This is a query for my husband's book entitled Black Box Confessional.
Mr. Blah Blah
With Blah Blah Blah
1234 Street
New York, NY
11111
Dear Mr. Blah Blah,
A paroled child rapist, a reporter and his father the town minister along with his best friend’s dad the Chief of Police, and an old Voodoo Witch make up five of the unsettling characters in my 108,000 word mystery/suspense novel Black Box Confessional.
For ten years in rural southeastern Kansas a dark truth has surrounded the deaths of two high school seniors found in a water logged truck at the lake on graduation morning. Dark secrets have always been the specialty of the town’s residents going back to the days of the Bloody Benders and the Dalton Gang. However, some secrets are too sinister to stay hidden.
Alex Mitchellson, an investigative reporter from Denver, has returned to his hometown for the first time in nearly ten years. The return is complicated by obligations, old romances, and the sudden death of his two friends. The most disturbing complication comes in the form of a tattered yellow envelope awaiting him in his hotel room. The letter, although very cryptic, warns him about the very lies that caused him to leave his home nearly a decade ago.
As more letters continue to arrive Alex is forced to faces his greatest fear; that there was more to his friend’s death. With the help of his high school girlfriend, and his last remaining friend, a social shut-in, together they raid police files, blackmail one person and seduce another all in the midst of have their every move watched by a dangerous outsider. Every piece of evidence points towards foul play and the possibility of a cover up, and an ever increasing danger for Alex.
Armed with the identity of the mysterious letter writer Alex takes the final step towards discovering what happened to his friends, and to unearth why they had been singled out. His questions are answered when he discovers the Chief of Police and his own father are at the root of a dark and sinister secret centered around the love the two boys shared. In a final confrontation Alex must make a dangerous choice to save himself or his friends from the hands of the two people he thought he could always trust.
I’m a graduate of Emporia State University, receiving a double bachelors in Theater and Journalism. While there I received many awards for articles published in the college newspaper. Several of my short plays have been produced by colleges in which I was affiliated.
Thank you for considering my novel, Black Box Confessional.
Sincerely,
Thomas Dean
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Writing Contest Winner- Glass Dragons's Alien Invasion
All three finalists received votes, but the overwhelming majority went to Glass Dragon's Alien Invasion story!
Thanks to all for participating! Here's the winning entry one more time in case any of you missed it; the task was to write a scene about watching paint dry, proving that it is infinitely more interesting from a written perspective than a visual one...
It started just like an alien invasion movie. One minute we were eating our Cheerios in ignorant bliss, and the next thing we knew there were so many spaceships in orbit they blocked the sun. It was like Independence Day, only with no Jeff Goldblum and Will Smith to save us. They probably died when Hollywood was hit, anyway. So, yeah. We were screwed.
Everyone had their own ways of coping with impending doom. A few of the neighbors packed up and ran for the hills. Mom packed up Grandma and headed for church. She tried to get me to come, but I figured if I had to die, I wanted to die at home. So I gave Mom and Grandma a hug and a kiss each and told them I’d keep an eye on the house while they tried to get God to run interference.
After they left my eyes fell on the cans of paint sitting by the garage door. Mom had been trying to get me to paint that door for months now. She’d finally given up and was going to do it herself today. Before Armageddon interrupted breakfast, anyway. Just that morning she had said to me, “If I wait for you to do it I’ll be dead before it’s done!”
Dead before it’s done.
I shivered. Then I picked up the paint roller. Why not? It’d be great to prove Mom wrong just once before the end.
Mom had already done all the prep work, so I got right to painting. After a while I got a creepy feeling like I was being watched. When I turned around to put more paint in the tray I saw something that stopped me cold.
There were three of them in the street, just standing there. Watching me.
No. Not me. The door. Their eye stalks were pointed at the garage door, straight at the panels I had already painted. They were watching the paint dry, and they were fascinated!
More and more showed up to watch as I painted. The street filled up with waving tentacles. They clustered on the neighbors’ lawns and rooftops. A few ships hovered overhead. I had never been so scared in my life, but I kept working. When I started a second coat I swear they all went, “Ooooh!”
When I was finished I sat on the driveway and watched the paint dry with them. As the last tacky spot hardened in the sun a collective sigh went through my alien audience. Then they took the paint and left. And I mean they took ALL the paint they could find and left the planet.
When they came back they helped rebuild the cities they’d trashed. When they found out we could make more paint, they opened trade negotiations. Humans are now major players in the intergalactic marketplace.
I saved the Earth by painting a door. Mom was so proud.
Oh, and Jeff Goldblum’s okay. Don’t know about Will Smith, though.
Thanks to all for participating! Here's the winning entry one more time in case any of you missed it; the task was to write a scene about watching paint dry, proving that it is infinitely more interesting from a written perspective than a visual one...
It started just like an alien invasion movie. One minute we were eating our Cheerios in ignorant bliss, and the next thing we knew there were so many spaceships in orbit they blocked the sun. It was like Independence Day, only with no Jeff Goldblum and Will Smith to save us. They probably died when Hollywood was hit, anyway. So, yeah. We were screwed.
Everyone had their own ways of coping with impending doom. A few of the neighbors packed up and ran for the hills. Mom packed up Grandma and headed for church. She tried to get me to come, but I figured if I had to die, I wanted to die at home. So I gave Mom and Grandma a hug and a kiss each and told them I’d keep an eye on the house while they tried to get God to run interference.
After they left my eyes fell on the cans of paint sitting by the garage door. Mom had been trying to get me to paint that door for months now. She’d finally given up and was going to do it herself today. Before Armageddon interrupted breakfast, anyway. Just that morning she had said to me, “If I wait for you to do it I’ll be dead before it’s done!”
Dead before it’s done.
I shivered. Then I picked up the paint roller. Why not? It’d be great to prove Mom wrong just once before the end.
Mom had already done all the prep work, so I got right to painting. After a while I got a creepy feeling like I was being watched. When I turned around to put more paint in the tray I saw something that stopped me cold.
There were three of them in the street, just standing there. Watching me.
No. Not me. The door. Their eye stalks were pointed at the garage door, straight at the panels I had already painted. They were watching the paint dry, and they were fascinated!
More and more showed up to watch as I painted. The street filled up with waving tentacles. They clustered on the neighbors’ lawns and rooftops. A few ships hovered overhead. I had never been so scared in my life, but I kept working. When I started a second coat I swear they all went, “Ooooh!”
When I was finished I sat on the driveway and watched the paint dry with them. As the last tacky spot hardened in the sun a collective sigh went through my alien audience. Then they took the paint and left. And I mean they took ALL the paint they could find and left the planet.
When they came back they helped rebuild the cities they’d trashed. When they found out we could make more paint, they opened trade negotiations. Humans are now major players in the intergalactic marketplace.
I saved the Earth by painting a door. Mom was so proud.
Oh, and Jeff Goldblum’s okay. Don’t know about Will Smith, though.
QUERY – JACK MBC (Revision #1)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Agent,
Sixteen-year-old Jack’s life is changed when he falls off the roof of a Las Vegas Hotel and doesn’t die. He discovers he has a form of Mind Body Control, or MBC for short. At signs of danger, he can order his body to turn into marble, steel or whatever he needs.
His friends call him a superhero, but Jack isn’t sure he wants to be one. Using MBC gives him head-splitting migraines. And when MBC is on, his emotions turn off, and may never come back on again. He could turn into a catatonic zombie, but how can he say no to rescuing people from certain deaths?
Then Jack makes a serious mistake and a man dies. MBC’s side effects become sinister, pushing him into periods of depression and violence. Will Jack figure out how to deal with MBC and use it on his own terms, or will it turn him into an unrecognizable monster?
JACK MBC is a young adult novel, complete at 85,000 words. I have enclosed the first xx pages for your consideration. Thank you.
Dear Agent,
Sixteen-year-old Jack’s life is changed when he falls off the roof of a Las Vegas Hotel and doesn’t die. He discovers he has a form of Mind Body Control, or MBC for short. At signs of danger, he can order his body to turn into marble, steel or whatever he needs.
His friends call him a superhero, but Jack isn’t sure he wants to be one. Using MBC gives him head-splitting migraines. And when MBC is on, his emotions turn off, and may never come back on again. He could turn into a catatonic zombie, but how can he say no to rescuing people from certain deaths?
Then Jack makes a serious mistake and a man dies. MBC’s side effects become sinister, pushing him into periods of depression and violence. Will Jack figure out how to deal with MBC and use it on his own terms, or will it turn him into an unrecognizable monster?
JACK MBC is a young adult novel, complete at 85,000 words. I have enclosed the first xx pages for your consideration. Thank you.
Oct 22, 2009
Query Revision #1 - NO DARKER FATE
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Agent,
For Lucas Fowler, superhuman abilities seem like the answer to his extreme fear of death until he becomes what he fears most—a killer.
When Lucas opens a picture sent to his cell phone by a stranger he thinks it's misdirected since he doesn't know the man in the image.
That night he feels changed. Suddenly fearless, able to outrun cars, punch holes in concrete, and shift into a blighted alternate reality, Lucas tracks down the man in the picture. Instead of playing savior, Lucas kills him. Another picture comes, another murder. Lucas can't control his new abilities or stop his homicidal instinct. Each time he learns a little more about what's happening to him. But to discover it all—the secret society of Scions, the rogue Scion controlling him, the super-powered undead he's creating with each murder—he'll have to keep on killing. And he'll need to be fearless all on his own.
NO DARKER FATE, an urban fantasy, is 95,000 words. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Dear Agent,
For Lucas Fowler, superhuman abilities seem like the answer to his extreme fear of death until he becomes what he fears most—a killer.
When Lucas opens a picture sent to his cell phone by a stranger he thinks it's misdirected since he doesn't know the man in the image.
That night he feels changed. Suddenly fearless, able to outrun cars, punch holes in concrete, and shift into a blighted alternate reality, Lucas tracks down the man in the picture. Instead of playing savior, Lucas kills him. Another picture comes, another murder. Lucas can't control his new abilities or stop his homicidal instinct. Each time he learns a little more about what's happening to him. But to discover it all—the secret society of Scions, the rogue Scion controlling him, the super-powered undead he's creating with each murder—he'll have to keep on killing. And he'll need to be fearless all on his own.
NO DARKER FATE, an urban fantasy, is 95,000 words. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Query Revision #2: HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear [Agent]:
Susanna’s always been the caretaker of the family, and Mama the free spirit. But when Susanna’s sister has a dangerous encounter with Mama’s drunken brother at a party, Mama’s self-absorption turns dangerous. And when Susanna demands a retribution that never comes, Susanna has had enough and looks to Calvin, her childhood friend, for comfort.
By the time Calvin leaves for Vietnam, she’s secretly fallen for him. As she tries to be the friend he needs, he writes about impossible choices with no right answers and how good people can be changed by terrible circumstances. The wisdom in his words is not lost on her, even as he captures her heart more completely, whether he intends to or not.
When Susanna discovers a horrifying secret about her own brother, she needs all the wisdom she can gather as her previous judgments come back to haunt her. Now she must choose between denial and accountability, condemnation and forgiveness, and she’s determined not to repeat her mother’s mistakes even as she begins to understand how she may have made them.
HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS is a work of women’s fiction taking place in Louisville, Kentucky in the late 1960s, and is complete at approximately 118,000 words. I have [credits/credentials redacted].
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Angie H.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear [Agent]:
Susanna’s always been the caretaker of the family, and Mama the free spirit. But when Susanna’s sister has a dangerous encounter with Mama’s drunken brother at a party, Mama’s self-absorption turns dangerous. And when Susanna demands a retribution that never comes, Susanna has had enough and looks to Calvin, her childhood friend, for comfort.
By the time Calvin leaves for Vietnam, she’s secretly fallen for him. As she tries to be the friend he needs, he writes about impossible choices with no right answers and how good people can be changed by terrible circumstances. The wisdom in his words is not lost on her, even as he captures her heart more completely, whether he intends to or not.
When Susanna discovers a horrifying secret about her own brother, she needs all the wisdom she can gather as her previous judgments come back to haunt her. Now she must choose between denial and accountability, condemnation and forgiveness, and she’s determined not to repeat her mother’s mistakes even as she begins to understand how she may have made them.
HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS is a work of women’s fiction taking place in Louisville, Kentucky in the late 1960s, and is complete at approximately 118,000 words. I have [credits/credentials redacted].
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Angie H.
Oct 21, 2009
Query - Intelligent Design
A man falls to his death from the seventh floor of a London building. The third Sunday in a row this has happened.
Coincidence? Or is there a serial killer on the loose with a liking for high places and an aversion to Sundays?
David doesn't care. He's a journalist and it makes great copy. Until he interviews a witness and she also dies. Perhaps there really is something more sinister behind the deaths?
Detective Inspector Lane doesn't think so. And neither does her Chief Inspector. He has given her until next Sunday to prove they were just accidents and quell the rising public anxiety.
Her colleague, however, Detective Sergeant Small, thinks there is more to the deaths than just coincidence.
David is continuing to make things worse. He has piqued public interest with a series of articles, designed to convince his readers a vicious killer really is stalking the streets of London.
All the press interest is proving much more difficult for DI Lane to deal with than the investigation itself. It seems there is very little she can do to convince the public the deaths were nothing more than tragic accidents.
But now, she too is having her doubts.
Intelligent Design is a completed 110,000 word crime novel set in contemporary London.
This is my third novel, but the first I have tried to publish.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Best wishes,
Julian Gilbert
Coincidence? Or is there a serial killer on the loose with a liking for high places and an aversion to Sundays?
David doesn't care. He's a journalist and it makes great copy. Until he interviews a witness and she also dies. Perhaps there really is something more sinister behind the deaths?
Detective Inspector Lane doesn't think so. And neither does her Chief Inspector. He has given her until next Sunday to prove they were just accidents and quell the rising public anxiety.
Her colleague, however, Detective Sergeant Small, thinks there is more to the deaths than just coincidence.
David is continuing to make things worse. He has piqued public interest with a series of articles, designed to convince his readers a vicious killer really is stalking the streets of London.
All the press interest is proving much more difficult for DI Lane to deal with than the investigation itself. It seems there is very little she can do to convince the public the deaths were nothing more than tragic accidents.
But now, she too is having her doubts.
Intelligent Design is a completed 110,000 word crime novel set in contemporary London.
This is my third novel, but the first I have tried to publish.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Best wishes,
Julian Gilbert
Query Revision #1: HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS
Click here to read the original query.
Dear [Agent]:
Growing up in Louisville in the 1960s, teenage Susanna has always loved Mama’s adventuresome nature, and she’s been happy to take care of her younger siblings so Mama can be free to spin fantasies and fun – that is, until her sister has a dangerous encounter with drunken Uncle George at one of Mama’s parties. Suddenly Mama’s eccentricities seem irresponsible, even dangerous. Worse, Mama minimizes her brother’s behavior and convinces Daddy to forgive him.
Appalled, Susanna escapes to the farm next door and her friendship with Calvin, whose steadfast nature has been a comfort since they were small. By the time Calvin enlists in the army to escape his father’s control, Susanna has secretly fallen for him. Within weeks, he’s fighting in Vietnam. While Susanna is still angry with her parents, Calvin provides an unexpected source of wisdom – he’s the most principled person she’s ever known, so when he writes of impossible choices with no right answers and how good people can be changed by terrible circumstances, she begins to realize nothing is as simple as she’d once believed.
When Susanna discovers a horrifying secret in the hayloft, she suddenly finds herself faced with impossible decisions – ones that will impact her own beloved brother, a boy she’s loved and cared for as if he were her own child. She must choose between denial and accountability, condemnation and forgiveness, and she’s determined not to repeat her parents’ mistakes even as she begins to understand how they may have made them. And as her relationship with Calvin intensifies, love and life will never be the same.
HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS is a work of women’s fiction and is complete at approximately 118,000 words. I have [credits/credentials redacted].
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Angie H.
Dear [Agent]:
Growing up in Louisville in the 1960s, teenage Susanna has always loved Mama’s adventuresome nature, and she’s been happy to take care of her younger siblings so Mama can be free to spin fantasies and fun – that is, until her sister has a dangerous encounter with drunken Uncle George at one of Mama’s parties. Suddenly Mama’s eccentricities seem irresponsible, even dangerous. Worse, Mama minimizes her brother’s behavior and convinces Daddy to forgive him.
Appalled, Susanna escapes to the farm next door and her friendship with Calvin, whose steadfast nature has been a comfort since they were small. By the time Calvin enlists in the army to escape his father’s control, Susanna has secretly fallen for him. Within weeks, he’s fighting in Vietnam. While Susanna is still angry with her parents, Calvin provides an unexpected source of wisdom – he’s the most principled person she’s ever known, so when he writes of impossible choices with no right answers and how good people can be changed by terrible circumstances, she begins to realize nothing is as simple as she’d once believed.
When Susanna discovers a horrifying secret in the hayloft, she suddenly finds herself faced with impossible decisions – ones that will impact her own beloved brother, a boy she’s loved and cared for as if he were her own child. She must choose between denial and accountability, condemnation and forgiveness, and she’s determined not to repeat her parents’ mistakes even as she begins to understand how they may have made them. And as her relationship with Calvin intensifies, love and life will never be the same.
HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS is a work of women’s fiction and is complete at approximately 118,000 words. I have [credits/credentials redacted].
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Angie H.
QUERY - NO DARKER FATE
Dear Agent,
Lucas Fowler fears death. Viruses, slippery steps, strangers terrify him, and he’s built a disinfected, hermetically-sealed life to make sure he gets the 70-plus years he’s due. Years his parents never had.
He should have been more careful. He shouldn’t have opened the image sent to his cell phone by a stranger.
That night, Lucas feels the change. Suddenly fearless, able to punch holes in concrete, outrun cars, and shift into a blighted alternate reality, Lucas transforms into the thing he fears most — a killer. He tracks down and kills the man in the picture. Another picture comes, another murder. Each time he learns a little more about what’s happening to him. But to discover it all — the secret society of Scions, the super-powered undead he’s creating with each murder, the rogue Scion using him to kill, and the remedy to his own cowardice — he’ll have to keep on killing. And he’ll need to be fearless all on his own.
NO DARKER FATE, an urban fantasy, is 95,000 words. It is my first novel. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Lucas Fowler fears death. Viruses, slippery steps, strangers terrify him, and he’s built a disinfected, hermetically-sealed life to make sure he gets the 70-plus years he’s due. Years his parents never had.
He should have been more careful. He shouldn’t have opened the image sent to his cell phone by a stranger.
That night, Lucas feels the change. Suddenly fearless, able to punch holes in concrete, outrun cars, and shift into a blighted alternate reality, Lucas transforms into the thing he fears most — a killer. He tracks down and kills the man in the picture. Another picture comes, another murder. Each time he learns a little more about what’s happening to him. But to discover it all — the secret society of Scions, the super-powered undead he’s creating with each murder, the rogue Scion using him to kill, and the remedy to his own cowardice — he’ll have to keep on killing. And he’ll need to be fearless all on his own.
NO DARKER FATE, an urban fantasy, is 95,000 words. It is my first novel. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Writing Contest- Finalists
First off, thanks to everyone who submitted entries. I read them all several times and I enjoyed playing judge. My instincts were correct: watching paint dry can be interesting! There were 16 pieces to choose from, and my task was to narrow it down to three. It was difficult. I can't imagine what Nathan Bransford went through trying to whittle 2,500 entries down to a handful in his first paragraph contest...
Now to the brass tacks (NOTE: what the hell does that saying even mean, anyway? Feel free to discuss in the comments. After you vote.)
Among the entries there were three that stood out to me among all others:
Jan Melara did a great job at evoking fear and horror. It played on my senses of sight and sound, and the ending was terrible (in a good way). Click here to read the entry.
Glass Dragon cracked me up with the alien invasion story. It had a great voice and a fun wit to it. Among all the submissions, it had a very unique premise. Click here to read the entry.
Brenda also cracked me up, and did an awesome job with the build-up to the punchline. It was well-written, and I liked the way she portrayed the character of the novelist, so indignant to the suffering of her foe. Click here to read the entry.
Vote for your favorite in the comments on this post. You have until 8am EDT Friday morning to vote. Read the entries many times, but please only vote once.
If you would like to comment on any of the submissions, feel free to offer kudos and/or polite criticism to other submissions that you liked..but only the finalists listed here will be open for voting. I know there are many other entries that are worthy of accolades.
Now to the brass tacks (NOTE: what the hell does that saying even mean, anyway? Feel free to discuss in the comments. After you vote.)
Among the entries there were three that stood out to me among all others:
Jan Melara did a great job at evoking fear and horror. It played on my senses of sight and sound, and the ending was terrible (in a good way). Click here to read the entry.
Glass Dragon cracked me up with the alien invasion story. It had a great voice and a fun wit to it. Among all the submissions, it had a very unique premise. Click here to read the entry.
Brenda also cracked me up, and did an awesome job with the build-up to the punchline. It was well-written, and I liked the way she portrayed the character of the novelist, so indignant to the suffering of her foe. Click here to read the entry.
Vote for your favorite in the comments on this post. You have until 8am EDT Friday morning to vote. Read the entries many times, but please only vote once.
If you would like to comment on any of the submissions, feel free to offer kudos and/or polite criticism to other submissions that you liked..but only the finalists listed here will be open for voting. I know there are many other entries that are worthy of accolades.
Oct 20, 2009
Query - HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS
Dear [Agent]:
A teenage girl in 1960s Louisville struggles to protect her younger siblings from dangers that her mother is too self-absorbed to recognize, and only the wisdom of her best friend (a farm-boy turned soldier), as he writes to her from the Vietnamese jungle, can change her perspective and give her the strength to confront the most dangerous secret of all.
Susanna has always loved Mama’s adventuresome nature, and she’s been happy to take care of her younger siblings so Mama can be free to spin fantasies and fun – that is, until her sister has a dangerous encounter with drunken Uncle George at one of Mama’s parties. Suddenly Mama’s eccentricities seem irresponsible, even dangerous. Worse, Mama minimizes her brother’s behavior and convinces Daddy to forgive him. Appalled, Susanna escapes to the farm next door and her friendship with Calvin, whose steadfast nature has been a comfort since they were small. By the time Calvin enlists in the army to escape his father’s control, Susanna has secretly fallen for him. Within weeks, he’s fighting in Vietnam.
While Susanna is still angry with her parents, Calvin provides an unexpected source of wisdom – he’s the most principled person she’s ever known, so when he writes of impossible choices with no right answers and how good people can be changed by terrible circumstances, she begins to realize nothing is as simple as she’d once believed. And when she discovers a horrifying secret in the hayloft, she’s suddenly faced with her own impossible decisions – ones that will impact her own beloved brother, a boy she’s loved and cared for as if he were her own child since he was born. She must choose between denial and accountability, condemnation and forgiveness, and she’s determined not to repeat her parents’ mistakes even as she begins to understand how they may have made them. And as her relationship with Calvin intensifies, love and life will never be the same.
HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS is a work of women’s fiction and is complete at approximately 118,000 words. People who enjoyed the poignant coming-of-age story in The Secret Life of Bees or the intensity of long-time unrequited love in The Thorn Birds may enjoy my book, and so might those who were drawn to the tumultuous family dynamics in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I have [credits/credentials redacted].
A teenage girl in 1960s Louisville struggles to protect her younger siblings from dangers that her mother is too self-absorbed to recognize, and only the wisdom of her best friend (a farm-boy turned soldier), as he writes to her from the Vietnamese jungle, can change her perspective and give her the strength to confront the most dangerous secret of all.
Susanna has always loved Mama’s adventuresome nature, and she’s been happy to take care of her younger siblings so Mama can be free to spin fantasies and fun – that is, until her sister has a dangerous encounter with drunken Uncle George at one of Mama’s parties. Suddenly Mama’s eccentricities seem irresponsible, even dangerous. Worse, Mama minimizes her brother’s behavior and convinces Daddy to forgive him. Appalled, Susanna escapes to the farm next door and her friendship with Calvin, whose steadfast nature has been a comfort since they were small. By the time Calvin enlists in the army to escape his father’s control, Susanna has secretly fallen for him. Within weeks, he’s fighting in Vietnam.
While Susanna is still angry with her parents, Calvin provides an unexpected source of wisdom – he’s the most principled person she’s ever known, so when he writes of impossible choices with no right answers and how good people can be changed by terrible circumstances, she begins to realize nothing is as simple as she’d once believed. And when she discovers a horrifying secret in the hayloft, she’s suddenly faced with her own impossible decisions – ones that will impact her own beloved brother, a boy she’s loved and cared for as if he were her own child since he was born. She must choose between denial and accountability, condemnation and forgiveness, and she’s determined not to repeat her parents’ mistakes even as she begins to understand how they may have made them. And as her relationship with Calvin intensifies, love and life will never be the same.
HIDDEN IN TALL GRASS is a work of women’s fiction and is complete at approximately 118,000 words. People who enjoyed the poignant coming-of-age story in The Secret Life of Bees or the intensity of long-time unrequited love in The Thorn Birds may enjoy my book, and so might those who were drawn to the tumultuous family dynamics in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I have [credits/credentials redacted].
Oct 19, 2009
IRON THIRST - SAMPLE PAGES (REVISED)
Click here for a search string on IRON THIRST. There are queries and sample pages available.
I redid the beginning, and added a chapter before. It is told from another POV, someone that is aware of the danger that lurks. Let me know what you guys think. Especially of the POV switch in chapter 2. The rest of the story is told in Felicity's POV. Thanks-
Chapter 1
*/ /*
*/Adam Bristow/*
It is merely the beginning of the night when Gabriel decides upon his first victim. He locks his sights on her the moment she steps into the bar. The curvaceous blonde lass will be in is bed in under an hour, and shortly after her blood will be in his veins. She doesn't stand a chance.
Thursday night at DragonCon is when most of the guests check into their hotel and start the weekend with a drink in hand. My hand is empty. The first night of Con is when I begin to patrol, as the out-of-towners descend upon our town. I'm not worried about the geeks, the costumed
fans, or the party animals. My concern is very specific--those who are removing their disguises. Vamps get this weekend to be themselves, but there are rules, and this bloodsucker is dangerously close to breaking the first one--aggravating me.
His fangs are protruding, turned on by the blue-eyed soon-to-be donor. She doesn't blink as she gravitates towards him. What irks me is that she is an unwilling donor. There will be plenty of those, but I ain't going to sit on my arse and watch. She may be walking to him on her own
two feet, but the brain in her head currently belongs to him.
What a lovely time to buy my dear old pal a drink?
"Gabriel," I call out as I step in front of her path, breaking their eye contact and the hold he has over her. Bastard snarls at me. "Run along, love," I tell the blonde.
She blinks a few times with that expression of confusion. Lost at why she is standing here, she lets out a heavy sigh and scurries along looking for her friends.
When I look back, Gabriel has painted a smile on his face. He leans in close to me so others can't hear. "Bristow, if you continue to run off my dinner then I will be forced to believe that you are volunteering. Although you're not my taste, your blood is much too bitter."
No one likes a clever vampire. I pull the unlit pipe from my lips, and raise an eyebrow at him. "You are not threatening me now, are ya?"
His smile vanishes. "I was not harming anyone, nor am I breaking any of your precious rules."
"That's debatable, and I am not really up to the debate. So, just behave yourself and you'll live, well exist, to see your two hundredth birthday."
"Ahh, you flatter me. I am not nearly that old."
"But I am," adds a smooth Arabian voice from behind me.
I am a rather smart bloke. I wouldn't still be alive if I wasn't. So allowing a thousand year old vamp to sneak up on me is just piss poor form. I turn to see the dark-skinned vampire, fangs extended, staring back at me. I haven't seen Zamir in nearly ten years, and if I am being
honest, I ain't thrilled at seeing him now.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, rubbing my palm over the prickly stubble that is my hair. /More importantly, when are you leaving?/
I could take out Gabriel and three fledglings all by myself. But this bloody bastard shooting holes through my skin, I ain't so sure of. I avert my eyes to a spot above his slick black hair. Looking at the floor would give the appearance of weakness, and I ain't weak and even less stupid.
"Ah, my dearest Bristow, you do not seem happy to see me. No matter. Many of my progenies look expectantly upon this weekend, and I find myself wondering what all the chatter is about. Thought I would come and see for myself."
Rubbish, I'm sure. "I'm on my early rounds making sure everyone keeps it copasetic. We want all the humans' hearts beating and the secret safe. We got rules in this area. So, keep it peaceful."
As I turn to walk away, Zamir says, "We are aware of your so-called rules. Maybe you should run along and check the more recent additions to our world. The ones that actually care."
I hate the way his words crawl over my skin. I glance at Gabriel's smug face, grinning like he's getting away with something. I'd love nothing more than to knock him arse over elbow, but starting a fight on the first night over something as silly as pride would not be my best move.
Not without back up. Currently, the rest of my team is doing the exact same thing all through the other three hotels.
If the humans knew what was swarming DragonCon, they might have just stayed home behind locked doors. Not that a flimsy door would keep the monsters out.
Chapter 2
*/Felicity Johnson/*
Who knew two tiny fangs could be so hard to find? I bought the pair nearly five months ago, and I specifically remember thinking to put them somewhere that I could find them. My room is a complete and utter disaster. I have been through every drawer, emptying the contents onto
my bed in search for the last thing needed to complete my costume. I can't be a vampire without fangs.
I plop down on the bed, and close my eyes. /Where did I put them?/
"Bathroom, second drawer, along with the red contacts," I say aloud to the ceiling.
I leap from the bed. Christian will be here any minute, and I want him to see the complete look. I slide open the drawer, and there they sit. I can't believe I forgot the contacts too. That set me back nearly a hundred bucks.
I insert the teeth, and begin trying to attach the colored plastic to my eyeballs. I should have waited on the eye makeup. I run back to my closet to grab shoes, zipping up the knee-high leather boots.
I stop by the mirror for one last look. The struggle was well worth it. My eyes glow a bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside has burnt the curved periphery. I bounce my palm off the spikes of my black pixie wig. The menacing grin is complete with two
sharp fangs over my scarlet red lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city of Atlanta, Georgia.
Well, the town won't be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead.
As I darken the shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, the doorbell rings. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.
I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, suspenders, and pants that look as if they had been buried. His normally perfect hair is dirty and
a total mess. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my clean-cut best buddy.
"Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing. I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off."
I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday "me" is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.
"Well, hello Pot, I must be the kettle," I say with a laugh while opening the door wide. "Hey, listen to this," I say, letting out my version of a snarl. "I've been practicing."
"Um, keep practicing. You sound like a drowning kitten."
I stick out my pouty lip. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.
"Hey, Fee… I…I…," Christian stutters. He looks down and starts to fiddle with his shirt sleeves, pulling them longer. "I may have kinda invited Mike."
"Why, in the name of everything holy, would you do that?" I ask as I look down, fretting over the red tank top with three holes sliced across the front and the black leather miniskirt. It's one thing to look this way in front of Christian and tens of thousands of random strangers, but
Mike will never let me hear the end of it.
"He swears that he will be good, and he is excited about meeting some of the celebrities, and /he/ is even dressing up."
"Is he meeting us there?"
Christian walks over to the couch and plops down. He tugs again on the sleeves. They can't stretch any further. "No, he is meeting us here."
"Are you telling me that you gave Mr. Grabass my address? What were you thinking?"
He stops jerking on his clothes, and looks up at me. "You are totally over-reacting. Just calm down. He's not that bad."
My eyes roll like dice. Mike Fletcher is Christian's best guy friend who is nothing like him. More like his alter-ego. Where Christian is sweet, understanding, and everything a girl looks for in a best friend, Mike is a chauvinistic, egocentric, pig-headed jerk. They were fraternity brothers at UGA, home of the Bulldogs, and I've been stuck with him ever since. Lucky me.
The door bell rings, and I jump ten feet in the air. Just wonderful. I don't have time to tone down the outfit. I am stuck dressed like this with only a piece of wood separating me from my nemesis. I take a deep breath, and then open the door.
"Hey sexy lady, where's Felicity?" Mike says with a wink. I start to walk away, when he adds, "What's eating her? Wish it was…" I turn on my heels, and playfully punch him in the stomach before he can finish that thought.
"Dude, you said you would behave," Christian states.
"Man, that's before I knew she was going as Sexy Fee." He looks at me and tries to turn on the charm, softening his voice and flashing a smile. "Felicity, I am just kidding. I think it's cool you got all dressed up. You look really nice and very realistic. Can I lick your fangs?"
He almost had me believing that for a minute.
I redid the beginning, and added a chapter before. It is told from another POV, someone that is aware of the danger that lurks. Let me know what you guys think. Especially of the POV switch in chapter 2. The rest of the story is told in Felicity's POV. Thanks-
Chapter 1
*/ /*
*/Adam Bristow/*
It is merely the beginning of the night when Gabriel decides upon his first victim. He locks his sights on her the moment she steps into the bar. The curvaceous blonde lass will be in is bed in under an hour, and shortly after her blood will be in his veins. She doesn't stand a chance.
Thursday night at DragonCon is when most of the guests check into their hotel and start the weekend with a drink in hand. My hand is empty. The first night of Con is when I begin to patrol, as the out-of-towners descend upon our town. I'm not worried about the geeks, the costumed
fans, or the party animals. My concern is very specific--those who are removing their disguises. Vamps get this weekend to be themselves, but there are rules, and this bloodsucker is dangerously close to breaking the first one--aggravating me.
His fangs are protruding, turned on by the blue-eyed soon-to-be donor. She doesn't blink as she gravitates towards him. What irks me is that she is an unwilling donor. There will be plenty of those, but I ain't going to sit on my arse and watch. She may be walking to him on her own
two feet, but the brain in her head currently belongs to him.
What a lovely time to buy my dear old pal a drink?
"Gabriel," I call out as I step in front of her path, breaking their eye contact and the hold he has over her. Bastard snarls at me. "Run along, love," I tell the blonde.
She blinks a few times with that expression of confusion. Lost at why she is standing here, she lets out a heavy sigh and scurries along looking for her friends.
When I look back, Gabriel has painted a smile on his face. He leans in close to me so others can't hear. "Bristow, if you continue to run off my dinner then I will be forced to believe that you are volunteering. Although you're not my taste, your blood is much too bitter."
No one likes a clever vampire. I pull the unlit pipe from my lips, and raise an eyebrow at him. "You are not threatening me now, are ya?"
His smile vanishes. "I was not harming anyone, nor am I breaking any of your precious rules."
"That's debatable, and I am not really up to the debate. So, just behave yourself and you'll live, well exist, to see your two hundredth birthday."
"Ahh, you flatter me. I am not nearly that old."
"But I am," adds a smooth Arabian voice from behind me.
I am a rather smart bloke. I wouldn't still be alive if I wasn't. So allowing a thousand year old vamp to sneak up on me is just piss poor form. I turn to see the dark-skinned vampire, fangs extended, staring back at me. I haven't seen Zamir in nearly ten years, and if I am being
honest, I ain't thrilled at seeing him now.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, rubbing my palm over the prickly stubble that is my hair. /More importantly, when are you leaving?/
I could take out Gabriel and three fledglings all by myself. But this bloody bastard shooting holes through my skin, I ain't so sure of. I avert my eyes to a spot above his slick black hair. Looking at the floor would give the appearance of weakness, and I ain't weak and even less stupid.
"Ah, my dearest Bristow, you do not seem happy to see me. No matter. Many of my progenies look expectantly upon this weekend, and I find myself wondering what all the chatter is about. Thought I would come and see for myself."
Rubbish, I'm sure. "I'm on my early rounds making sure everyone keeps it copasetic. We want all the humans' hearts beating and the secret safe. We got rules in this area. So, keep it peaceful."
As I turn to walk away, Zamir says, "We are aware of your so-called rules. Maybe you should run along and check the more recent additions to our world. The ones that actually care."
I hate the way his words crawl over my skin. I glance at Gabriel's smug face, grinning like he's getting away with something. I'd love nothing more than to knock him arse over elbow, but starting a fight on the first night over something as silly as pride would not be my best move.
Not without back up. Currently, the rest of my team is doing the exact same thing all through the other three hotels.
If the humans knew what was swarming DragonCon, they might have just stayed home behind locked doors. Not that a flimsy door would keep the monsters out.
Chapter 2
*/Felicity Johnson/*
Who knew two tiny fangs could be so hard to find? I bought the pair nearly five months ago, and I specifically remember thinking to put them somewhere that I could find them. My room is a complete and utter disaster. I have been through every drawer, emptying the contents onto
my bed in search for the last thing needed to complete my costume. I can't be a vampire without fangs.
I plop down on the bed, and close my eyes. /Where did I put them?/
"Bathroom, second drawer, along with the red contacts," I say aloud to the ceiling.
I leap from the bed. Christian will be here any minute, and I want him to see the complete look. I slide open the drawer, and there they sit. I can't believe I forgot the contacts too. That set me back nearly a hundred bucks.
I insert the teeth, and begin trying to attach the colored plastic to my eyeballs. I should have waited on the eye makeup. I run back to my closet to grab shoes, zipping up the knee-high leather boots.
I stop by the mirror for one last look. The struggle was well worth it. My eyes glow a bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside has burnt the curved periphery. I bounce my palm off the spikes of my black pixie wig. The menacing grin is complete with two
sharp fangs over my scarlet red lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city of Atlanta, Georgia.
Well, the town won't be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead.
As I darken the shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, the doorbell rings. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.
I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, suspenders, and pants that look as if they had been buried. His normally perfect hair is dirty and
a total mess. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my clean-cut best buddy.
"Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing. I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off."
I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday "me" is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.
"Well, hello Pot, I must be the kettle," I say with a laugh while opening the door wide. "Hey, listen to this," I say, letting out my version of a snarl. "I've been practicing."
"Um, keep practicing. You sound like a drowning kitten."
I stick out my pouty lip. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.
"Hey, Fee… I…I…," Christian stutters. He looks down and starts to fiddle with his shirt sleeves, pulling them longer. "I may have kinda invited Mike."
"Why, in the name of everything holy, would you do that?" I ask as I look down, fretting over the red tank top with three holes sliced across the front and the black leather miniskirt. It's one thing to look this way in front of Christian and tens of thousands of random strangers, but
Mike will never let me hear the end of it.
"He swears that he will be good, and he is excited about meeting some of the celebrities, and /he/ is even dressing up."
"Is he meeting us there?"
Christian walks over to the couch and plops down. He tugs again on the sleeves. They can't stretch any further. "No, he is meeting us here."
"Are you telling me that you gave Mr. Grabass my address? What were you thinking?"
He stops jerking on his clothes, and looks up at me. "You are totally over-reacting. Just calm down. He's not that bad."
My eyes roll like dice. Mike Fletcher is Christian's best guy friend who is nothing like him. More like his alter-ego. Where Christian is sweet, understanding, and everything a girl looks for in a best friend, Mike is a chauvinistic, egocentric, pig-headed jerk. They were fraternity brothers at UGA, home of the Bulldogs, and I've been stuck with him ever since. Lucky me.
The door bell rings, and I jump ten feet in the air. Just wonderful. I don't have time to tone down the outfit. I am stuck dressed like this with only a piece of wood separating me from my nemesis. I take a deep breath, and then open the door.
"Hey sexy lady, where's Felicity?" Mike says with a wink. I start to walk away, when he adds, "What's eating her? Wish it was…" I turn on my heels, and playfully punch him in the stomach before he can finish that thought.
"Dude, you said you would behave," Christian states.
"Man, that's before I knew she was going as Sexy Fee." He looks at me and tries to turn on the charm, softening his voice and flashing a smile. "Felicity, I am just kidding. I think it's cool you got all dressed up. You look really nice and very realistic. Can I lick your fangs?"
He almost had me believing that for a minute.
Oct 17, 2009
QUERY: HATSHEPSUT: FEMALE PHARAOH
Dear Agent,
The gods taunt those they love most. And they absolutely adore Hatshepsut.
When her father dies, Hatshepsut is forced to marry her hippo of a half-brother to secure his claim to the throne. She becomes the real power behind Egypt’s crown, but as a woman, remains relegated to the shadows of the Horus Throne. Thutmosis’s death can’t come soon enough.
Thutmosis dies three years into his reign and Hatshepsut becomes regent to her two-year-old stepson, launching Egypt into its golden age. Then she does the unthinkable. Amid foreign wars and a palace coup, Hatshepsut proclaims herself Pharaoh of Egypt. Tormented by her love of a commoner and cursed with personal tragedies, Hatshepsut will face a choice: family or eternal glory.
HATSHEPSUT: FEMALE PHARAOH is historical fiction complete at 90,000 words.
With the recent discovery of her mummy, Hatshepsut has been showcased in National Geographic, Smithsonian Magazine, and the Discovery Channel over the past three years. A history teacher, I have traveled to Egypt twice to better tell Hatshepsut’s story and am currently at work on my second novel set in ancient Egypt.
Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Best wishes,
The gods taunt those they love most. And they absolutely adore Hatshepsut.
When her father dies, Hatshepsut is forced to marry her hippo of a half-brother to secure his claim to the throne. She becomes the real power behind Egypt’s crown, but as a woman, remains relegated to the shadows of the Horus Throne. Thutmosis’s death can’t come soon enough.
Thutmosis dies three years into his reign and Hatshepsut becomes regent to her two-year-old stepson, launching Egypt into its golden age. Then she does the unthinkable. Amid foreign wars and a palace coup, Hatshepsut proclaims herself Pharaoh of Egypt. Tormented by her love of a commoner and cursed with personal tragedies, Hatshepsut will face a choice: family or eternal glory.
HATSHEPSUT: FEMALE PHARAOH is historical fiction complete at 90,000 words.
With the recent discovery of her mummy, Hatshepsut has been showcased in National Geographic, Smithsonian Magazine, and the Discovery Channel over the past three years. A history teacher, I have traveled to Egypt twice to better tell Hatshepsut’s story and am currently at work on my second novel set in ancient Egypt.
Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Best wishes,
Oct 16, 2009
Writing Contest- Watching Paint Dry
‘Tis the season for writing contests. Who am I to ignore the bandwagon? Apparently not one of the capable…So without further ado, I present to you The First Official Public Query Slushpile Writing Contest (TFOPQSWC, for your anagram junkies). Here’s the scoop:
Most of us are familiar with the old clichés about watching paint dry. Many would have you believe it’s the most boring thing in the world. Sure, from a visual perspective. But how about a written scene?
Who among you thinks you can write an interesting scene about watching paint dry? Who can go above interesting and make drying paint exciting? Mysterious? Funny? Scary?
Post your entries in the comments section of this post. Entries must be between 300 and 500 words. I will pick the top three finalists – based solely on my own convoluted sense of quality, humor, excitement, or whatever other qualifying criteria I make up at the time. I will post those finalists and you will vote for the winner. And the prize, other than bragging rights? On your deathbed, you shall receive total consciousness…
Deadline for submissions: 5pm EDT on Tuesday, October 20. Finalists will be posted on Wednesday, October 21 and voting will be open through 8am Friday, October 23.
Most of us are familiar with the old clichés about watching paint dry. Many would have you believe it’s the most boring thing in the world. Sure, from a visual perspective. But how about a written scene?
Who among you thinks you can write an interesting scene about watching paint dry? Who can go above interesting and make drying paint exciting? Mysterious? Funny? Scary?
Post your entries in the comments section of this post. Entries must be between 300 and 500 words. I will pick the top three finalists – based solely on my own convoluted sense of quality, humor, excitement, or whatever other qualifying criteria I make up at the time. I will post those finalists and you will vote for the winner. And the prize, other than bragging rights? On your deathbed, you shall receive total consciousness…
Deadline for submissions: 5pm EDT on Tuesday, October 20. Finalists will be posted on Wednesday, October 21 and voting will be open through 8am Friday, October 23.
Oct 15, 2009
Query: Butter and Margarine
Dear Agent,
Until Justin Reinhart walked into their dad’s insurance agency, Sunny Cumberledge lived a margarine existence, a life hardly worth spreading on weekday toast. Or so her sister always said; Rain never let someone’s feelings stand in the way of a good metaphor. Although Sunny can’t be entirely mad at her: if the always- impatient Rain hadn’t set up their first date, Justin might have taken his new policy rates and left without her number. But like always, Rain shoved Sunny headlong into her life and didn’t apologize for it. Why should she? Rain lives in a butter- pat world full of flavor and worth every calorie. Sunny’s the one living like a twenty- one year old grocery list, unremarkable, unmemorable.
Sunny never really understood her sister, a woman who didn’t seem to care that she was mostly loathed by her family. Before that December day in the office, Sunny had resigned herself to being the good daughter, the Cumberledge their father loved the most. Someone had to live practically; Rain stopped trying to be anything but fantastic eleven years ago. But Justin makes Sunny think she could be so much more. She starts to see herself as a potentially interesting person, a person worthy of remembering. She let herself be buried alive underneath eleven years worth of pleasing dirt. It’s finally time for Sunny to please herself, and in doing that, she might discover just what her sister has tried to show her for so long. Anyone can merely exist; only the fantastic can really live.
Butter and Margarine is an eighty- one thousand word novel in the women’s fiction genre. [Personal Information]. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Saison Williams
Until Justin Reinhart walked into their dad’s insurance agency, Sunny Cumberledge lived a margarine existence, a life hardly worth spreading on weekday toast. Or so her sister always said; Rain never let someone’s feelings stand in the way of a good metaphor. Although Sunny can’t be entirely mad at her: if the always- impatient Rain hadn’t set up their first date, Justin might have taken his new policy rates and left without her number. But like always, Rain shoved Sunny headlong into her life and didn’t apologize for it. Why should she? Rain lives in a butter- pat world full of flavor and worth every calorie. Sunny’s the one living like a twenty- one year old grocery list, unremarkable, unmemorable.
Sunny never really understood her sister, a woman who didn’t seem to care that she was mostly loathed by her family. Before that December day in the office, Sunny had resigned herself to being the good daughter, the Cumberledge their father loved the most. Someone had to live practically; Rain stopped trying to be anything but fantastic eleven years ago. But Justin makes Sunny think she could be so much more. She starts to see herself as a potentially interesting person, a person worthy of remembering. She let herself be buried alive underneath eleven years worth of pleasing dirt. It’s finally time for Sunny to please herself, and in doing that, she might discover just what her sister has tried to show her for so long. Anyone can merely exist; only the fantastic can really live.
Butter and Margarine is an eighty- one thousand word novel in the women’s fiction genre. [Personal Information]. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Saison Williams
QUERY- THE EMERALD GIRL
Complete at 108,000 words, THE EMERALD GIRL is a science fiction novel that explores the effects of good intentions gone wrong and how honorable people right those wrongs.
Life on Earth suffers a toxic reaction when exposed to alien life. Agnes is a researcher sent to Earth to solve this riddle. The DNA of Melvin Humphrey holds the key. Agnes activates a dormant gene in Melvin. He can now have contact with Agnes without ill effect. Unknown to Melvin, he now emits the same pheromone Agnes does. His wife and son are exposed, suffer a severe reaction, and cling to life while Agnes and Melvin race against time to save their lives.
While working together, Agnes grows to love Melvin. She wants to melt into his mind and soul. Melvin fears Agnes may sacrifice his family to satisfy her lust.
The answer lies in the history books. The dormant gene in Melvin entered the human genome as the part of a failed experiment to modify life on Earth. The missing pieces of the puzzle will take him to ancient Egypt and Rome, and the early days of the American government. The answer he finds is impossible to believe. Yet, he must believe, or his family will die.
THE EMERALD GIRL is best described as Catherine Asaro with a bitter edge and should appeal to Ace, Baen, and Tor. I draw from my farming background for a scene where steer become infected. I am the treasurer of the Wisconsin Regional Writers’ Association.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Chapter 1:
Unwelcome Guests
The glass rattles at the front door. We have few visitors, leaving one possibility: the steer are out. I can see my animals running down the side of the road, thousand pound bovines built of solid muscle, giving my insurance carrier indigestion.
I throw my book to the living room table. I wonder which neighbor I pissed off now as I rush to the door, tripping over the up-step between kitchen and hallway.
Ann is pulling laundry out of the wash machine as I pass the utility room. Mason is crawling underfoot, tripping me as I pass.
The urgency of the knock is muted when I see the woman standing on the other side of the door. She wears a business suit and loose fitting slacks. Her short black hair in messed from the wind. Her short stature matches her slim face. A black line of eye shadow, thin lips, and an aquiline nose highlight her facial strong points. I open the door praying she doesn’t hand me a pamphlet telling me ‘Jesus Loves You’.
I step back as I open the door, startled. Two men in dark blue suits stand to the side and behind the woman.
“Mr. Melvin Humphrey?” Her voice is firm, yet polite; all business. She extends her hand. I take it, feeling like a sheep ready to be sheared.
“What can I do for you?” The words catch in my throat with a click; I handle tense situations poorly.
“I’m Agent Alice Hanson with the FBI,” she shows me her badge. “This is Agent Vic Savant, and Agent Tyron Meyer.” They show their badge as they are introduced. Agent Savant is tall, thin, with a permanent five o’clock shadow; Agent Meyer a large black man, pushing the seams of his suit to the limit.
Ann checks to see what the commotions is, Mason in tow. She has a worried look on her face when she sees the crowd at the door. I appreciate Ann’s talent at sizing up a situation fast and correct. And the look on her face is concerning.
“We need to talk,” Agent Alice Hanson said. Her tone of voice is commanding with a hint of respect.
Life on Earth suffers a toxic reaction when exposed to alien life. Agnes is a researcher sent to Earth to solve this riddle. The DNA of Melvin Humphrey holds the key. Agnes activates a dormant gene in Melvin. He can now have contact with Agnes without ill effect. Unknown to Melvin, he now emits the same pheromone Agnes does. His wife and son are exposed, suffer a severe reaction, and cling to life while Agnes and Melvin race against time to save their lives.
While working together, Agnes grows to love Melvin. She wants to melt into his mind and soul. Melvin fears Agnes may sacrifice his family to satisfy her lust.
The answer lies in the history books. The dormant gene in Melvin entered the human genome as the part of a failed experiment to modify life on Earth. The missing pieces of the puzzle will take him to ancient Egypt and Rome, and the early days of the American government. The answer he finds is impossible to believe. Yet, he must believe, or his family will die.
THE EMERALD GIRL is best described as Catherine Asaro with a bitter edge and should appeal to Ace, Baen, and Tor. I draw from my farming background for a scene where steer become infected. I am the treasurer of the Wisconsin Regional Writers’ Association.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Chapter 1:
Unwelcome Guests
The glass rattles at the front door. We have few visitors, leaving one possibility: the steer are out. I can see my animals running down the side of the road, thousand pound bovines built of solid muscle, giving my insurance carrier indigestion.
I throw my book to the living room table. I wonder which neighbor I pissed off now as I rush to the door, tripping over the up-step between kitchen and hallway.
Ann is pulling laundry out of the wash machine as I pass the utility room. Mason is crawling underfoot, tripping me as I pass.
The urgency of the knock is muted when I see the woman standing on the other side of the door. She wears a business suit and loose fitting slacks. Her short black hair in messed from the wind. Her short stature matches her slim face. A black line of eye shadow, thin lips, and an aquiline nose highlight her facial strong points. I open the door praying she doesn’t hand me a pamphlet telling me ‘Jesus Loves You’.
I step back as I open the door, startled. Two men in dark blue suits stand to the side and behind the woman.
“Mr. Melvin Humphrey?” Her voice is firm, yet polite; all business. She extends her hand. I take it, feeling like a sheep ready to be sheared.
“What can I do for you?” The words catch in my throat with a click; I handle tense situations poorly.
“I’m Agent Alice Hanson with the FBI,” she shows me her badge. “This is Agent Vic Savant, and Agent Tyron Meyer.” They show their badge as they are introduced. Agent Savant is tall, thin, with a permanent five o’clock shadow; Agent Meyer a large black man, pushing the seams of his suit to the limit.
Ann checks to see what the commotions is, Mason in tow. She has a worried look on her face when she sees the crowd at the door. I appreciate Ann’s talent at sizing up a situation fast and correct. And the look on her face is concerning.
“We need to talk,” Agent Alice Hanson said. Her tone of voice is commanding with a hint of respect.
Oct 13, 2009
QUERY - THE LOST CHILDREN CHRONICLES
Thanks to everyone over at my blog for helping me streamline this:
When thirteen-year-old Kevin McDonald is abducted to the netherworld, he must befriend his goblin kidnappers and elude an army of vampires if he ever wants to see his family again.
Given his indomitable spirit and the magical power of his soul, Kevin just might be able to do it. One slight problem. Every time he casts a fireball or commands the sun to appear, the rash of goblin-skin that started on his arm spreads a bit more across his body. Without magic, the vamps will capture and turn him, but if he uses too much before he finds his way back home, he’ll become a monster anyway.
THE LOST CHILDREN CHRONICLES is a 70,000 word MG fantasy set in a netherworld filled with dark creatures, darker intents, and one courageous boy who will do everything he can to save himself, his fellow abductees, and even some of his kidnappers from damnation. [Personal info, etc].
When thirteen-year-old Kevin McDonald is abducted to the netherworld, he must befriend his goblin kidnappers and elude an army of vampires if he ever wants to see his family again.
Given his indomitable spirit and the magical power of his soul, Kevin just might be able to do it. One slight problem. Every time he casts a fireball or commands the sun to appear, the rash of goblin-skin that started on his arm spreads a bit more across his body. Without magic, the vamps will capture and turn him, but if he uses too much before he finds his way back home, he’ll become a monster anyway.
THE LOST CHILDREN CHRONICLES is a 70,000 word MG fantasy set in a netherworld filled with dark creatures, darker intents, and one courageous boy who will do everything he can to save himself, his fellow abductees, and even some of his kidnappers from damnation. [Personal info, etc].
Oct 9, 2009
QUERY- DEMON DREAMS (first revision)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Agent,
There’s only one thing worse than Hell itself and that’s Hell on earth and some idiot is trying to accomplish just that. Nobody cares about a few dead demons but when they start appearing by the hundreds, even Satan takes notice. Every evil plan hatched to find the culprit backfires until left with no other choice they turn to mortals for help.
There are only two things Belza wants in his lifetime, Satan to rule the world and to have sex with Meg so he can own her soul, not necessarily in that order. Sent by Satan himself to procure the services of a powerful witch, he can only think of one with balls enough to stand up to the Dark Lord and spit in his eye.
It’s been thirty years since she withdrew from the world of the occult, but Meg Turner knows the stakes. Given a choice, she’d rather not side with Hell. If she doesn’t, everything and everyone she knows and loves will die. Saving the world isn’t enough is it? She has the perks of dealing with the charming and erotic wooing attempts of Belza and the occasional two cents worth of Alexander, her self appointed guardian angel who’s thrown his hat into the ring for her ‘affections’. Angels, demons and crazed warlocks, what more could a witch ask for?
Demon Dreams is a 69,500 word paranormal/romance that follows Meg Turner, retired witch and Guardian of the Way on a wild ride to save Hell while keeping her sanity and soul in tact. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely Yours,
Dear Agent,
There’s only one thing worse than Hell itself and that’s Hell on earth and some idiot is trying to accomplish just that. Nobody cares about a few dead demons but when they start appearing by the hundreds, even Satan takes notice. Every evil plan hatched to find the culprit backfires until left with no other choice they turn to mortals for help.
There are only two things Belza wants in his lifetime, Satan to rule the world and to have sex with Meg so he can own her soul, not necessarily in that order. Sent by Satan himself to procure the services of a powerful witch, he can only think of one with balls enough to stand up to the Dark Lord and spit in his eye.
It’s been thirty years since she withdrew from the world of the occult, but Meg Turner knows the stakes. Given a choice, she’d rather not side with Hell. If she doesn’t, everything and everyone she knows and loves will die. Saving the world isn’t enough is it? She has the perks of dealing with the charming and erotic wooing attempts of Belza and the occasional two cents worth of Alexander, her self appointed guardian angel who’s thrown his hat into the ring for her ‘affections’. Angels, demons and crazed warlocks, what more could a witch ask for?
Demon Dreams is a 69,500 word paranormal/romance that follows Meg Turner, retired witch and Guardian of the Way on a wild ride to save Hell while keeping her sanity and soul in tact. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely Yours,
Oct 8, 2009
QUERY- STORIES ENDING (revision 2)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear agent Blah:
I know that you are interested in representing literary fiction, so I thought that you might be interested in my literary novel, STORIES ENDING.It is not unlike Mark Haddon’s novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time in that some of the prose is affected by the protagonist’s mental state (in the case of my novel, manic thought patterns) while the book as a whole remains very approachable.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. Earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness; all she knows is that she wants to escape from the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that’s hung over her since her fiancé called off their engagement months before.
After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic to save it, even if it means sacrificing herself.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable ability to heal. I appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear agent Blah:
I know that you are interested in representing literary fiction, so I thought that you might be interested in my literary novel, STORIES ENDING.It is not unlike Mark Haddon’s novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time in that some of the prose is affected by the protagonist’s mental state (in the case of my novel, manic thought patterns) while the book as a whole remains very approachable.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. Earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness; all she knows is that she wants to escape from the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that’s hung over her since her fiancé called off their engagement months before.
After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic to save it, even if it means sacrificing herself.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable ability to heal. I appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
AM I WORTH IT - sample pages Brand New - Trying a different Chapter
Click here to search through the prior sample pages and queries.
*Special note- I'm trying something different. This is actually my second chapter. It might be a better starting place???? I am struggling with this more than any other part of the novel. Any first chapter experts out there that have some advice I'd love to hear it.
"Mr. Anderson! I was worried you weren't coming." The frantic history teacher Mr. Epstein spoke loudly as I walked into his classroom a few minutes late.
I nodded mumbling a sorry and slipped into the desk closest to the door.
"Anyway," he continued, "I was just telling everyone that I think we have a real chance to win the state competition and maybe even the national competition this year. Last year we just missed qualifying to nationals, but the team is stronger than ever." He nodded toward me.
Six heads turned in my direction. The last thing I wanted was to be singled out – although most valuable member of the 'geek squad' had to be the worst title in high school.
It could be good – maybe a goal I would work toward.
"Alex, I'd like you to take Dan and Claire through last year's state questions from the card box. The rest of you can do the same with the other box. Try to finish as many as you can." Mr. Epstein rubbed his hands together, oozing with excitement.
Alex Jenkins waved at me – I recognized him from my German class. Geek wasn't a strong enough word for this guy, but he was seemed decent enough.
But he shared my love of Star Wars.
I walked over to his side of the room and noticed a girl with light brown wavy hair and . . . well let's just say she didn't fit in here. I couldn't remember ever seeing her before.
I had at least one class with everyone else on the team.
"I don't think we've met? I'm Claire Ramsey." She stuck out her hand.
I shook it politely.
"Dan Anderson," I said. Then I sat down in one of the desks next to Alex and she did the same.
"I'm going to get the cards." Alex got up to walk over to Mr. Epstein.
"Just so you know," Claire whispered, leaning in close to me, letting me smell her perfume, "I'm only here because Mr. Epstein is my brother in-law and my father practically forced him to let me on the team to help with my college applications. We've never had seven players before, usually it's just three backups, not four." She rolled her eyes.
I scooted my desk away from her a little and leaned back crossing my arms to my chest.
"Too much for your reputation?" I looked her over curiously.
"God no! Nothing like that, I'm not a snob!"
She sounded a little offended, which surprised me, and girls didn't surprise me very often. They were even more predictable than shrinks.
"But I'm not smart enough to actually make the team. I was just giving you a warning before we go head-to-head today."
"Sorry, it's a natural reaction- years of being called a dweeb are bound to leave some scarring," I looked right into her eyes- a really unusual shade of green. Green eyes have always fascinated me. Mostly because of the genetic improbability.
She raised her eyebrows as Alex returned with our box of cards.
"Years of being a dweeb, huh?" Her tone left me hanging.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I was a little offended myself that she wouldn't stop talking to me, and looking at me.
This was already more words than I had spoken to any student in over two months.
Damn, I was slipping!
"Nothing," she said quickly, her cheeks blushing a little, "I think Alex is ready to quiz us," she turned her eyes on him and he pulled the first card out of the box.
"What is the only novel Harper Lee has ever written?" Alex asked.
Claire looked at me and I sighed thinking I better live up to my reputation. Things were so different now.
"To Kill a Mocking Bird," I answered and Alex nodded.
"What is the native language of Brazil?" Alex asked.
I gave Claire a minute to answer.
"Portuguese," I said when Claire made it obvious she wasn't going to speak up.
"Nice!" Alex said, "Against what opposing team did Babe Ruth hit his first home run?"
"The Yankees," I said.
Alex looked excited and started firing at rapid speed.
"What is the most common element in the human body?"
"Oxygen." I made the mistake of looking at Claire while I answered.
For some reason I didn't tone it down for her. I usually made intentional pauses or missed a few on purpose. I think I was trying to scare her off- nobody likes a freak.
"What illness accounted for more than forty percent of U.S. casualties during World War I?"
"Influenza."
The rest of the practice went the same – Claire never opened her mouth once and I started to feel guilty about making her look stupid.
I was the first one out the door when Epstein dismissed us and I hurried down the hall toward the front doors. I heard footsteps following behind and then Claire was there at my side.
"You were really good." She turned her smile on me.
Her face was interesting, so full of secrets and depth – I couldn't help wanting to know more about her. But that was asking for trouble and it was pleasure I didn't deserve.
"Thanks." I looked at the ground and sped up my pace. "See you tomorrow." I headed through the door and let it shut before she could follow. I felt like such an ass. But it was better this way.
"Hey Steve," I said quietly, when I walked in the door to my uncle's house.
He was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of papers and a red pen.
"How was practice? I heard the team's looking strong this year. I thought about stopping in to see for myself."
"I thought you were running detention?" Steve is my German teacher. It's his third year teaching.
Oddly enough he's only nine years older than me. That's always seemed so strange. He's halfway between peer and parent- but he's cool. I couldn't pick a better person to live with.
"Yeah, I was stuck with detention. Is pizza alright for dinner? I'm totally beat," he asked.
"Sounds good." I sat down at the table and took the first few papers off the stack and started marking the first test.
"How was your session with Dr. Stevens?" he asked tentatively, when we were eating pizza in front of the T.V. watching Monday night football.
"Don't you mean the Dr. Phil wannabe? Do I really need to keep seeing him?" I was hoping he might understand.
He looked at me more serious now. "Do you need to keep seeing him?"
"It's not like it changes anything."
"Your parents want you to. It was part of the agreement. But if you won't really talk to him, it seems like a waste of money. Of course they don't care, they just want to say they're doing something." His voice was filled with a bitter edge, very rare for Steve.
He had issues with wasting money. It wasn't easy living on a teacher's salary in the north suburbs of Chicago.
"I'll talk to them again." He didn't sound very hopeful that he could make any more progress than I had.
"Thanks anyway."
"If you don't mind me asking, do you really like the trivia bowl team? It just seems so different for you. And you're not playing basketball?" He immediately looked worried he might have gone too deep.
"That's sort-of the goal."
"I understand you're avoiding certain crowds, it's just that you aren't being yourself. Doesn't that bother you?"
This was the most he'd ever tried to get out of me and if I was going to talk to anyone it would probably be Steve, but I didn't want to talk. What if he made me doubt my decision, tried to make me feel less guilty?
"I'll make the most of it, I promise. In fact I was planning on taking the team out for a beer on Friday night. I thought we could hit the clubs maybe pick up a few college girls."
He laughed probably visualizing Alex Jenkins in his Dark Vader costume – that I knew he secretly had hanging in his closet- slam dancing with a cocktail in one hand.
"Claire Ramsey's on the team this year, isn't she?"
"Yeah, but not on merit." I immediately felt guilty betraying her secret. But Steve was a teacher I'm sure he already knew this.
"She's a nice girl." He gave me a look that added to my guilt.
"I wouldn't know, she hardly spoke a word." I grabbed my books and headed to my room, turned on the computer to write my essay on Hamlet-it would take less than thirty minutes.
I woke up to the same nightmare. My eyes flew open, my breathing heavy, it was still dark. I turned my head to look at the clock and groaned when I saw it was only four in the morning.
I used to be able to sleep in till noon, of course I was out partying until two or three. I picked up another book to read and stayed in bed until five, not wanting Steve to think something was wrong with me – that's the last thing I needed.
I turned on the computer to check the weather and groaned again when I saw it was only sixteen degrees. I've been running every morning since I moved to Chicago in June. But fuck that! I'm not training for a winter marathon.
It would have to be the school field house today and possibly several months.
I walked in the empty field house at six and started my run, with my IPOD turned up as loud as it would go. It's really strange how much I love running now because I used to hate it.
I did three sports all three years of high school- football, basketball, and baseball – very stereotypical jock. The most we ever had to run all at once was two or three miles. I clocked in at least six to eight miles every day now, of course I wasn't playing any sports.
I focused on the music, something loud with a good beat. The rhythm of my feet hitting the track – a steady consistent pace, calmed me better than any therapy session. It was the most peace I would have all day.
I continued lap after lap allowing my surroundings- the red padded walls, to melt and spin in front of me like bloody water swirling down the drain of the bathroom sink. I jumped when I felt a cold hand on my cheek pulling one of the head phones out of my ear.
"Dan," It was Claire in her P.E. uniform jogging next to me.
I focused my eyes taking notice of my surroundings and realized about thirty kids in uniform were sharing the track with me.
"Fuck! Did I miss this first period?" I asked her frantically and she laughed.
"Don't worry, it's early bird P.E.- before school at 6:45." She smiled at my confusion, "Are you really that out of it when you run?" Her speed picked up to match mine.
"I guess I am today." I wiped sweat from my face with the bottom of my t-shirt.
"Hey Ramsey?" Jason Elliot came up behind Claire and poked her in the side.
I didn't know him personally, but from what I've heard he was the senior star of the basketball team and on his way to the University of Illinois next year with a scholarship.
We didn't have any classes together, but that's only because I was in all the 'smartest' classes now and he fell more in to the 'smart' category – along with Claire.
"Who's your friend?" He nodded toward me.
"This is Dan, he's a senior too. We're on the trivia team together, except Dan's actually going to play where as I am going to sit and look pretty." She laughed again.
I loved her laugh, it was so real. Everything about her was real.
"I'm sure you'll be great at that," Jason joked, looking her over.
I thought she seemed a little uncomfortable being checked out – not that I hadn't done the same.
But at least I was discrete enough to wait until she wasn't looking before checking out her long and very sexy legs, among other outstanding qualities.
Claire was a pretty tall girl, maybe five six or five seven – I'm six one, so I've always liked taller girls.
"Are you on the wrestling team, Dan?" Jason peeled his eyes from Claire to look at me.
I needed to get out of this conversation and away from this girl.
"God no!" I shook my head, "Just watching my weight, I used to be a fat ass- over three hundred pounds." I looked him straight in the eye.
His eyes widened. "No shit!"
Claire looked down at the track, smiling. She guessed I was joking.
"How did you lose that much weight?" He sounded truly amazed.
"Jenny Craig." I ran ahead, away from both of them.
*Special note- I'm trying something different. This is actually my second chapter. It might be a better starting place???? I am struggling with this more than any other part of the novel. Any first chapter experts out there that have some advice I'd love to hear it.
"Mr. Anderson! I was worried you weren't coming." The frantic history teacher Mr. Epstein spoke loudly as I walked into his classroom a few minutes late.
I nodded mumbling a sorry and slipped into the desk closest to the door.
"Anyway," he continued, "I was just telling everyone that I think we have a real chance to win the state competition and maybe even the national competition this year. Last year we just missed qualifying to nationals, but the team is stronger than ever." He nodded toward me.
Six heads turned in my direction. The last thing I wanted was to be singled out – although most valuable member of the 'geek squad' had to be the worst title in high school.
It could be good – maybe a goal I would work toward.
"Alex, I'd like you to take Dan and Claire through last year's state questions from the card box. The rest of you can do the same with the other box. Try to finish as many as you can." Mr. Epstein rubbed his hands together, oozing with excitement.
Alex Jenkins waved at me – I recognized him from my German class. Geek wasn't a strong enough word for this guy, but he was seemed decent enough.
But he shared my love of Star Wars.
I walked over to his side of the room and noticed a girl with light brown wavy hair and . . . well let's just say she didn't fit in here. I couldn't remember ever seeing her before.
I had at least one class with everyone else on the team.
"I don't think we've met? I'm Claire Ramsey." She stuck out her hand.
I shook it politely.
"Dan Anderson," I said. Then I sat down in one of the desks next to Alex and she did the same.
"I'm going to get the cards." Alex got up to walk over to Mr. Epstein.
"Just so you know," Claire whispered, leaning in close to me, letting me smell her perfume, "I'm only here because Mr. Epstein is my brother in-law and my father practically forced him to let me on the team to help with my college applications. We've never had seven players before, usually it's just three backups, not four." She rolled her eyes.
I scooted my desk away from her a little and leaned back crossing my arms to my chest.
"Too much for your reputation?" I looked her over curiously.
"God no! Nothing like that, I'm not a snob!"
She sounded a little offended, which surprised me, and girls didn't surprise me very often. They were even more predictable than shrinks.
"But I'm not smart enough to actually make the team. I was just giving you a warning before we go head-to-head today."
"Sorry, it's a natural reaction- years of being called a dweeb are bound to leave some scarring," I looked right into her eyes- a really unusual shade of green. Green eyes have always fascinated me. Mostly because of the genetic improbability.
She raised her eyebrows as Alex returned with our box of cards.
"Years of being a dweeb, huh?" Her tone left me hanging.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I was a little offended myself that she wouldn't stop talking to me, and looking at me.
This was already more words than I had spoken to any student in over two months.
Damn, I was slipping!
"Nothing," she said quickly, her cheeks blushing a little, "I think Alex is ready to quiz us," she turned her eyes on him and he pulled the first card out of the box.
"What is the only novel Harper Lee has ever written?" Alex asked.
Claire looked at me and I sighed thinking I better live up to my reputation. Things were so different now.
"To Kill a Mocking Bird," I answered and Alex nodded.
"What is the native language of Brazil?" Alex asked.
I gave Claire a minute to answer.
"Portuguese," I said when Claire made it obvious she wasn't going to speak up.
"Nice!" Alex said, "Against what opposing team did Babe Ruth hit his first home run?"
"The Yankees," I said.
Alex looked excited and started firing at rapid speed.
"What is the most common element in the human body?"
"Oxygen." I made the mistake of looking at Claire while I answered.
For some reason I didn't tone it down for her. I usually made intentional pauses or missed a few on purpose. I think I was trying to scare her off- nobody likes a freak.
"What illness accounted for more than forty percent of U.S. casualties during World War I?"
"Influenza."
The rest of the practice went the same – Claire never opened her mouth once and I started to feel guilty about making her look stupid.
I was the first one out the door when Epstein dismissed us and I hurried down the hall toward the front doors. I heard footsteps following behind and then Claire was there at my side.
"You were really good." She turned her smile on me.
Her face was interesting, so full of secrets and depth – I couldn't help wanting to know more about her. But that was asking for trouble and it was pleasure I didn't deserve.
"Thanks." I looked at the ground and sped up my pace. "See you tomorrow." I headed through the door and let it shut before she could follow. I felt like such an ass. But it was better this way.
"Hey Steve," I said quietly, when I walked in the door to my uncle's house.
He was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of papers and a red pen.
"How was practice? I heard the team's looking strong this year. I thought about stopping in to see for myself."
"I thought you were running detention?" Steve is my German teacher. It's his third year teaching.
Oddly enough he's only nine years older than me. That's always seemed so strange. He's halfway between peer and parent- but he's cool. I couldn't pick a better person to live with.
"Yeah, I was stuck with detention. Is pizza alright for dinner? I'm totally beat," he asked.
"Sounds good." I sat down at the table and took the first few papers off the stack and started marking the first test.
"How was your session with Dr. Stevens?" he asked tentatively, when we were eating pizza in front of the T.V. watching Monday night football.
"Don't you mean the Dr. Phil wannabe? Do I really need to keep seeing him?" I was hoping he might understand.
He looked at me more serious now. "Do you need to keep seeing him?"
"It's not like it changes anything."
"Your parents want you to. It was part of the agreement. But if you won't really talk to him, it seems like a waste of money. Of course they don't care, they just want to say they're doing something." His voice was filled with a bitter edge, very rare for Steve.
He had issues with wasting money. It wasn't easy living on a teacher's salary in the north suburbs of Chicago.
"I'll talk to them again." He didn't sound very hopeful that he could make any more progress than I had.
"Thanks anyway."
"If you don't mind me asking, do you really like the trivia bowl team? It just seems so different for you. And you're not playing basketball?" He immediately looked worried he might have gone too deep.
"That's sort-of the goal."
"I understand you're avoiding certain crowds, it's just that you aren't being yourself. Doesn't that bother you?"
This was the most he'd ever tried to get out of me and if I was going to talk to anyone it would probably be Steve, but I didn't want to talk. What if he made me doubt my decision, tried to make me feel less guilty?
"I'll make the most of it, I promise. In fact I was planning on taking the team out for a beer on Friday night. I thought we could hit the clubs maybe pick up a few college girls."
He laughed probably visualizing Alex Jenkins in his Dark Vader costume – that I knew he secretly had hanging in his closet- slam dancing with a cocktail in one hand.
"Claire Ramsey's on the team this year, isn't she?"
"Yeah, but not on merit." I immediately felt guilty betraying her secret. But Steve was a teacher I'm sure he already knew this.
"She's a nice girl." He gave me a look that added to my guilt.
"I wouldn't know, she hardly spoke a word." I grabbed my books and headed to my room, turned on the computer to write my essay on Hamlet-it would take less than thirty minutes.
I woke up to the same nightmare. My eyes flew open, my breathing heavy, it was still dark. I turned my head to look at the clock and groaned when I saw it was only four in the morning.
I used to be able to sleep in till noon, of course I was out partying until two or three. I picked up another book to read and stayed in bed until five, not wanting Steve to think something was wrong with me – that's the last thing I needed.
I turned on the computer to check the weather and groaned again when I saw it was only sixteen degrees. I've been running every morning since I moved to Chicago in June. But fuck that! I'm not training for a winter marathon.
It would have to be the school field house today and possibly several months.
I walked in the empty field house at six and started my run, with my IPOD turned up as loud as it would go. It's really strange how much I love running now because I used to hate it.
I did three sports all three years of high school- football, basketball, and baseball – very stereotypical jock. The most we ever had to run all at once was two or three miles. I clocked in at least six to eight miles every day now, of course I wasn't playing any sports.
I focused on the music, something loud with a good beat. The rhythm of my feet hitting the track – a steady consistent pace, calmed me better than any therapy session. It was the most peace I would have all day.
I continued lap after lap allowing my surroundings- the red padded walls, to melt and spin in front of me like bloody water swirling down the drain of the bathroom sink. I jumped when I felt a cold hand on my cheek pulling one of the head phones out of my ear.
"Dan," It was Claire in her P.E. uniform jogging next to me.
I focused my eyes taking notice of my surroundings and realized about thirty kids in uniform were sharing the track with me.
"Fuck! Did I miss this first period?" I asked her frantically and she laughed.
"Don't worry, it's early bird P.E.- before school at 6:45." She smiled at my confusion, "Are you really that out of it when you run?" Her speed picked up to match mine.
"I guess I am today." I wiped sweat from my face with the bottom of my t-shirt.
"Hey Ramsey?" Jason Elliot came up behind Claire and poked her in the side.
I didn't know him personally, but from what I've heard he was the senior star of the basketball team and on his way to the University of Illinois next year with a scholarship.
We didn't have any classes together, but that's only because I was in all the 'smartest' classes now and he fell more in to the 'smart' category – along with Claire.
"Who's your friend?" He nodded toward me.
"This is Dan, he's a senior too. We're on the trivia team together, except Dan's actually going to play where as I am going to sit and look pretty." She laughed again.
I loved her laugh, it was so real. Everything about her was real.
"I'm sure you'll be great at that," Jason joked, looking her over.
I thought she seemed a little uncomfortable being checked out – not that I hadn't done the same.
But at least I was discrete enough to wait until she wasn't looking before checking out her long and very sexy legs, among other outstanding qualities.
Claire was a pretty tall girl, maybe five six or five seven – I'm six one, so I've always liked taller girls.
"Are you on the wrestling team, Dan?" Jason peeled his eyes from Claire to look at me.
I needed to get out of this conversation and away from this girl.
"God no!" I shook my head, "Just watching my weight, I used to be a fat ass- over three hundred pounds." I looked him straight in the eye.
His eyes widened. "No shit!"
Claire looked down at the track, smiling. She guessed I was joking.
"How did you lose that much weight?" He sounded truly amazed.
"Jenny Craig." I ran ahead, away from both of them.
CALLARION AT NIGHT -- Revision 2
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read revision 1.
I've been playing with hooks and working in mention of steam technology earlier. Hopefully this meets with everyone's approval!
Dear Agent:
Moriah Rowani returns home after nearly a decade away to discover her father bleeding to death in the entrance hall of their estate. His final act was to extract a promise that she'd find her mother's diary.
Three days later, Moriah is forced from her family's home by the steam-powered might of Lord Chancellor Lucian Rombard and his soldiers, who are intent on eradicating human-nymph hybrids like Moriah and the human-satyr hybrids that pepper the city of Callarion. Moriah goes into hiding and almost immediately receives the first clue to the diary's location, one of a series of riddles designed to lead her to the lost tome.
Allies appear from all corners -- in a Chancellery major, the underground resistance, and the disbanded King's Navy -- who help her avoid capture and torture at the hands of the Brotherhood of Purity, while revealing that Moriah's not the only one who wants the diary.
For there's more inside the diary than Rombard's true scheme for the city. There's a plan that has a chance to shatter Rombard's stranglehold on the city and save Callarion from the long night it faces. A plan, in fact, that the last ten years of Moriah's life have been an integral part of.
My steampunk fantasy novel, CALLARION AT NIGHT, is complete at 100,000 words. Thank you for taking the time to consider my submission.
Click here to read revision 1.
I've been playing with hooks and working in mention of steam technology earlier. Hopefully this meets with everyone's approval!
Dear Agent:
Moriah Rowani returns home after nearly a decade away to discover her father bleeding to death in the entrance hall of their estate. His final act was to extract a promise that she'd find her mother's diary.
Three days later, Moriah is forced from her family's home by the steam-powered might of Lord Chancellor Lucian Rombard and his soldiers, who are intent on eradicating human-nymph hybrids like Moriah and the human-satyr hybrids that pepper the city of Callarion. Moriah goes into hiding and almost immediately receives the first clue to the diary's location, one of a series of riddles designed to lead her to the lost tome.
Allies appear from all corners -- in a Chancellery major, the underground resistance, and the disbanded King's Navy -- who help her avoid capture and torture at the hands of the Brotherhood of Purity, while revealing that Moriah's not the only one who wants the diary.
For there's more inside the diary than Rombard's true scheme for the city. There's a plan that has a chance to shatter Rombard's stranglehold on the city and save Callarion from the long night it faces. A plan, in fact, that the last ten years of Moriah's life have been an integral part of.
My steampunk fantasy novel, CALLARION AT NIGHT, is complete at 100,000 words. Thank you for taking the time to consider my submission.
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