine.
Quest Support
Chapter One: In Which, Appropriately Enough, the Story Begins
The magic mirror rang again. Gilbert adjusted his headset and pressed the “talk” button on the mirror’s frame. His reflection dissolved into an image of a bleak landscape.
“Thank you for calling Quest Support,” said Gilbert. “My name is Gilbert. How can I help you?”
A young man clad in silver armor stood in a torrential rain and glowered at him. “Why isn’t my magic sword working?” he said.
“Could you be more specific?”
“I just told you, it's not working.” The caller tossed his head, long blond hair trailing out behind him.
“Yes, but what's it supposed to do?”
“How should I know?” said the caller. “The Elves who gave it to me said I would know what to do with it at the proper time. Well, we’re attacking the Dark Lord’s tower tight now, and the sword hasn't done anything. It must be broken.” A flash of lightning gleamed off his armor, immaculate save for an artistically-placed dent on the breastplate.
“I'll decide that,” said Gilbert, already taking a dislike to this caller. “Hold it up to the Quest Orb so I can see it.”
“Quest Orb?”
Gilbert sighed. “The round purple crystal you’re talking into right now. Hold the sword in front of it so I can see it.” Moron, he added to himself.
The man drew a gaudy sword with a shining blade and a gold crosspiece.
That's an actual sword? Gilbert thought. It looks like it should be hanging on some rich guy’s wall. “Let me look that up,” he told the caller.
Sword, silver blade with leaf pattern, gold grip that looks like dragon head with ruby eyes, Gilbert wrote on a piece of parchment on his desk. The words vanished, and Please wait appeared in their place as an enchantment searched Quest Support’s catalog of known magical artifacts. With a muffled thump, a stack of eight or ten pages appeared on the desk. 1 match found, the first page read, Legendary Sword Darkbane.
Gilbert groaned. “Okay, I’m going to have to put you on hold for a minute.”
“What? How dare you?”
“Look, you’ve got a Legendary Sword here. I’m going to have to wade through a few dozen pages of cryptic prophecy and shabby verse before I can figure out how the thing works.”
“But that’s….”
Gilbert punched the “Hold” button on the mirror frame. Caller on Hold, the mirror announced as he began flipping through the heap of parchment on his desk. “Let’s see,” he muttered to himself.
“Forged by elves in the fires of…not important. Some prophecy that’s already been fulfilled…bad poetry…more bad poetry…come on, that doesn’t even rhyme…ha!” He’d found something that could be useful. He skipped the text at the start of the paragraph, which was usually irrelevant, and went straight to the end. In dark of night, when all seems lost, Darkbane shall light, to burn the dross, Gilbert read. Why did the people who wrote this junk always fancy themselves bards? The verse concluded, The might of its flame shall fell the Dark, and save the land from fate most stark.
“Okay,” Gilbert said, taking the mirror off of hold. “I've got something.”
“About time!” said the caller.
“Let me ask you a question,” said Gilbert. “Has all hope been lost yet?”
“Well, no. Our army is taking a beating, but we haven't given up yet.”
“Well, there you go—the sword will only work when all hope has been lost.”
The client frowned. “Are you sure of this, boy?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Gilbert snapped. “This is good old Magical Weapon 74: the Deus Ex Machina on a stick.” He’d seen this type of sword at least four times this year.
“What are you babbling about, boy?”
“All I’m saying is…”
Phwoomph! Suddenly the sword Darkbane ignited with a flickering blue glow. “Ha!” cried the caller. “It’s working! I knew it all along! The Dark Lord will fall before me!”
“Suuuure you did.”
“I have no more time for idle talk, boy!” sneered the caller. “Destiny awaits!”
“Fine,” said Gilbert. “Goodbye. Jerk.” Gilbert pressed the “End” button on the mirror, and the caller’s image vanished. He disentangled his headset from his unkempt straw-colored hair and laid it on his desk. He’d been taking calls for the last eight hours, and the thing had been digging into his scalp something fierce.
“I need coffee,” Gilbert muttered. He wasn’t scheduled for a break until quitting time, but no one would notice his absence if he was quick. Gilbert shut off his mirror with another button press and stepped out of his cubicle. He made his way to the coffee machine at the other end of the cavernous call center, snatches of dozens of mirror calls flitting past his ears as he walked.
“…hold the wand firmly in your right hand and recite this incantation…”
“…how many kobolds are we talking about here?”
“…off-hand I’d say it’s probably poisoned, but let me check…”
Gilbert had poured himself a cup of coffee and was heading back toward his cubicle when someone called his name. “Gilbert! Hey, Gilbert!” He turned and looked down at the goblin who had grabbed hold of his belt. The green, bat-eared creature only came up to his belly button, and he stared up at him with imploring yellow eyes.
So much for being quick. “What now, uh….,”
“My name’s Knarf! I’ve worked here since last week, remember?”
“Oh, right, the guy who got his foot stuck in the snack machine.”
“Yeah! That was so embarrassing! So, I’m kind of having trouble with a call, and I thought maybe you could help. You’re a smart guy.”
“Knarf, I’m….”
“You’re not supposed to be on break, Gilbert!” boomed a thunderous voice from somewhere over his head. He looked up and found his way blocked by a scaly wall of red dragon.
“I’m…uh…helping Knarf with a call, Mr. Bloodscales,” said Gilbert.
Knarf’s nodded. “Yeah, Gilbert’s helping me with a call!”
The dragon Bloodscales rattled his wings and blew a puff of smoke out his nostrils. “Very well. But I want you back at your desk as soon as you’re finished. Understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Bloodscales.”
The division manager stormed off to bother some other employee. “Oh boy!” said Knarf.
“Thanks, Gilbert!”
“Don’t mention it,” Gilbert grunted.
He followed Knarf into his cubicle where the mirror showed a surly orc holding a withered branch in one hand. “He’s having problems with his Staff of Flame,” Knarf explained. “It’s shooting water instead of fire. I put him on hold so I could try to look up how to fix it, but I can’t find anything.”
Gilbert squinted at the mirror. “Is it shooting clear water or muddy water?”
“It’s pretty muddy.”
“Yeah, these staffs have this problem all the time. I’ve already taken two calls about it today.”
“What should I do?”
“Just call the Repairs department and they’ll send someone out with a replacement.”
“Okay! Mirror, get me the Repairs department.”
A droopy little man appeared in the mirror. “Hi, you’ve reached Frank in Repairs,” he wheezed. There was a pause while he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “I’m out sick right now, but if you’ll leave a message our backup enchanter will get to your request as soon as possible.”
“Huh,” said Gilbert. “I didn’t know we had a backup enchanter. Wonder who that could be?”
“Hi!” Knarf said to the mirror. “Groghclaw the orc has a Staff of Fire that’s shooting water. Could you please send someone out to help him as soon as you can?” He turned to Gilbert. “Boy, do I feel dumb. I just spent a half-hour trying to get that thing to work. Guess I’m just not thinking straight – it’s been a long day.”
“Tell me about it.” Gilbert took a swig of coffee. “Things should quiet down soon enough, though. By this time tomorrow, the Dark Lord will be defeated.”
“Oh, that’s good. And there won’t be so many calls any more?”
“Nope. Not until the next Dark Lord arises.” Gilbert glanced down the hall. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I should get back to my desk. I don’t want to get yelled at again.”
Gilbert made it back to his cubicle without attracting Bloodscales’ attention. As he turned his mirror on, he glanced at the stack of parchment that still sat on the desk. Directly below the part he’d read to the caller was another bit of verse he’d missed.
But strike forthwith, without delay, it read, for Darkbane’s power will not long stay.
Oops, thought Gilbert. Maybe I should call the guy back. The mirror rang again, and he jammed his headset back on. Never mind, I don’t have time now. He’ll be fine.
Jul 9, 2009
Query - Margarita Nights - V2
Click here to read the original query.
Okay, here's the second version with some minor (possibly major) changes! Thanks
MARGARITA NIGHTS is a 72,000-word commercial fiction novel that presents a realistic portrait of gay life.
One question – do you love me? – by his partner of five years makes Jared realize that sometimes, love is not enough. He loves his partner. He is also, perhaps unhealthily so, consumed with thoughts of a kiss – a simple peck on the lips, in greeting only – from a friend. He doesn’t have a fairy godmother (though he knows a few drag queens in sparkly dresses) to wave her magic wand and fix his problems. He only has the boyz (well, grown men desperately trying to hang on to their youth), snarky comments, and margarita nights once a month to help him figure out if even the most meaningless relationships, ironically, have meaning after all.
Jared’s biggest fear is ending up alone. His current relationship is not as stable as he once thought. His love for his partner doesn’t seem enough to him any longer. He doesn’t know if he has the courage and strength to walk away from a good relationship to, maybe, find a better relationship. He just knows that love doesn’t seem enough. He just isn’t sure what price he is willing to pay to – hopefully – find his happily ever after.
On any given Friday night, I can be found drinking margaritas and listening, perhaps adding a tidbit or two, to the gayvine. As per the guidelines on your website, I have included the first ten pages of my completed manuscript.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Okay, here's the second version with some minor (possibly major) changes! Thanks
MARGARITA NIGHTS is a 72,000-word commercial fiction novel that presents a realistic portrait of gay life.
One question – do you love me? – by his partner of five years makes Jared realize that sometimes, love is not enough. He loves his partner. He is also, perhaps unhealthily so, consumed with thoughts of a kiss – a simple peck on the lips, in greeting only – from a friend. He doesn’t have a fairy godmother (though he knows a few drag queens in sparkly dresses) to wave her magic wand and fix his problems. He only has the boyz (well, grown men desperately trying to hang on to their youth), snarky comments, and margarita nights once a month to help him figure out if even the most meaningless relationships, ironically, have meaning after all.
Jared’s biggest fear is ending up alone. His current relationship is not as stable as he once thought. His love for his partner doesn’t seem enough to him any longer. He doesn’t know if he has the courage and strength to walk away from a good relationship to, maybe, find a better relationship. He just knows that love doesn’t seem enough. He just isn’t sure what price he is willing to pay to – hopefully – find his happily ever after.
On any given Friday night, I can be found drinking margaritas and listening, perhaps adding a tidbit or two, to the gayvine. As per the guidelines on your website, I have included the first ten pages of my completed manuscript.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sample pages-A Profusion of Want
Click here to read the query.
I was sixteen years old the first time I met Grey Koniges, at a high school chess tournament in a crappy gym on a dreary day.
The bleachers were less than a quarter full, only the most tenacious of parents and contenders staying to watch the championship match. They shifted constantly under the fluorescent lights, searching for a comfortable position on the hard benches. Many stifled yawns, and a few grandparents and small children were asleep. One father’s pockets bulged with cash he’d gotten from selling the puzzles in his sudoku book to other parents for five dollars a piece; but all of the puzzles had been solved hours before and now all there was to do was wait, and watch. The only sounds were the recurring sniffle of a child with a bad cold and the light patter of rain against the roof and high, grimy windows.
Down on the main floor, folding card tables were arranged in a neat grid across the lines of the basketball court. All except one were laden with finished games, pawns discarded, queens attacking, kings fallen. Abandoned battlefields.
It had been a long day.
I wasn’t particularly good at chess. I had the potential to be, since I was intelligent enough and had been told—both by people who liked me and those who did not—that I had an aggressive and cunning mind. However, I lacked the interest or the patience. Protracted battles weren’t my thing. The only reason I was there at all was to get a few points extra credit from my math teacher, Mrs. Mendez, which would push my grade from a tenuous B- to a solid B.
Before the tournament, Mrs. Mendez had pulled me away from the chess team, whose pimply, super-intelligent members were somewhat skeptical about my participation, to reassure me that I wasn’t expected to win and that I should “just try to have a good time.”
Mrs. Mendez was new to the school. She didn’t know me well. She didn’t know that I didn’t start things if I thought I would do poorly in them, and I never, ever lost.
It was the last round of the tournament, and I was winning.
My opponent was a boy several years younger than me, small for his age, with thick glasses and thin limbs. I’d forgotten his name, but he looked like a Simon.
Simon had obviously skipped a few grades. As Mrs. Mendez had told me in an excited whisper, he’d blown through all of his previous games more quickly than was strictly polite. I, on the other hand, had won my previous five rounds through sheer determination and the occasional lucky guess.
Simon’s face was pinched as he examined our board, contemplating his next move. I had fewer pieces left than he did, but while most of his were pawns, most of mine weren’t. Finally he reached forward, setting one small hand on his queen, the beginnings of a grin on his face that I did not like at all. I could practically hear the audience take a collective deep breath.
“I’m going to win, you know,” I said, tapping one of my murdered pawns lightly against the edge of the table.
Simon blinked and pulled his hand away. The audience exhaled. “Oh yeah?” He tilted his head and squinted at me suspiciously.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back in my squeaky chair and crossing my arms over my chest. I ignored the ache in my back from sitting in one position too long. “You know why?”
He twitched, his eyes darting from my face to the board and back again. “Why?”
I smirked. “Because I know exactly what you’re going to do next. You’re predictable. It’ll be all too easy.”
Come on, kid. Mess up, I thought intently.
“We’ll see about that,” he blustered, but now his forehead was furrowed and there was fear in his eyes. He reached for the queen again, his hand hovering over her. He stayed like that for almost a minute before he let out a put-upon sigh and moved his remaining bishop instead.
I smoothed a hand down my face to conceal my grin. Whatever Simon had been about to do with that queen would have been bad for me, I was sure. Even better, now that I’d made him flinch once, I knew how to do it again. A studied slouch to my posture, a certain gleam in my eye at the right time, and he was lost. Five moves later, Simon used his stubby pointer finger to tip over his king, then slumped back in his chair, staring at the board and wondering when, exactly, things had gone so wrong.
The moderator, who’d been struggling to stay awake while watching the progress of the game from a chair a few feet away, didn’t realize at first what had happened. It was only when I stood to shake Simon’s hand that his eyes widened and he leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat and announced, “Shale Peterson is the winner!”
The audience burst into a smattering of applause. Most of the parents headed eagerly for the exits, their disheartened children by their sides. A few came across the gymnasium floor to offer their congratulations, Mrs. Mendez foremost among them. She seemed to bounce with each step, beaming with astonished pride.
“I can’t believe it,” she told me, near tears. “I’m so proud of you, Shale.”
She seized me by the arm, her hands like pincers, and pulled me toward the mob of well-wishers and enthusiasts. They congratulated me and shook my hand and used a lot of chess terms I didn’t know.
“However did you think to set that trap for his knight?” one man asked.
I shrugged. “Intuition?”
They all laughed.
“Well, I knew all along that she would go far,” Mrs. Mendez kept saying, arm around my shoulders. “One of my best students, you know.” She winked and tapped my forehead with one long-nailed finger. “Mind like a steel trap.”
I didn’t much care for public attention—that wasn’t the reason I was so competitive—and the approbation from my fans quickly became too much. I tried to step back but found myself held in place by Mrs. Mendez’s iron grip. She was conversing so enthusiastically with a young man holding a notepad—a news reporter, perhaps—that she didn’t seem to have noticed my attempt to move.
Finally I smiled awkwardly and told the group, “Excuse me, I need to grab a drink of water.” With a twist of my body only possible because I was a tae kwon do student, I slipped out from under Mrs. Mendez’s arm and made my escape.
The water fountain was in an alcove out of sight of the main floor and for a few minutes I just leaned against the sticky wall with my eyes closed, feeling oddly tired. I could hear the murmur of voices and the squeaks of tennis shoes against the laminated wooden floor. After a moment I realized that I really was thirsty and held down the round metal button, only to watch in annoyance as a dribble of water seeped half-heartedly from the spout.
“Some might say that that was bad sportsmanship.” The voice came from behind me, and was rich and deep and sounded like it should have had a British accent.
I jerked with surprise, banging my hip painfully against the fountain as I spun around to face the man who had spoken. He was very tall, and handsome in a way-too-old-for-me kind of way, with a firm jaw and a full head of thick black hair that had a hint of white at the edges. His suit looked expensive, not that I was any kind of judge. A half-smile played along his lips. He had the most extraordinary grey eyes—piercing and intelligent and unsettling.
Suddenly chilled, I rubbed my arms, feeling goose bumps.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, leaning away from him and setting my chin in that stubborn way my mother hated. “I never broke the rules.”
I wasn’t sure why he made me feel so uncomfortable. We were in a public place; if I raised my voice there was a crowd of people who would rush to my aid.
“I never said you did,” he said. “Nor am I chastising you. That was well done.”
Oh. That was unexpected. And didn’t make me any better. “Thanks.” He seemed to be waiting for me to say something else, and at last I blurted, “Are you some kind of chess talent scout or something? Because I’m not interested.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’m a scout, of sorts, but not of chess,” he said.
His hands were empty, but he gave his right hand a little flourish and suddenly he was holding a business card between his index and middle finger. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I was a little too old to be impressed by magic tricks. He held out the card and I took it, tucking it into the pocket of my jeans without looking at it.
“I’m Grey. Grey Koniges,” he said, keeping his hand out.
The name sent a strange little tingle down my spine. It felt like a warning.
I hesitated. In most situations I didn’t go around giving my name to strangers. Of course, that caution seemed silly given the way my name, in bold, capital letters, was currently being pinned at the top of the tournament chart for all to see.
“Shale,” I said, taking his hand, which was pleasantly warm, and making sure that my grip was as strong as his.
“Interesting name,” he said.
I nodded, extracting my hand from his. There was the briefest moment of resistance, as if he didn’t want to let me go.
“Isn’t it, though. It was nice to meet you.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and began to walk away.
“Weren’t you going to have a drink?” he called after me.
I turned back, my eyes narrowed. “The fountain doesn’t work.”
“Oh?” He leaned over the water fountain, pressed the button, and took a long, slow gulp as sparkling water arched from the spout.
I was sixteen years old the first time I met Grey Koniges, at a high school chess tournament in a crappy gym on a dreary day.
The bleachers were less than a quarter full, only the most tenacious of parents and contenders staying to watch the championship match. They shifted constantly under the fluorescent lights, searching for a comfortable position on the hard benches. Many stifled yawns, and a few grandparents and small children were asleep. One father’s pockets bulged with cash he’d gotten from selling the puzzles in his sudoku book to other parents for five dollars a piece; but all of the puzzles had been solved hours before and now all there was to do was wait, and watch. The only sounds were the recurring sniffle of a child with a bad cold and the light patter of rain against the roof and high, grimy windows.
Down on the main floor, folding card tables were arranged in a neat grid across the lines of the basketball court. All except one were laden with finished games, pawns discarded, queens attacking, kings fallen. Abandoned battlefields.
It had been a long day.
I wasn’t particularly good at chess. I had the potential to be, since I was intelligent enough and had been told—both by people who liked me and those who did not—that I had an aggressive and cunning mind. However, I lacked the interest or the patience. Protracted battles weren’t my thing. The only reason I was there at all was to get a few points extra credit from my math teacher, Mrs. Mendez, which would push my grade from a tenuous B- to a solid B.
Before the tournament, Mrs. Mendez had pulled me away from the chess team, whose pimply, super-intelligent members were somewhat skeptical about my participation, to reassure me that I wasn’t expected to win and that I should “just try to have a good time.”
Mrs. Mendez was new to the school. She didn’t know me well. She didn’t know that I didn’t start things if I thought I would do poorly in them, and I never, ever lost.
It was the last round of the tournament, and I was winning.
My opponent was a boy several years younger than me, small for his age, with thick glasses and thin limbs. I’d forgotten his name, but he looked like a Simon.
Simon had obviously skipped a few grades. As Mrs. Mendez had told me in an excited whisper, he’d blown through all of his previous games more quickly than was strictly polite. I, on the other hand, had won my previous five rounds through sheer determination and the occasional lucky guess.
Simon’s face was pinched as he examined our board, contemplating his next move. I had fewer pieces left than he did, but while most of his were pawns, most of mine weren’t. Finally he reached forward, setting one small hand on his queen, the beginnings of a grin on his face that I did not like at all. I could practically hear the audience take a collective deep breath.
“I’m going to win, you know,” I said, tapping one of my murdered pawns lightly against the edge of the table.
Simon blinked and pulled his hand away. The audience exhaled. “Oh yeah?” He tilted his head and squinted at me suspiciously.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back in my squeaky chair and crossing my arms over my chest. I ignored the ache in my back from sitting in one position too long. “You know why?”
He twitched, his eyes darting from my face to the board and back again. “Why?”
I smirked. “Because I know exactly what you’re going to do next. You’re predictable. It’ll be all too easy.”
Come on, kid. Mess up, I thought intently.
“We’ll see about that,” he blustered, but now his forehead was furrowed and there was fear in his eyes. He reached for the queen again, his hand hovering over her. He stayed like that for almost a minute before he let out a put-upon sigh and moved his remaining bishop instead.
I smoothed a hand down my face to conceal my grin. Whatever Simon had been about to do with that queen would have been bad for me, I was sure. Even better, now that I’d made him flinch once, I knew how to do it again. A studied slouch to my posture, a certain gleam in my eye at the right time, and he was lost. Five moves later, Simon used his stubby pointer finger to tip over his king, then slumped back in his chair, staring at the board and wondering when, exactly, things had gone so wrong.
The moderator, who’d been struggling to stay awake while watching the progress of the game from a chair a few feet away, didn’t realize at first what had happened. It was only when I stood to shake Simon’s hand that his eyes widened and he leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat and announced, “Shale Peterson is the winner!”
The audience burst into a smattering of applause. Most of the parents headed eagerly for the exits, their disheartened children by their sides. A few came across the gymnasium floor to offer their congratulations, Mrs. Mendez foremost among them. She seemed to bounce with each step, beaming with astonished pride.
“I can’t believe it,” she told me, near tears. “I’m so proud of you, Shale.”
She seized me by the arm, her hands like pincers, and pulled me toward the mob of well-wishers and enthusiasts. They congratulated me and shook my hand and used a lot of chess terms I didn’t know.
“However did you think to set that trap for his knight?” one man asked.
I shrugged. “Intuition?”
They all laughed.
“Well, I knew all along that she would go far,” Mrs. Mendez kept saying, arm around my shoulders. “One of my best students, you know.” She winked and tapped my forehead with one long-nailed finger. “Mind like a steel trap.”
I didn’t much care for public attention—that wasn’t the reason I was so competitive—and the approbation from my fans quickly became too much. I tried to step back but found myself held in place by Mrs. Mendez’s iron grip. She was conversing so enthusiastically with a young man holding a notepad—a news reporter, perhaps—that she didn’t seem to have noticed my attempt to move.
Finally I smiled awkwardly and told the group, “Excuse me, I need to grab a drink of water.” With a twist of my body only possible because I was a tae kwon do student, I slipped out from under Mrs. Mendez’s arm and made my escape.
The water fountain was in an alcove out of sight of the main floor and for a few minutes I just leaned against the sticky wall with my eyes closed, feeling oddly tired. I could hear the murmur of voices and the squeaks of tennis shoes against the laminated wooden floor. After a moment I realized that I really was thirsty and held down the round metal button, only to watch in annoyance as a dribble of water seeped half-heartedly from the spout.
“Some might say that that was bad sportsmanship.” The voice came from behind me, and was rich and deep and sounded like it should have had a British accent.
I jerked with surprise, banging my hip painfully against the fountain as I spun around to face the man who had spoken. He was very tall, and handsome in a way-too-old-for-me kind of way, with a firm jaw and a full head of thick black hair that had a hint of white at the edges. His suit looked expensive, not that I was any kind of judge. A half-smile played along his lips. He had the most extraordinary grey eyes—piercing and intelligent and unsettling.
Suddenly chilled, I rubbed my arms, feeling goose bumps.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, leaning away from him and setting my chin in that stubborn way my mother hated. “I never broke the rules.”
I wasn’t sure why he made me feel so uncomfortable. We were in a public place; if I raised my voice there was a crowd of people who would rush to my aid.
“I never said you did,” he said. “Nor am I chastising you. That was well done.”
Oh. That was unexpected. And didn’t make me any better. “Thanks.” He seemed to be waiting for me to say something else, and at last I blurted, “Are you some kind of chess talent scout or something? Because I’m not interested.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’m a scout, of sorts, but not of chess,” he said.
His hands were empty, but he gave his right hand a little flourish and suddenly he was holding a business card between his index and middle finger. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I was a little too old to be impressed by magic tricks. He held out the card and I took it, tucking it into the pocket of my jeans without looking at it.
“I’m Grey. Grey Koniges,” he said, keeping his hand out.
The name sent a strange little tingle down my spine. It felt like a warning.
I hesitated. In most situations I didn’t go around giving my name to strangers. Of course, that caution seemed silly given the way my name, in bold, capital letters, was currently being pinned at the top of the tournament chart for all to see.
“Shale,” I said, taking his hand, which was pleasantly warm, and making sure that my grip was as strong as his.
“Interesting name,” he said.
I nodded, extracting my hand from his. There was the briefest moment of resistance, as if he didn’t want to let me go.
“Isn’t it, though. It was nice to meet you.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and began to walk away.
“Weren’t you going to have a drink?” he called after me.
I turned back, my eyes narrowed. “The fountain doesn’t work.”
“Oh?” He leaned over the water fountain, pressed the button, and took a long, slow gulp as sparkling water arched from the spout.
QUERY- SOUTH BEACH STAR (Revision 2)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal. Jamie opts for a new life and escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR where his star burns brightly but eventually falls from the sky.
Without looking back, Jamie Kidd leaves the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie can barely face himself, much less his family or friends who know nothing of his hidden relationship. Packing in the middle of the night for a new life, Jamie drives until he lands in Miami. Feeling out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach, Jamie discovers a town where beauty and wealth outclass talent and skill. After a chance meeting with the gregarious editor of SOUTH BEACH STAR, a trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers, Jamie lands a job as editorial assistant. As promised writing assignments never material, Jamie turns an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity. His coverage of the celebrity party proves Jamie’s talent and secures him the position as the STAR’s weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
South Beach opens its arms and doors to Jamie, who, like an actor taking on a new role, throws himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingles with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie transforms himself into the nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality, is an out-of-control roller-coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his gradual addiction to crystal meth. Like many before him, Jamie loses control and finds himself jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives unexpectedly, offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York but he eventually returns to South Beach.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to Miami from Virginia, where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve also been a contributing writer for publications such as V Magazine, ZED Magazine, Miamigo, Ocean Drive, Genre, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM, Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip, and the Miami Herald. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Click here to read the first revision.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal. Jamie opts for a new life and escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR where his star burns brightly but eventually falls from the sky.
Without looking back, Jamie Kidd leaves the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie can barely face himself, much less his family or friends who know nothing of his hidden relationship. Packing in the middle of the night for a new life, Jamie drives until he lands in Miami. Feeling out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach, Jamie discovers a town where beauty and wealth outclass talent and skill. After a chance meeting with the gregarious editor of SOUTH BEACH STAR, a trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers, Jamie lands a job as editorial assistant. As promised writing assignments never material, Jamie turns an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity. His coverage of the celebrity party proves Jamie’s talent and secures him the position as the STAR’s weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
South Beach opens its arms and doors to Jamie, who, like an actor taking on a new role, throws himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingles with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie transforms himself into the nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality, is an out-of-control roller-coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his gradual addiction to crystal meth. Like many before him, Jamie loses control and finds himself jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives unexpectedly, offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York but he eventually returns to South Beach.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to Miami from Virginia, where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve also been a contributing writer for publications such as V Magazine, ZED Magazine, Miamigo, Ocean Drive, Genre, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM, Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip, and the Miami Herald. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Jul 8, 2009
QUERY- SOUTH BEACH STAR (Revision 1)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read revision 2.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal, so he escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR but falls victim to a life of debauchery.
Jamie Kidd left his heart in the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie could barely face himself or deal with being dumped by his secret lover, so he packed his car and drove until he landed in Miami. Jamie felt out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach but found a job as an editor’s assistant at a local trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers. Promised writing assignments never materialized so Jamie turned an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity and a job promotion. His coverage of the celebrity party transformed Jamie into a weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
Jamie’s old life was quickly forgotten as he hurled himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingled with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie gradually morphed into a nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality an out-of-control roller coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his addiction to crystal meth, soon crashed leaving him jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives to save the day offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to South Beach from Virginia where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve been a contributing writer and photographer for publications such as Miamigo, Ocean Drive, D’Vox, Genre, SKIN, Contemporary Woman, Scoop, Groove, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM (Lincoln Road Magazine), Closer Magazine, MAP (Music Art People),Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip Magazine, and Miami Herald as well as websites like MiamiArtZine.com, cooljunkie.com and MiamiStar.com. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Click here to read revision 2.
Jamie Kidd, a thirty-something writer, thinks life is sweet until he wakes to discover that his business partner and secret lover has left town after emptying the company bank account which leaves him heartbroken, penniless, and somewhat suicidal, so he escapes to the infamous South Beach where he finds fleeting success and celebrity as a nightlife columnist for SOUTH BEACH STAR but falls victim to a life of debauchery.
Jamie Kidd left his heart in the small Virginia town that he called home for the past six years. Heartbroken and drowning in despair, Jamie could barely face himself or deal with being dumped by his secret lover, so he packed his car and drove until he landed in Miami. Jamie felt out of place in the tropical paradise known as South Beach but found a job as an editor’s assistant at a local trendy tabloid staffed with a motley crew of competitive social-climbers. Promised writing assignments never materialized so Jamie turned an invitation to a VIP party into an opportunity and a job promotion. His coverage of the celebrity party transformed Jamie into a weekly nightlife columnist and toast of the town.
Jamie’s old life was quickly forgotten as he hurled himself into his fabulous new lifestyle covering the infamous celebrity-studded party scene where he nightly mingled with beautiful shallow fashionistas, famous models, and wealthy jet-setters. Not accustomed to being fabulous or a party boy, Jamie gradually morphed into a nightlife aficionado named “Kidd” with bleached hair, designer fashions, celebrity friends and invitations to every party in town. His coveted lifestyle, in reality an out-of-control roller coaster ride of late-night-parties and photo-ops, fueled by his addiction to crystal meth, soon crashed leaving him jobless, lonely, and in a situation far worse than the one he had left in Virginia. With the gutter looming ahead, his former lover arrives to save the day offering Jamie a job as a writer in New York.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I moved to South Beach from Virginia where I was the editor of a statewide arts & entertainment publication. For over ten years, I covered South Beach nightlife for several publications including the weekly tabloids The Wire and Sunpost. I’ve been a contributing writer and photographer for publications such as Miamigo, Ocean Drive, D’Vox, Genre, SKIN, Contemporary Woman, Scoop, Groove, Fashion Times, Miami Metro, Where Magazine, LRM (Lincoln Road Magazine), Closer Magazine, MAP (Music Art People),Where Guestbook, Public Magazine, Ego Trip Magazine, and Miami Herald as well as websites like MiamiArtZine.com, cooljunkie.com and MiamiStar.com. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 65,000 words.
Query-A Profusion of Want
Click here to read the first revision (Retitled as KINGMAKER).
Click here to read the sample pages.
Click here to read the second revision (KINGMAKER).
Dear [Agent],
When sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson really wants something to happen, it does. That’s how she wins every competition she enters, from tennis to chess. According to her soon-to-be stepfather Grey, it’s also the reason her mother Leah is still alive long after doctors say that a brain tumor should have killed her. Shale admires Grey, the head of an international corporation and the only person she’s ever known as strong-willed as she is. But she mistrusts him too—because he seems to care more about becoming Shale’s father than becoming Leah’s husband.
Bit by bit, Shale’s doubts melt away as Grey draws her into his world of power and possibilities, of duty and privilege—a world hidden in plain sight and filled with people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same—a world which, unbeknownst to Shale, Grey intends for her to one day rule. Shortly after Grey and Leah leave on their honeymoon an attempt on Shale’s life lands her in the hospital, and repeated covert attacks after she is released prove that she’s not safe anywhere—and worse, that she can’t trust anyone. What galvanizes Shale to action, however, is not fear for her own life but for her mother’s: because Grey and Leah have disappeared on their honeymoon and Leah is still very sick.
Uncertain of whether her strong will really is a form of magic, Shale must overcome an unfamiliar enemy, doubt—because, magic or not, the only thing she can rely on now is her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her mysterious assassin, and she's going to ensure that they can never touch her again. With it, she is going to get Leah back.
And if they've hurt her mother? Shale is going to burn their world down.
A PROFUSION OF WANT is a young adult novel, complete at 80,000 words.
Click here to read the sample pages.
Click here to read the second revision (KINGMAKER).
Dear [Agent],
When sixteen-year-old Shale Peterson really wants something to happen, it does. That’s how she wins every competition she enters, from tennis to chess. According to her soon-to-be stepfather Grey, it’s also the reason her mother Leah is still alive long after doctors say that a brain tumor should have killed her. Shale admires Grey, the head of an international corporation and the only person she’s ever known as strong-willed as she is. But she mistrusts him too—because he seems to care more about becoming Shale’s father than becoming Leah’s husband.
Bit by bit, Shale’s doubts melt away as Grey draws her into his world of power and possibilities, of duty and privilege—a world hidden in plain sight and filled with people who believe that willpower and magic are one and the same—a world which, unbeknownst to Shale, Grey intends for her to one day rule. Shortly after Grey and Leah leave on their honeymoon an attempt on Shale’s life lands her in the hospital, and repeated covert attacks after she is released prove that she’s not safe anywhere—and worse, that she can’t trust anyone. What galvanizes Shale to action, however, is not fear for her own life but for her mother’s: because Grey and Leah have disappeared on their honeymoon and Leah is still very sick.
Uncertain of whether her strong will really is a form of magic, Shale must overcome an unfamiliar enemy, doubt—because, magic or not, the only thing she can rely on now is her considerable willpower. With it, she’s going to lay a trap for her mysterious assassin, and she's going to ensure that they can never touch her again. With it, she is going to get Leah back.
And if they've hurt her mother? Shale is going to burn their world down.
A PROFUSION OF WANT is a young adult novel, complete at 80,000 words.
QUERY- SOUTH BEACH STAR
A revision of this query has been posted, click here to read it. It's the same one posted in the comments below.
Click here to read revision 2.
ATTN: AGENT
To become a star is everyone’s dream. To become a star in New York you have to make it on Broadway, in Hollywood you need a hit television show or a top grossing movie, in Milan you have to be a world renowned fashion designer but in South Beach everyone, well practically everyone, thinks that he or she is already a star or at least has dreams to become one. South Beach, the home of the beautiful, flamboyant and fabulous, was once the playground of models, celebrities, playboys, drag queens, gay circuit boys and millionaires. Today the party is over, well almost, and the developers have taken over, but in 1996 everyone was a star and the parties were incredible. And I was at every party.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I survived the millions of air kisses and late night parties but like a war correspondent I have plenty of memories and scars. I’ve written an adventurous fictional tell-all of the real behind the scenes South Beach. They say that truth is often more unbelievable than fiction but while much of this story rings true it’s pure fiction. Or possibly it’s all true as my memory has been warped by years of living in a world where lies passed as truth. Fantasy or reality, it didn’t really matter as everyone looked great and I had a great time. Or did I?
SOUTH BEACH STAR is a fictional account of a nightlife writer’s adventures in wonderland and is filled with quirky characters reminiscent of Holly Golightly of BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S and Little Kiwi from Ethan Mordden’s BUDDIES. Imagine THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA but the main character gets a job as a nightlife writer and suddenly finds himself fighting to survive in BRIGHT LIGHTS BIG CITY while partying with the crew from CELBUTANTES. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 64,942 words.
Click here to read revision 2.
ATTN: AGENT
To become a star is everyone’s dream. To become a star in New York you have to make it on Broadway, in Hollywood you need a hit television show or a top grossing movie, in Milan you have to be a world renowned fashion designer but in South Beach everyone, well practically everyone, thinks that he or she is already a star or at least has dreams to become one. South Beach, the home of the beautiful, flamboyant and fabulous, was once the playground of models, celebrities, playboys, drag queens, gay circuit boys and millionaires. Today the party is over, well almost, and the developers have taken over, but in 1996 everyone was a star and the parties were incredible. And I was at every party.
As a South Beach nightlife columnist, I covered the waterfront (low tide and high) from 1995 to 2006. I survived the millions of air kisses and late night parties but like a war correspondent I have plenty of memories and scars. I’ve written an adventurous fictional tell-all of the real behind the scenes South Beach. They say that truth is often more unbelievable than fiction but while much of this story rings true it’s pure fiction. Or possibly it’s all true as my memory has been warped by years of living in a world where lies passed as truth. Fantasy or reality, it didn’t really matter as everyone looked great and I had a great time. Or did I?
SOUTH BEACH STAR is a fictional account of a nightlife writer’s adventures in wonderland and is filled with quirky characters reminiscent of Holly Golightly of BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S and Little Kiwi from Ethan Mordden’s BUDDIES. Imagine THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA but the main character gets a job as a nightlife writer and suddenly finds himself fighting to survive in BRIGHT LIGHTS BIG CITY while partying with the crew from CELBUTANTES. SOUTH BEACH STAR is approximately 64,942 words.
Agent Interview- Jessica Faust of BookEnds, LLC
Attention Slushpile Readers:
Jessica Faust, a literary agent with BookEnds, LLC, was gracious enough with her time to respond to an interview request. Thank you Jessica!
She also maintains the BookEnds blog, which is well worth your time (if you are not already a regular reader...I see some of your names in the comments regularly.)
So without further ado...
1. What is the most recent novel you’ve read (that was not directly
related to your job as an agent)? I’ve actually just started My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Piccoult. I’m embarrassed to say this has been sitting on my nightstand since the book was first published and I’m just now getting around to it.
2. What did you like best about that book? So far the best I can say is that her writing is really amazing.
3. What is the most challenging aspect of your job these days? I think it’s keeping all of the balls in the air. My inbox right now has 300+ unanswered emails and there are a stack of requested proposals sitting in my office. Unfortunately, those all have to wait while I work with my clients to revise and edit their proposals and manuscripts (sometimes multiple times), negotiate and review contracts, and generally answer any and all questions they might have. Of course, adding the blog to my daily to-do list certainly doesn’t help keep my schedule light, but it’s something I love so I think I’ll keep it.
4. What is the most rewarding aspect of your job, overall? It’s that I get to do what I love every single day. As a child I loved nothing more then losing myself in a book and now I get paid to do just that. I admire writers because I know I don’t have the fortitude to sit and put 100,000 words on paper and have them make sense so in my mind I get to do the next best thing and it appeals more to my strengths, I get to be the right hand woman to those writers and really work with them to make their dreams become reality.
5. How do the following factors influence the genres you rep:
- Network of editors you know While there’s no doubt that comes into play the truth is that I don’t worry about it too much. If I really love a project I can always add new editors to my network and I do on a daily basis.
- Current / anticipated market conditions To some degree. Certainly, when erotic romance first started to hit big I was lucky enough to have seen it coming and have a couple of really great authors in my stable ready to go. However, as I will always say, we can’t write or agent to the market so while I’m less likely to take on a book if I think the market might be tough, if the book is really great I’m going to go for it anyway.
- Personal reading preference I think this is probably the greatest influence, but what I think authors need to understand is that it’s different then say, your personal reading preference. What I read for pleasure and how I read for work are two very different things. When I say personal reading preference with my agent hat on I mean books that I enjoy, that I get excited about and that I think I can sell. It doesn’t necessarily mean a book I can just curl up on my couch and read. That would be too easy.
Jessica Faust, a literary agent with BookEnds, LLC, was gracious enough with her time to respond to an interview request. Thank you Jessica!
She also maintains the BookEnds blog, which is well worth your time (if you are not already a regular reader...I see some of your names in the comments regularly.)
So without further ado...
1. What is the most recent novel you’ve read (that was not directly
related to your job as an agent)? I’ve actually just started My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Piccoult. I’m embarrassed to say this has been sitting on my nightstand since the book was first published and I’m just now getting around to it.
2. What did you like best about that book? So far the best I can say is that her writing is really amazing.
3. What is the most challenging aspect of your job these days? I think it’s keeping all of the balls in the air. My inbox right now has 300+ unanswered emails and there are a stack of requested proposals sitting in my office. Unfortunately, those all have to wait while I work with my clients to revise and edit their proposals and manuscripts (sometimes multiple times), negotiate and review contracts, and generally answer any and all questions they might have. Of course, adding the blog to my daily to-do list certainly doesn’t help keep my schedule light, but it’s something I love so I think I’ll keep it.
4. What is the most rewarding aspect of your job, overall? It’s that I get to do what I love every single day. As a child I loved nothing more then losing myself in a book and now I get paid to do just that. I admire writers because I know I don’t have the fortitude to sit and put 100,000 words on paper and have them make sense so in my mind I get to do the next best thing and it appeals more to my strengths, I get to be the right hand woman to those writers and really work with them to make their dreams become reality.
5. How do the following factors influence the genres you rep:
- Network of editors you know While there’s no doubt that comes into play the truth is that I don’t worry about it too much. If I really love a project I can always add new editors to my network and I do on a daily basis.
- Current / anticipated market conditions To some degree. Certainly, when erotic romance first started to hit big I was lucky enough to have seen it coming and have a couple of really great authors in my stable ready to go. However, as I will always say, we can’t write or agent to the market so while I’m less likely to take on a book if I think the market might be tough, if the book is really great I’m going to go for it anyway.
- Personal reading preference I think this is probably the greatest influence, but what I think authors need to understand is that it’s different then say, your personal reading preference. What I read for pleasure and how I read for work are two very different things. When I say personal reading preference with my agent hat on I mean books that I enjoy, that I get excited about and that I think I can sell. It doesn’t necessarily mean a book I can just curl up on my couch and read. That would be too easy.
AMELIA'S MONSTERS SAMPLE PAGES
Click here to read the queries. Link goes to the revision, and the original is linked there.
So in the next coming months I’m going to finish polishing up my manuscript and send out the query letter to see what happens.
To make sure I’m heading in the right direction, I thought it would be a good idea to post the first few pages on here for all you wonderful people to view and critique. So here it is and thank you for your time and comments.
CHAPTER 1:
Monsters were following her right now. Amelia knew it. It didn’t matter where she went, or how far she traveled; they were following her, like wolves on the hunt. Daylight could only last for so long, and once it ended, and night took control of the day, she knew they would find her and continue to terrorize her from inside her closet.
Amelia rolled down the window and stuck her head out a little ways, the rushing wind drying out her eyes, causing them to water a little. Houses whizzed by her like a slideshow that showcased the city’s richness. Bright blue and yellow houses seemed as if they were going to collide with one another as the car drove by them. Sprinklers chattered in an attempt to keep the lawns quenched and satisfied from the summer’s heat. At first glance it seemed as if things were going to be different here for her and her family, but Amelia knew this wasn’t the case.
The car rolled up to a stop sign and Amelia pulled her head back into the car, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.
“You’re going to like it here,” Amelia’s dad said, peering through the rearview mirror.
Amelia looked back outside the window at the next row of houses that stretched out like a tie-dye wall on the other side of the intersection. She turned and looked at her cousin Lily sitting next to her and gave her a nervous smile. Lily tried to do the same, but it came out more like a twitch than a smile.
“Beautiful neighborhood, nice people, and a peaceful atmosphere,” Amelia’s dad continued to say. “Just what you two need.”
Amelia thought maybe this was what they needed. They grew up in the city—only five houses away from one another—where car alarms sounded, music blasted from nearby houses, and people screamed at one another. It was stressful and it didn’t help her or her cousin’s problems. The neighborhood did look quiet and peaceful; Amelia gave it that much.
Amelia turned once more to Lily and said, “Are you ok?”
Lily hadn’t said a word since they had gotten in the car, and that was over two hours ago. She turned to Amelia, brushed some of her blonde hair away from her eyes, and just nodded at Amelia.
Lily had always been quiet, and she kept to herself most of the time. The therapist tried to get her to talk, but she never said a word. When Amelia had sat on the couch in the waiting room of Dr. Ivan’s office, she could hear bits of Dr. Ivan’s conversation with Lily from inside his office. And from what Amelia could gather from listening, Dr. Ivan had seemed to do most of the talking, and not once did she hear Lily’s quiet chatter. The only time Amelia really heard Lily was when she had shifted in the squeaky black leather chair.
Amelia turned away from Lily and pressed the button to roll down the window, the soft electric hum ruining the silence as the window scrolled down till it slipped between its thin rubber doors.
There weren’t a lot of trees around, Amelia noticed, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. Her father told her that Evelyn Heights was a gated community and it was a lot different from their previous homes and neighborhoods. Here, Amelia noted, different must mean the same. It seemed the more they moved the less and less unique the neighborhoods became.
Before the monsters began to lurk in her closet and conceal themselves in the shadows of her room, and before they ever thought about moving, they had lived in a town where houses were all different shapes and colors and trees surrounded their old home. All day she would roam through the woods, looking at birds, bugs, and insects, inspecting dead trees and holes in the ground.
Of course, she didn’t do that anymore.
So in the next coming months I’m going to finish polishing up my manuscript and send out the query letter to see what happens.
To make sure I’m heading in the right direction, I thought it would be a good idea to post the first few pages on here for all you wonderful people to view and critique. So here it is and thank you for your time and comments.
CHAPTER 1:
Monsters were following her right now. Amelia knew it. It didn’t matter where she went, or how far she traveled; they were following her, like wolves on the hunt. Daylight could only last for so long, and once it ended, and night took control of the day, she knew they would find her and continue to terrorize her from inside her closet.
Amelia rolled down the window and stuck her head out a little ways, the rushing wind drying out her eyes, causing them to water a little. Houses whizzed by her like a slideshow that showcased the city’s richness. Bright blue and yellow houses seemed as if they were going to collide with one another as the car drove by them. Sprinklers chattered in an attempt to keep the lawns quenched and satisfied from the summer’s heat. At first glance it seemed as if things were going to be different here for her and her family, but Amelia knew this wasn’t the case.
The car rolled up to a stop sign and Amelia pulled her head back into the car, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.
“You’re going to like it here,” Amelia’s dad said, peering through the rearview mirror.
Amelia looked back outside the window at the next row of houses that stretched out like a tie-dye wall on the other side of the intersection. She turned and looked at her cousin Lily sitting next to her and gave her a nervous smile. Lily tried to do the same, but it came out more like a twitch than a smile.
“Beautiful neighborhood, nice people, and a peaceful atmosphere,” Amelia’s dad continued to say. “Just what you two need.”
Amelia thought maybe this was what they needed. They grew up in the city—only five houses away from one another—where car alarms sounded, music blasted from nearby houses, and people screamed at one another. It was stressful and it didn’t help her or her cousin’s problems. The neighborhood did look quiet and peaceful; Amelia gave it that much.
Amelia turned once more to Lily and said, “Are you ok?”
Lily hadn’t said a word since they had gotten in the car, and that was over two hours ago. She turned to Amelia, brushed some of her blonde hair away from her eyes, and just nodded at Amelia.
Lily had always been quiet, and she kept to herself most of the time. The therapist tried to get her to talk, but she never said a word. When Amelia had sat on the couch in the waiting room of Dr. Ivan’s office, she could hear bits of Dr. Ivan’s conversation with Lily from inside his office. And from what Amelia could gather from listening, Dr. Ivan had seemed to do most of the talking, and not once did she hear Lily’s quiet chatter. The only time Amelia really heard Lily was when she had shifted in the squeaky black leather chair.
Amelia turned away from Lily and pressed the button to roll down the window, the soft electric hum ruining the silence as the window scrolled down till it slipped between its thin rubber doors.
There weren’t a lot of trees around, Amelia noticed, and she didn’t know how to feel about it. Her father told her that Evelyn Heights was a gated community and it was a lot different from their previous homes and neighborhoods. Here, Amelia noted, different must mean the same. It seemed the more they moved the less and less unique the neighborhoods became.
Before the monsters began to lurk in her closet and conceal themselves in the shadows of her room, and before they ever thought about moving, they had lived in a town where houses were all different shapes and colors and trees surrounded their old home. All day she would roam through the woods, looking at birds, bugs, and insects, inspecting dead trees and holes in the ground.
Of course, she didn’t do that anymore.
Jul 7, 2009
Sample Pages - Quest Support
Click here to read the original query.
Hi all,
I've started sending out query letters for Quest Support, but haven't gotten any partial or full requests yet. I'm happy with the query itself, so I'm wondering if perhaps my sample pages could be the weak link in my submissions. I've posted the first few pages below for critiquing. Thanks!
Chapter One: In Which, Appropriately Enough, the Story Begins
Well, this week could have gone better, thought Gilbert as his head hit the pavement. “Is that any way to treat a veteran employee?” he groaned. Losing his job and possibly dooming the entire world was bad enough, but this was just insulting. The troll who had flung him out into the street only grunted. “Fine, be that way!” Gilbert picked himself up, grabbed his bag and stomped off. His life had been ruined so fast it made his head spin. Yesterday that was me, he thought to himself as he glanced through a window at a man in a cubicle. That had been when this whole mess started….
The magic mirror rang again. Gilbert adjusted his headset and hit the "talk" button on the mirror's frame. "Thank you for calling Quest Support my name is Gilbert how may I help you today?" he said as the image of a wrinkled old wizard appeared in the mirror.
"Is this the, uh, Quest Support place?" the wizard asked.
I just said it was, idiot! thought Gilbert. Out loud he said, "Yes, it is. What can I help you with today?"
"Uh, who are you?"
"My name is Gilbert. What can I help you with today?"
"Uh, I found this ring."
"And?" prompted Gilbert.
"Uh, I found it on a skeleton in a cave."
"Are you trying to find out what it does?"
"Uh, I thought you might know."
"Could you show it to me?"
"Uh?"
Gilbert sighed. "The ring - could you show it to me? Hold it up to your Quest Orb so I can see it."
"Oh. Hold on." The wizard turned away from Gilbert and rummaged through a battered backpack. "Here it is," he said finally, holding up a plain brass ring.
"Okay," said Gilbert. "Does it have any distinguishing features?"
"Like what?"
"Unusual markings, discolorations, inscriptions and so on."
"Hold on." The wizard squinted at the ring. "Uh, no, it hasn't got any."
"All right, let me look this up." With a quill pen, Gilbert scrawled a quick description of the ring on a piece of parchment on his desk in front of him. His writing vanished and the words "Please Wait" appeared as a powerful enchantment searched a list of every magical artifact QuestCo had ever catalogued. Within moments, several matches appeared on the parchment. "All right," said Gilbert, "here's what to do next: throw the ring in a fire. If any strange characters appear on it, it's a ring of invisibility. If not, give us a call back and we'll try to narrow it down further."
"Oh, uh," said the wizard.
"Thanks for calling, goodbye," said Gilbert, cutting him off. He hit the "talk" button again, and the wizard vanished.
Gilbert disentangled his headset from his unkempt straw-colored hair and laid it on his desk. Sure, he'd probably have to put it right back on, but the stupid thing got so uncomfortable after a few hours. Gilbert sighed and returned to the important business at hand. He had been trying to finish his cup of coffee for almost two hours, but kept getting interrupted by calls. These past few weeks had been dreadful, with the forces of Good massing for the final assault on the Citadel of the Dark Lord. With so much battling going on, Quest Support's mirrors were ringing nonstop with every type of caller from jittery apprentices who had forgotten how to activate their shielding robes to orc warlocks wanting clarification on some obscure point of demon-summoning protocol. Fortunately, it would all be over in a matter of days, with Good victorious and the world at peace, at least until the next Dark Lord arose.
Hi all,
I've started sending out query letters for Quest Support, but haven't gotten any partial or full requests yet. I'm happy with the query itself, so I'm wondering if perhaps my sample pages could be the weak link in my submissions. I've posted the first few pages below for critiquing. Thanks!
Chapter One: In Which, Appropriately Enough, the Story Begins
Well, this week could have gone better, thought Gilbert as his head hit the pavement. “Is that any way to treat a veteran employee?” he groaned. Losing his job and possibly dooming the entire world was bad enough, but this was just insulting. The troll who had flung him out into the street only grunted. “Fine, be that way!” Gilbert picked himself up, grabbed his bag and stomped off. His life had been ruined so fast it made his head spin. Yesterday that was me, he thought to himself as he glanced through a window at a man in a cubicle. That had been when this whole mess started….
The magic mirror rang again. Gilbert adjusted his headset and hit the "talk" button on the mirror's frame. "Thank you for calling Quest Support my name is Gilbert how may I help you today?" he said as the image of a wrinkled old wizard appeared in the mirror.
"Is this the, uh, Quest Support place?" the wizard asked.
I just said it was, idiot! thought Gilbert. Out loud he said, "Yes, it is. What can I help you with today?"
"Uh, who are you?"
"My name is Gilbert. What can I help you with today?"
"Uh, I found this ring."
"And?" prompted Gilbert.
"Uh, I found it on a skeleton in a cave."
"Are you trying to find out what it does?"
"Uh, I thought you might know."
"Could you show it to me?"
"Uh?"
Gilbert sighed. "The ring - could you show it to me? Hold it up to your Quest Orb so I can see it."
"Oh. Hold on." The wizard turned away from Gilbert and rummaged through a battered backpack. "Here it is," he said finally, holding up a plain brass ring.
"Okay," said Gilbert. "Does it have any distinguishing features?"
"Like what?"
"Unusual markings, discolorations, inscriptions and so on."
"Hold on." The wizard squinted at the ring. "Uh, no, it hasn't got any."
"All right, let me look this up." With a quill pen, Gilbert scrawled a quick description of the ring on a piece of parchment on his desk in front of him. His writing vanished and the words "Please Wait" appeared as a powerful enchantment searched a list of every magical artifact QuestCo had ever catalogued. Within moments, several matches appeared on the parchment. "All right," said Gilbert, "here's what to do next: throw the ring in a fire. If any strange characters appear on it, it's a ring of invisibility. If not, give us a call back and we'll try to narrow it down further."
"Oh, uh," said the wizard.
"Thanks for calling, goodbye," said Gilbert, cutting him off. He hit the "talk" button again, and the wizard vanished.
Gilbert disentangled his headset from his unkempt straw-colored hair and laid it on his desk. Sure, he'd probably have to put it right back on, but the stupid thing got so uncomfortable after a few hours. Gilbert sighed and returned to the important business at hand. He had been trying to finish his cup of coffee for almost two hours, but kept getting interrupted by calls. These past few weeks had been dreadful, with the forces of Good massing for the final assault on the Citadel of the Dark Lord. With so much battling going on, Quest Support's mirrors were ringing nonstop with every type of caller from jittery apprentices who had forgotten how to activate their shielding robes to orc warlocks wanting clarification on some obscure point of demon-summoning protocol. Fortunately, it would all be over in a matter of days, with Good victorious and the world at peace, at least until the next Dark Lord arose.
QUERY- ANGEL’S FALL v.3
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read version 2.
Thanks so much for all your comments. You are all great! As appoint of information, I went back to the books original name, TWICE FALLEN, so don’t be confused. See how this flies.
Dear Mr./Ms. X:
Liam Michaels, an archangel, is sent to earth to find and destroy fallen angels and their terrorist organizations. When a group of the Fallen bent on European domination gains control of Russia, he faces his biggest challenge. As thousands die from a Russian bioweapon and the threat of greater destruction from a second, more devastating bioweapon looms, Liam’s comrades question how an omnipotent God can allow such evil to exist. Liam faces a struggle to keep his companions in the fight, but the situation becomes desperate when he learns that the driving force behind Russia is his brother Lucifer, whose intent is the destruction of mankind.
My 80,000-word supernatural thriller, TWICE FALLEN, explores the possibility of God's omnipotence and goodness in a world where evil prevails.
I have a doctorate in Microbiology and have served as an advisor to the U.S. government on methods of detecting bioweapons. I’m employed as the Vice President of Science and Technology for a biotechnology company. While I have published many professional articles and book chapters on microbiology and molecular biology, this is my first novel.
Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely yours,
Mike
Click here to read version 2.
Thanks so much for all your comments. You are all great! As appoint of information, I went back to the books original name, TWICE FALLEN, so don’t be confused. See how this flies.
Dear Mr./Ms. X:
Liam Michaels, an archangel, is sent to earth to find and destroy fallen angels and their terrorist organizations. When a group of the Fallen bent on European domination gains control of Russia, he faces his biggest challenge. As thousands die from a Russian bioweapon and the threat of greater destruction from a second, more devastating bioweapon looms, Liam’s comrades question how an omnipotent God can allow such evil to exist. Liam faces a struggle to keep his companions in the fight, but the situation becomes desperate when he learns that the driving force behind Russia is his brother Lucifer, whose intent is the destruction of mankind.
My 80,000-word supernatural thriller, TWICE FALLEN, explores the possibility of God's omnipotence and goodness in a world where evil prevails.
I have a doctorate in Microbiology and have served as an advisor to the U.S. government on methods of detecting bioweapons. I’m employed as the Vice President of Science and Technology for a biotechnology company. While I have published many professional articles and book chapters on microbiology and molecular biology, this is my first novel.
Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely yours,
Mike
Jul 6, 2009
Query Do's and Don'ts
The QueryTracker.net Blog has a great post today on query Do's and Don'ts. Click here to read it if you haven't seen it already!
QUERY- DEATH AND ME
Dear Agent,
Death follows Charlotte—literally. When an intoxicated Death had accidentally taken her family at the hospital, Death looses his job and is sentenced by his superiors to act as eleven-year-old Charlotte’s personal guardian. Under Death’s guidance, Charlotte finds herself leaving the orphanage accompanied by only Death and a piece of paper with five families looking to adopt her. Although each time a family is ready to sign the adoption papers, Death’s bad habits of gambling, drinking, and stealing gets the ever impressionable Charlotte into trouble, causing her to lose her chance at finding a family.
By the time they reach the final family, Death starts to feel attached and responsible for her. So when he seeks approval to become her permanent guardian, he must control his bad habits to become her legal guardian. The fifth and final family has other plans, though. They slowly begin to turn Charlotte against Death with a series of incriminating evidence that lands him in hot water with the local authorities and his superiors. Fearing he will lose Charlotte forever, Death must find a way to clear his name and win Charlotte back before the family signs the adoption papers.
DEATH AND ME is a quirky 95,000 word young adult novella.
Death follows Charlotte—literally. When an intoxicated Death had accidentally taken her family at the hospital, Death looses his job and is sentenced by his superiors to act as eleven-year-old Charlotte’s personal guardian. Under Death’s guidance, Charlotte finds herself leaving the orphanage accompanied by only Death and a piece of paper with five families looking to adopt her. Although each time a family is ready to sign the adoption papers, Death’s bad habits of gambling, drinking, and stealing gets the ever impressionable Charlotte into trouble, causing her to lose her chance at finding a family.
By the time they reach the final family, Death starts to feel attached and responsible for her. So when he seeks approval to become her permanent guardian, he must control his bad habits to become her legal guardian. The fifth and final family has other plans, though. They slowly begin to turn Charlotte against Death with a series of incriminating evidence that lands him in hot water with the local authorities and his superiors. Fearing he will lose Charlotte forever, Death must find a way to clear his name and win Charlotte back before the family signs the adoption papers.
DEATH AND ME is a quirky 95,000 word young adult novella.
Jul 5, 2009
Query:ANGEL’S FALL V.2
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read version 3.
Dear Mr./Ms. X:
Liam Michaels, an archangel, is on earth to find and remove evil originating from a far darker source than any human can imagine. He faces his biggest challenge when Russia is taken over by a group of fallen angels bent on expanding their domination to all of Europe. As thousands die from a Russian bioweapon and the threat of even greater destruction looms, Liam’s angelic comrades question how an omnipotent God can allow such evil to exist. Liam faces a struggle to keep his companions in the fight, but the situation becomes desperate when he learns that the driving force behind Russia is his brother Lucifer, whose intent is the destruction of mankind.
My 80,000-word supernatural thriller, ANGEL’S FALL, explores the possibility of God's omnipotence and goodness in a world where evil prevails.
I have a doctorate in Microbiology and have served as an advisor to the U.S. government on methods of detecting bioweapons. I’m employed as the Vice President of Science and Technology for a biotechnology company. While I have published many professional articles and book chapters on microbiology and molecular biology, this is my first novel.
Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely yours,
Mike
Click here to read version 3.
Dear Mr./Ms. X:
Liam Michaels, an archangel, is on earth to find and remove evil originating from a far darker source than any human can imagine. He faces his biggest challenge when Russia is taken over by a group of fallen angels bent on expanding their domination to all of Europe. As thousands die from a Russian bioweapon and the threat of even greater destruction looms, Liam’s angelic comrades question how an omnipotent God can allow such evil to exist. Liam faces a struggle to keep his companions in the fight, but the situation becomes desperate when he learns that the driving force behind Russia is his brother Lucifer, whose intent is the destruction of mankind.
My 80,000-word supernatural thriller, ANGEL’S FALL, explores the possibility of God's omnipotence and goodness in a world where evil prevails.
I have a doctorate in Microbiology and have served as an advisor to the U.S. government on methods of detecting bioweapons. I’m employed as the Vice President of Science and Technology for a biotechnology company. While I have published many professional articles and book chapters on microbiology and molecular biology, this is my first novel.
Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely yours,
Mike
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