Dear Agent:
Ally’s little brother has been digging a hole in their back yard for months. Ally’s parents think digging is good for him; at least he doesn’t play video games all day. Ally thinks it’s weird… until she realizes that all the boys in the neighborhood, including the cutest boy in her class, also have mysterious infatuations with digging.
One evening she goes out to examine her brother’s “hide out” and realizes it’s not a hole, but a tunnel; a tunnel that connects to other tunnels that attach the yards of all the boys in the neighborhood.
Ally joins the tunnel diggers and in doing so she inadvertently trades in her set of movie watching, happily ever after planning, drama creating friends for a bunch of… well… boys.
Ally knows she shouldn’t go along when the boys decide to dig a tunnel that will lead to an abandoned steel mill. She doesn’t like steeling wood from an old barn to construct supports in the tunnels. And she definitely doesn’t feel comfortable lying to her parents about what she’s doing everyday. But she’s curious.
Underground is a middle grade novel and is complete at about 35,000 words.
Chapter One
I was two months away from my grade school graduation when the Gauze Men robbed the Carston First Memorial Bank. Some people worried Grantsville might be next. I was more worried about the massive mound of dirt taking over our back yard.
Eric was still digging. Mom and Dad were happy he didn’t play video games all day. They thought it was good for him to have a hobby that required going outside. Plus, Dad reasoned, the larger the mound grew, the less grass he’d have to mow. My parents weren’t big gardeners or anything.
I thought it was weird that Eric was so into digging. He’d done the same thing every day for the last six months: come home from school, grab a snack, and dig… for hours.
At first I thought it was kind of cute. He and his fourth grade friends wanted to build a fort. I thought maybe he’d dig for a few days or maybe even a week and then he’d get bored and do something else. But he didn’t get bored. He dug. The tiny pile of dirt beside his hole grew and grew until it engulfed the back corner of the yard from the lilac bush to the maple tree.
“I need a new shovel,” Eric announced at dinner as he bit into his taco. It was kind of gross to watch him eat. Mom made him take a bath everyday when he came in from the hole but he didn’t do a very good job because his fingernails were still caked with dirt.
“Another shovel?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” Eric said, his mouth still full of taco.
“Are you sure you can’t fix the one you have?” Dad asked.
Eric got up from the table and walked to the sliding glass door, opened it, and reached for the pieces of his shovel. He held up them up so Dad could see. The place where the stick was supposed to attach to the head was bent pretty badly, the stick was broken in half, and the head was seriously beat up.
“What have you been digging in?” Dad asked, laughing.
“Just dirt, mostly, there are some rocks every now and then and they really mess up the shovel.” Eric said.
“Okay then,” Dad said with a shrug. “I’ll pick one up on my way home tomorrow.”
That was how it always was with Eric.
“I don’t think it’s fair that you buy Eric new shovels all the time.” I said. “You never buy me things.”
“Of course we do Ally. We pay for your piano lessons every week.” Mom said.
“But I hate piano lessons,” I said folding my arms and furrowing my brow.
“You’ll thank us for them when you’re older,” Mom said.
I doubted that. Sometimes my mom was ridiculous. She had it in her head that one of her children should be a famous pianist someday. And she decided I should be the one to do it. And I was fairly certain she picked me just because I was a girl. She pretended to be all progressive and feminist but deep down I think she clung to a belief that girls should be musical and boys should be athletic.
Unfortunately I stunk at the piano, regardless of my supposed feminine propensity for musical genius. I think it’s possible that Eric could have been good. He had big hands and his fingers were already longer than mine even though he was two years younger than me. But mom chose to put all her eggs in my basket…a basket, which I dropped repeatedly. And Eric was free to dig, and dig, and dig while I practiced the stupid piano.
I had almost dismissed Eric’s digging as a weird eight-year-old boy obsession, but one day the gigantic mound where he’d been dumping his dirt stopped growing. It settled between the lilac bush and the maple tree and never gained another inch up or out. Mom and Dad didn’t seem to notice, and I may not have noticed at first either. But when it stayed that way for a month I noticed. Eric was still coming in every evening exhausted and dirty but there wasn’t any more dirt coming out of the hole.
Mar 22, 2009
Mar 21, 2009
Query--HENRY HAS NO HAIR
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
(Personal reference to agent/agency), I invite you to consider representing my picture book manuscript, HENRY HAS NO HAIR.
Life should be hard for Henry. It’s his first day at a new school and he has nothing to wear—nothing to wear on his bald head, that is. But that does not stop happy-go-lucky Henry. When a classmate asks him the inevitable, but awkward question, he responds in stride. Being bald is actually pretty great. There is no hair to get in his face or provide a target for his baby sister’s reaching hands to pull. Hats always fit and the heat never bothers his neck in the summer. Above all, Henry is happy to be Henry—and that makes others happy, too.
HENRY HAS NO HAIR, complete at 375 words, illustrates how a young boy allows the cosmetic debility of alopecia areta to not only define who he is, but to empower him. A subject close to home, my husband and I have the joy of raising our first son, a balding toddler with the spirit to take on the world.
Per your submission guidelines, the full manuscript is available upon request. Thank you for your consideration and time. I look forward to hearing from you.
[I posted a shortened version of this pitch paragraph on Bookroast's March 17 Pitch Party and received several comments. See http://bookroast.blogspot.com/2009/03/welcome-to-our-pitch-party.html ]
(Personal reference to agent/agency), I invite you to consider representing my picture book manuscript, HENRY HAS NO HAIR.
Life should be hard for Henry. It’s his first day at a new school and he has nothing to wear—nothing to wear on his bald head, that is. But that does not stop happy-go-lucky Henry. When a classmate asks him the inevitable, but awkward question, he responds in stride. Being bald is actually pretty great. There is no hair to get in his face or provide a target for his baby sister’s reaching hands to pull. Hats always fit and the heat never bothers his neck in the summer. Above all, Henry is happy to be Henry—and that makes others happy, too.
HENRY HAS NO HAIR, complete at 375 words, illustrates how a young boy allows the cosmetic debility of alopecia areta to not only define who he is, but to empower him. A subject close to home, my husband and I have the joy of raising our first son, a balding toddler with the spirit to take on the world.
Per your submission guidelines, the full manuscript is available upon request. Thank you for your consideration and time. I look forward to hearing from you.
[I posted a shortened version of this pitch paragraph on Bookroast's March 17 Pitch Party and received several comments. See http://bookroast.blogspot.com/2009/03/welcome-to-our-pitch-party.html ]
QUERY - WHEN HEARTS CRY OUT
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Dear (Agent’s Name):
If making women laugh and think were Olympic events, seventy-four-year-old Liz McCall would win the gold. If she could change anything about her life, she’d change damn near everything.
WHEN HEARTS CRY OUT, a 79,000-word novel written for the commercial and women’s fiction markets, centers on an agnostic beauty salon denizen, the influence she has on the lives of saints and sinners, and the six things in life that are free.
Born in Mississippi, divorced from several well-heeled Texans, and a source of wit, wisdom, and imperious advice for the black and white staff and clients at the salon, Liz takes a special interest in Leah Starks, a twenty-six-year-old whose life has been burdened by abandonment issues and doubts about her self-worth. When Leah’s emotionally distant mother is killed in an automobile accident, her life changes for the better after Liz unravels a family secret that lies in the spelling of Leah’s name. With her health deteriorating, and estranged from all but the youngest of her six sons, Liz has to decide to whom she will bequeath her wealth—if, when, and how she should reveal the family secret she has kept for almost fifty years—and how she will want her epitaph to read.
The third of five sons of a Pentecostal preacher with a BBA from the University of Texas at Arlington, I’ve had a standing Saturday appointment with the same hairstylist for the past twenty-five years and a standing appointment every other Saturday with the same nail technician for the past fifteen years.
Some of life’s greatest lessons and best kept secrets can be learned at the beauty salon.
I appreciate your time and consideration.
Regards,
R. Battles
FIRST FOUR PAGES
August 1998
Standing near the receptionist’s station jacked on caffeine, Margie had watched Liz McCall circle the parking lot six times while hammering on her steering wheel and cussing with her windows rolled up.
“Mornin’ Liz. You doin’ okay?”
“Fair to middlin’.” Liz patted the sides of her hair, the color of which resembled an uncirculated silver dollar and stiff enough to withstand an F-2 tornado. “I swear . . . some of those fools must’ve gotten their driver’s license out of a box of Cracker Jacks.”
Parking usually wasn’t a problem, but a new Tuesday Morning store in the strip mall was conducting its grand opening.
“Why didn’t you take that spot?” Margie said, pointing to an empty parking place only a few feet from the salon.
Liz took a big Barney Fife-like sniff. “Do you really think I’d park my Cadillac next to that big old bucket that Vivian’s husband is driving?”
The familiar, black, 1968 Mercury Parklane Brougham had a faded, fourteen-year-old REAGAN-BUSH rear bumper sticker and looked like one of the cars Steve McGarrett drove on Hawaii Five-O.
“I understand. C’mon back,” Margie said in a rush. “We’re busy today. I’ve been running my ass off.”
“Dear, you ain’t got no ass, but I know whatcha meant.”
Possessing an average build, an eye for trendy apparel, a cultured, heavy-pitched voice, and a dowager’s hump attributed more to age than anything else, Liz’s striking blue eyes had faded to a smoky, bluish-gray as the years had gone by.
Teal, salmon, and beige wallpaper, a sandstone tiled floor, white antiques, art, and an assortment of bric-a-brac gave the salon a quaint, 19th century charm. Three hair styling stations eight feet apart lined one wall. Each station included a large, French Provençal commodore. One of the stations belonged to Margie. One was leased to Dorothy Curtis. The third was leased by twenty-four-year-old Dekoda Mills, a former waitress, a former bartender, and a former dancer at places where men drool and women rule.
On the opposite side of the room were three antique white, single pedestal shampoo basins. Four hair dryers were situated on a third wall that separated the main part of the salon from the customer waiting area. In the nail room, which was located at the back next to the break room, were two manicure stations and three armchairs. For the comfort and privacy of Leann Wells’ and Cookie James’s customers, two plush, Italian designed pedicure stations with adjustable reclining seats and drop-in, self-cleaning basins resided in an alcove.
Liz took a seat at one of the shampoo basins and leaned her head back as Margie released the leg rest.
“We missed you last Saturday,” Margie said. “I believe it’s the first Saturday that I haven’t seen you in . . .”
“Seven years.”
“How was your trip to D.C.?”
“It was good. I had planned to get back Friday night so I wouldn’t miss my appointment, but my flight was cancelled at the last minute due to bad weather somewhere between Washington and Dallas.”
“Thanks for calling to let me know you wouldn’t be coming in. I wish all of our clients were as considerate. Didcha go visit some of your people?”
“No. Just a nice family that I’ve known for many years. A husband, a wife, and their two daughters. The girls are almost grown now. When they were little, they used to call me Miss Liz.”
“I’m sure they all love you,” Margie said, showing a toothy smile. “You have a way with women, young and old.”
“Humph. Too bad I wasn’t as good with the opposite sex.”
Margie shampooed, rinsed, and conditioned Liz’s hair, then escorted Liz to her styling chair.
* * *
Vivian Dewese’s husband came in to use the restroom. An elastic band held his black-framed, trifocals tightly to his head and face. Victimized by male pattern baldness, a few unusually long strands of hair on the right side of his head were combed over to the left side. Otherwise, the top of his head looked like a sun roof. His yellow and kale plaid beltless pants were pulled damn near up to his chest. Black argyle socks barely covered where his anklebones connected to his leg bones. The scent from the excessive amount of Old Spice he was wearing hung in the air.
Margie, Liz, Dorothy, and Dorothy’s walk-in client held their breaths and avoided looking at each other to stifle their snickering.
Moments later, Norbert and Vivian ambled out of the nail room. Five years into her sixties, plump, low breasted, sallow complexioned, and garbed in a loud red and yellow pants suit and a matching fanny pack around her waist, Vivian’s wide, yellow, Minnie Mouse looking orthopedic pumps had seen better days. Born and raised in a town in East Texas where cattle outnumbered people, and more familiar with Oscar Mayer than Oscar de La Renta, the small, tight curls in her cayenne pepper colored hair were just the way she liked them, although they didn’t flatter her at all.
“Vivian, your hair looks good.” Margie took a purposeful step forward to give Vivian a hug. But with her small frame, and barely standing five feet with her shoes on, she was unable to get her arms completely around Vivian’s waist and back. “We’ll see you in two weeks.”
“I’ll be here,” Vivian said, “if my arthritis ain’t acting up.”
Assaulting the senses of everyone who was in their path or in their direct line of sight, Vivian pulled up the elastic waistband of her all-you-can-eat pants and scratched an itch that appeared to reside somewhere between her anus and her small intestines.
Dear (Agent’s Name):
If making women laugh and think were Olympic events, seventy-four-year-old Liz McCall would win the gold. If she could change anything about her life, she’d change damn near everything.
WHEN HEARTS CRY OUT, a 79,000-word novel written for the commercial and women’s fiction markets, centers on an agnostic beauty salon denizen, the influence she has on the lives of saints and sinners, and the six things in life that are free.
Born in Mississippi, divorced from several well-heeled Texans, and a source of wit, wisdom, and imperious advice for the black and white staff and clients at the salon, Liz takes a special interest in Leah Starks, a twenty-six-year-old whose life has been burdened by abandonment issues and doubts about her self-worth. When Leah’s emotionally distant mother is killed in an automobile accident, her life changes for the better after Liz unravels a family secret that lies in the spelling of Leah’s name. With her health deteriorating, and estranged from all but the youngest of her six sons, Liz has to decide to whom she will bequeath her wealth—if, when, and how she should reveal the family secret she has kept for almost fifty years—and how she will want her epitaph to read.
The third of five sons of a Pentecostal preacher with a BBA from the University of Texas at Arlington, I’ve had a standing Saturday appointment with the same hairstylist for the past twenty-five years and a standing appointment every other Saturday with the same nail technician for the past fifteen years.
Some of life’s greatest lessons and best kept secrets can be learned at the beauty salon.
I appreciate your time and consideration.
Regards,
R. Battles
FIRST FOUR PAGES
August 1998
Standing near the receptionist’s station jacked on caffeine, Margie had watched Liz McCall circle the parking lot six times while hammering on her steering wheel and cussing with her windows rolled up.
“Mornin’ Liz. You doin’ okay?”
“Fair to middlin’.” Liz patted the sides of her hair, the color of which resembled an uncirculated silver dollar and stiff enough to withstand an F-2 tornado. “I swear . . . some of those fools must’ve gotten their driver’s license out of a box of Cracker Jacks.”
Parking usually wasn’t a problem, but a new Tuesday Morning store in the strip mall was conducting its grand opening.
“Why didn’t you take that spot?” Margie said, pointing to an empty parking place only a few feet from the salon.
Liz took a big Barney Fife-like sniff. “Do you really think I’d park my Cadillac next to that big old bucket that Vivian’s husband is driving?”
The familiar, black, 1968 Mercury Parklane Brougham had a faded, fourteen-year-old REAGAN-BUSH rear bumper sticker and looked like one of the cars Steve McGarrett drove on Hawaii Five-O.
“I understand. C’mon back,” Margie said in a rush. “We’re busy today. I’ve been running my ass off.”
“Dear, you ain’t got no ass, but I know whatcha meant.”
Possessing an average build, an eye for trendy apparel, a cultured, heavy-pitched voice, and a dowager’s hump attributed more to age than anything else, Liz’s striking blue eyes had faded to a smoky, bluish-gray as the years had gone by.
Teal, salmon, and beige wallpaper, a sandstone tiled floor, white antiques, art, and an assortment of bric-a-brac gave the salon a quaint, 19th century charm. Three hair styling stations eight feet apart lined one wall. Each station included a large, French Provençal commodore. One of the stations belonged to Margie. One was leased to Dorothy Curtis. The third was leased by twenty-four-year-old Dekoda Mills, a former waitress, a former bartender, and a former dancer at places where men drool and women rule.
On the opposite side of the room were three antique white, single pedestal shampoo basins. Four hair dryers were situated on a third wall that separated the main part of the salon from the customer waiting area. In the nail room, which was located at the back next to the break room, were two manicure stations and three armchairs. For the comfort and privacy of Leann Wells’ and Cookie James’s customers, two plush, Italian designed pedicure stations with adjustable reclining seats and drop-in, self-cleaning basins resided in an alcove.
Liz took a seat at one of the shampoo basins and leaned her head back as Margie released the leg rest.
“We missed you last Saturday,” Margie said. “I believe it’s the first Saturday that I haven’t seen you in . . .”
“Seven years.”
“How was your trip to D.C.?”
“It was good. I had planned to get back Friday night so I wouldn’t miss my appointment, but my flight was cancelled at the last minute due to bad weather somewhere between Washington and Dallas.”
“Thanks for calling to let me know you wouldn’t be coming in. I wish all of our clients were as considerate. Didcha go visit some of your people?”
“No. Just a nice family that I’ve known for many years. A husband, a wife, and their two daughters. The girls are almost grown now. When they were little, they used to call me Miss Liz.”
“I’m sure they all love you,” Margie said, showing a toothy smile. “You have a way with women, young and old.”
“Humph. Too bad I wasn’t as good with the opposite sex.”
Margie shampooed, rinsed, and conditioned Liz’s hair, then escorted Liz to her styling chair.
* * *
Vivian Dewese’s husband came in to use the restroom. An elastic band held his black-framed, trifocals tightly to his head and face. Victimized by male pattern baldness, a few unusually long strands of hair on the right side of his head were combed over to the left side. Otherwise, the top of his head looked like a sun roof. His yellow and kale plaid beltless pants were pulled damn near up to his chest. Black argyle socks barely covered where his anklebones connected to his leg bones. The scent from the excessive amount of Old Spice he was wearing hung in the air.
Margie, Liz, Dorothy, and Dorothy’s walk-in client held their breaths and avoided looking at each other to stifle their snickering.
Moments later, Norbert and Vivian ambled out of the nail room. Five years into her sixties, plump, low breasted, sallow complexioned, and garbed in a loud red and yellow pants suit and a matching fanny pack around her waist, Vivian’s wide, yellow, Minnie Mouse looking orthopedic pumps had seen better days. Born and raised in a town in East Texas where cattle outnumbered people, and more familiar with Oscar Mayer than Oscar de La Renta, the small, tight curls in her cayenne pepper colored hair were just the way she liked them, although they didn’t flatter her at all.
“Vivian, your hair looks good.” Margie took a purposeful step forward to give Vivian a hug. But with her small frame, and barely standing five feet with her shoes on, she was unable to get her arms completely around Vivian’s waist and back. “We’ll see you in two weeks.”
“I’ll be here,” Vivian said, “if my arthritis ain’t acting up.”
Assaulting the senses of everyone who was in their path or in their direct line of sight, Vivian pulled up the elastic waistband of her all-you-can-eat pants and scratched an itch that appeared to reside somewhere between her anus and her small intestines.
QUERY - BAGASTANA (Revision 1)
Click here to read the original query.
There is a huge grizzly bear in the bedroom.
Mina and Darwin don't have time to think much about this before they and the bear fall through the portal into another world, Bagastana, "the place of the gods," where the supernatural beings from all the world's mythologies live. Getting back home is going to be a challenge, even with Bear's grudgingly offered assistance. The only known portal back is far away; it is guarded by a powerful creature who calls himself “The Maker,” and he will kill Mina and Darwin if he discovers who they really are.
Along the way, the twins encounter shape-shifting animals who worship a deceitful tiger; they are kidnapped by giant ants, forced undercover by misogynist horses, nearly devoured by eagles, and asked to make a great sacrifice by evangelizing fish. Mina and Darwin begin to develop their own magical abilities, and as they grow in power and knowledge, they begin to understand why the Maker would want them dead. They also learn how the Maker imprisons some of those who challenge him in his Living Clay, where they are unable to see, hear, breathe, or die.
BAGASTANA is the story of two young people who, while trying to get home, discover who they really are. The story is multi-layered with deeper religious and political meanings, and this YA fantasy novel is complete at 73,000 words.
I was born and raised in suburban New Jersey, but I managed to escape. After attending Yale as an undergraduate and getting my Ph.D. in psychology from Rutgers, I taught in several different countries and cultures, many of which I've drawn on for this novel. I moved back to the U.S. in December.
There is a huge grizzly bear in the bedroom.
Mina and Darwin don't have time to think much about this before they and the bear fall through the portal into another world, Bagastana, "the place of the gods," where the supernatural beings from all the world's mythologies live. Getting back home is going to be a challenge, even with Bear's grudgingly offered assistance. The only known portal back is far away; it is guarded by a powerful creature who calls himself “The Maker,” and he will kill Mina and Darwin if he discovers who they really are.
Along the way, the twins encounter shape-shifting animals who worship a deceitful tiger; they are kidnapped by giant ants, forced undercover by misogynist horses, nearly devoured by eagles, and asked to make a great sacrifice by evangelizing fish. Mina and Darwin begin to develop their own magical abilities, and as they grow in power and knowledge, they begin to understand why the Maker would want them dead. They also learn how the Maker imprisons some of those who challenge him in his Living Clay, where they are unable to see, hear, breathe, or die.
BAGASTANA is the story of two young people who, while trying to get home, discover who they really are. The story is multi-layered with deeper religious and political meanings, and this YA fantasy novel is complete at 73,000 words.
I was born and raised in suburban New Jersey, but I managed to escape. After attending Yale as an undergraduate and getting my Ph.D. in psychology from Rutgers, I taught in several different countries and cultures, many of which I've drawn on for this novel. I moved back to the U.S. in December.
Mar 20, 2009
Query - shadowland (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
(Personalized comments to the agent…) shadowland, is a young adult urban fantasy.
Tian, the new guy in school, is fascinated by the way Jordan’s eyes change color with her emotions—something only he can see. And Jordan barely notices her mind translating his words when Tian speaks the ancient language of his birth. As their relationship deepens Jordan learns that Tian is a knight from Annwn, the otherworld of Celtic mythology, who has come to stop the increasingly frequent attacks on mortals by the dark ones, evil creatures from his realm.
A supernatural storm on Samhain Eve opens the way for Jordan to enter Tian’s world, and while on the other side impulsive declarations of love magically bind them. As Jordan’s life becomes more intertwined with Tian and his world they become the focus of attacks by the dark ones, particularly one powerful creature that stalks them in both realms. It is part animal, part human, able to change not just form but gender—and she has murder on her mind.
(Personalized comments to the agent…) shadowland, is a young adult urban fantasy.
Tian, the new guy in school, is fascinated by the way Jordan’s eyes change color with her emotions—something only he can see. And Jordan barely notices her mind translating his words when Tian speaks the ancient language of his birth. As their relationship deepens Jordan learns that Tian is a knight from Annwn, the otherworld of Celtic mythology, who has come to stop the increasingly frequent attacks on mortals by the dark ones, evil creatures from his realm.
A supernatural storm on Samhain Eve opens the way for Jordan to enter Tian’s world, and while on the other side impulsive declarations of love magically bind them. As Jordan’s life becomes more intertwined with Tian and his world they become the focus of attacks by the dark ones, particularly one powerful creature that stalks them in both realms. It is part animal, part human, able to change not just form but gender—and she has murder on her mind.
Query - Just Maybe (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Mr./Ms. Agent,
Lisa is caught between two worlds.
Outside her front door she’s just an average teenager doing her best to get through high school. Inside her house, it’s more old world Asia than modern America.
Lisa is exactly what any first generation Asian American family would expect from their only child. She’s good in school, respectful to her elders and most of all, obedient. Her priorities were handed to her when she was born and ever since her mother’s death, everything she’s done has been for her family. When everyone’s happy, she’s happy. Or so she thought.
No one understood her life, except her best friend Samantha. Despite their cultural differences, Sam was always there to listen. After Sam is involved in a devastating accident, it became Lisa’s turn to listen.
She heard more than she expected.
As Sam’s recovery progresses, Lisa finds her friend is not the only one she’s supporting. Sam’s brother Tony, home for a semester off from college, is in need of someone to talk to. That someone turns out to be Lisa. What begins as a friendship verges on more and when Tony shows Lisa a glimpse of what life could be, she begins to question everything she’s ever known. For the first time, she feels like she’s living her life for herself.
When Tony goes back to school and an unexpected family move arises, Lisa’s forced to let go of the little bit of a life she’s found. She reverts back to being the daughter her father always expected. When Tony surprises her with a visit and reminds her of what life should be Lisa wonders, can she be happy and still live up to all her family’s expectations?
Just Maybe is a young adult novel and stands complete at approximately 89,000 words. I’d be happy to provide a partial or complete manuscript for further review. Thank you for your consideration.
Dear Mr./Ms. Agent,
Lisa is caught between two worlds.
Outside her front door she’s just an average teenager doing her best to get through high school. Inside her house, it’s more old world Asia than modern America.
Lisa is exactly what any first generation Asian American family would expect from their only child. She’s good in school, respectful to her elders and most of all, obedient. Her priorities were handed to her when she was born and ever since her mother’s death, everything she’s done has been for her family. When everyone’s happy, she’s happy. Or so she thought.
No one understood her life, except her best friend Samantha. Despite their cultural differences, Sam was always there to listen. After Sam is involved in a devastating accident, it became Lisa’s turn to listen.
She heard more than she expected.
As Sam’s recovery progresses, Lisa finds her friend is not the only one she’s supporting. Sam’s brother Tony, home for a semester off from college, is in need of someone to talk to. That someone turns out to be Lisa. What begins as a friendship verges on more and when Tony shows Lisa a glimpse of what life could be, she begins to question everything she’s ever known. For the first time, she feels like she’s living her life for herself.
When Tony goes back to school and an unexpected family move arises, Lisa’s forced to let go of the little bit of a life she’s found. She reverts back to being the daughter her father always expected. When Tony surprises her with a visit and reminds her of what life should be Lisa wonders, can she be happy and still live up to all her family’s expectations?
Just Maybe is a young adult novel and stands complete at approximately 89,000 words. I’d be happy to provide a partial or complete manuscript for further review. Thank you for your consideration.
QUERY: AMELIA'S MONSTERS (Revised)
Click Here to read the original query.
Dear X,
Since she was twelve, Amelia’s nights have been plagued with visits from monsters. Each night they would terrorize her through the darkness of her closet, calling her Amelie and telling her that they’ve been waiting for her. No matter how many times she turned them away, they would return, angrier and more violent than before. And they followed her no matter where she went.
Now fourteen, Amelia is getting a fresh start in a brand new home in a gated community. Sadly, not even the gates can protect Amelia from her deepest fears. When her cousin Lily comes to visit, the monsters return and steal Lily in the middle of the night. With Lily’s life in danger, Amelia must face her fears and enter the monsters’ world to rescue her cousin. But with each step into their world, Amelia discovers a tangled past that connects her to their world and the one they call Amelie.
AMELIA’S MONSTERS is a 90,000 word young adult fantasy.
Dear X,
Since she was twelve, Amelia’s nights have been plagued with visits from monsters. Each night they would terrorize her through the darkness of her closet, calling her Amelie and telling her that they’ve been waiting for her. No matter how many times she turned them away, they would return, angrier and more violent than before. And they followed her no matter where she went.
Now fourteen, Amelia is getting a fresh start in a brand new home in a gated community. Sadly, not even the gates can protect Amelia from her deepest fears. When her cousin Lily comes to visit, the monsters return and steal Lily in the middle of the night. With Lily’s life in danger, Amelia must face her fears and enter the monsters’ world to rescue her cousin. But with each step into their world, Amelia discovers a tangled past that connects her to their world and the one they call Amelie.
AMELIA’S MONSTERS is a 90,000 word young adult fantasy.
Mar 19, 2009
You...the guy who started this site, where is your query?
Well, I'm glad you asked, actually. I am not above shameless self-promotion.
I have two queries posted, FATE'S GUARDIAN and THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT.
FATE'S GUARDIAN was the first query posted on this site. It's a supernatural thriller about a man whose soul is in danger, and the only way he can save it is to die. The query that is posted got a request for partial, but it was rejected. I did get some very useful feedback, after some polite and professional groveling, and now I'm revising the manuscript (again). The sample pages posted here are the revision, not what I queried with at that time.
THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT is a manuscript for a picture book. I don't do illustrations, but it's a cute story about manners (or lack thereof) inspired by my two sons.
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I have two queries posted, FATE'S GUARDIAN and THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT.
FATE'S GUARDIAN was the first query posted on this site. It's a supernatural thriller about a man whose soul is in danger, and the only way he can save it is to die. The query that is posted got a request for partial, but it was rejected. I did get some very useful feedback, after some polite and professional groveling, and now I'm revising the manuscript (again). The sample pages posted here are the revision, not what I queried with at that time.
THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT is a manuscript for a picture book. I don't do illustrations, but it's a cute story about manners (or lack thereof) inspired by my two sons.
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Will you delete a comment from my query post?
I reserve the right to delete any comments from any posts for any reason.
OK, the power trip is over. That was kind of fun. But that being said, the only comments I foresee myself deleting are those that are demeaning and without any respectful tone or constructive criticism. This is a forum for professional writers. You can (and should) act in a professional manner, even if you are not yet published.
If criticism is pointed, but still done in a manner that promotes improvement, I will probably let if fly. If something is downright mean or defacing, it's gone.
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OK, the power trip is over. That was kind of fun. But that being said, the only comments I foresee myself deleting are those that are demeaning and without any respectful tone or constructive criticism. This is a forum for professional writers. You can (and should) act in a professional manner, even if you are not yet published.
If criticism is pointed, but still done in a manner that promotes improvement, I will probably let if fly. If something is downright mean or defacing, it's gone.
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Query - shadowland
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
(Personalized comments to the agent…) shadowland, is an urban fantasy, YA with paranormal tendencies.
Tian, the new guy in school, is fascinated by the way Jordan’s eyes change color with her emotions—something only he can see. And Jordan barely notices her mind translating his words when Tian speaks the ancient language of his birth. As their relationship deepens Jordan learns that Tian is a knight from Annwn, the otherworld of Celtic mythology, who has come to stop the increasingly frequent attacks on mortals by the dark ones, evil creatures from his realm.
When Jordan impulsively says “I love you” to Tian the moment is magic, literally; she doesn’t realize she’s left the familiar forest near her home and crossed into another realm. When Tian says he loves her, too, falling leaves spiral around the young couple’s joined hands as the watching trees unite them in a handfasting ceremony. Tian and Jordan don’t immediately grasp the significance—they find out they are all but married only when Tian’s mother sees gold light circling their wrists and asks when they did it. They already planned to marry, so as far as Jordan and Tian are concerned this simplifies everything.
Tian’s father, the Lord of Annwn, doesn’t approve of his son marrying a mortal but reluctantly realizes it isn’t his decision to make. As Jordan’s life becomes more intertwined with Tian and his world, they become the focus of attacks from the dark ones, particularly one powerful creature that stalks them in both realms. It is part animal, part human, able to change not just form but gender—and she has murder on her mind.
(Personalized comments to the agent…) shadowland, is an urban fantasy, YA with paranormal tendencies.
Tian, the new guy in school, is fascinated by the way Jordan’s eyes change color with her emotions—something only he can see. And Jordan barely notices her mind translating his words when Tian speaks the ancient language of his birth. As their relationship deepens Jordan learns that Tian is a knight from Annwn, the otherworld of Celtic mythology, who has come to stop the increasingly frequent attacks on mortals by the dark ones, evil creatures from his realm.
When Jordan impulsively says “I love you” to Tian the moment is magic, literally; she doesn’t realize she’s left the familiar forest near her home and crossed into another realm. When Tian says he loves her, too, falling leaves spiral around the young couple’s joined hands as the watching trees unite them in a handfasting ceremony. Tian and Jordan don’t immediately grasp the significance—they find out they are all but married only when Tian’s mother sees gold light circling their wrists and asks when they did it. They already planned to marry, so as far as Jordan and Tian are concerned this simplifies everything.
Tian’s father, the Lord of Annwn, doesn’t approve of his son marrying a mortal but reluctantly realizes it isn’t his decision to make. As Jordan’s life becomes more intertwined with Tian and his world, they become the focus of attacks from the dark ones, particularly one powerful creature that stalks them in both realms. It is part animal, part human, able to change not just form but gender—and she has murder on her mind.
YA Fantasy: The Mansion
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
There's a statue in the gardens that used to be a girl.
When six teenagers learn that their parents participated in a dangerous experiment before they were born, the news is life-changing. But the experiment isn't over, and now these 16-year olds must live in a creepy mansion for a year, to undergo observation. They aren't sure who is observing them or why, but when Ward and Quita start sharing visions, and the voices in Sami's head keep leading her to strange diary pages, they know that something huge is going on. Between rescuing a girl that's somehow been turned to stone, and trying to figure out why they all seem to have special abilities, these six teenagers try to deal with life and high school when everyone around them is keeping secrets.
The Mansion vol. I: The Experiment is a 55,000 word YA Fantasy. It is the first in a 3-5 book series. The original rough draft was published one chapter at a time as a Sims 2 story. It was voted Featured Under Rated Story and also became Featured Story (for multiple chapters, as determined by reader ratings at thesims2.com). A series of Sims 2 machinima were created as a result of winning The Make My Movie Contest run by GospelSims.com. All of the videos are available on youtube, if you're interested in seeing them, though the current manuscript has changed a lot. I do want to point you to one of the promo videos that she did. It's about a minute long without the end credits and does a really wonderful job of capturing the feel of the book. It is here (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D39suMxt9KM&feature=channel_page in case the link doesn't work).
Full manuscript, synopsis, and outlines of further novels in the series are available upon request. Thank you for your consideration.
There's a statue in the gardens that used to be a girl.
When six teenagers learn that their parents participated in a dangerous experiment before they were born, the news is life-changing. But the experiment isn't over, and now these 16-year olds must live in a creepy mansion for a year, to undergo observation. They aren't sure who is observing them or why, but when Ward and Quita start sharing visions, and the voices in Sami's head keep leading her to strange diary pages, they know that something huge is going on. Between rescuing a girl that's somehow been turned to stone, and trying to figure out why they all seem to have special abilities, these six teenagers try to deal with life and high school when everyone around them is keeping secrets.
The Mansion vol. I: The Experiment is a 55,000 word YA Fantasy. It is the first in a 3-5 book series. The original rough draft was published one chapter at a time as a Sims 2 story. It was voted Featured Under Rated Story and also became Featured Story (for multiple chapters, as determined by reader ratings at thesims2.com). A series of Sims 2 machinima were created as a result of winning The Make My Movie Contest run by GospelSims.com. All of the videos are available on youtube, if you're interested in seeing them, though the current manuscript has changed a lot. I do want to point you to one of the promo videos that she did. It's about a minute long without the end credits and does a really wonderful job of capturing the feel of the book. It is here (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D39suMxt9KM&feature=channel_page in case the link doesn't work).
Full manuscript, synopsis, and outlines of further novels in the series are available upon request. Thank you for your consideration.
Do you limit the number of queries you post?
I've had several people ask me if I plan to limit posts to once per day, or put some other volume control policy in place. The concern is that many of you want to read and comment on every query, and fear that you won't be able to keep up.
For now, I don't plan to limit the posting. When I get a submission, I post it as soon as I see it and can get it up there. I read most of them, but I admit there are a few that I just posted and didn't read because I had several at once and just wanted to get them up on the site. I want to comment on all of them, too, but I've only been able to comment on about half of them so far.
I do read all of the comments, and in blogger I can see all of the posts and number of comments per post. So far every post has comments. If any queries go a couple days with no comments, I will put up a special post with links to those queries to call special attention to them.
The reason I want to do it this way is to provide everyone with a chance to get their query online, and to minimize the queue. I've submitted to other query review sites where there is a single reviewer, and I have waited days for posting / feedback on some, weeks on some, and I am still waiting on others (read: I have given up hope on others). No fault to the people who tend to those sites...Until the earth's rotation slows and we get 30 hours days, we will have to deal with the constraints of the 24-hour clock as it relates to families, day jobs, other hobbies, etc.
Most of us play the waiting game a lot...waiting for responses to queries, responses to manuscript submissions, etc. My hope is that this site will not be another line to wait in.
One thing that makes this work is the basic format. I post the queries, but there are 50 followers to the site and a couple hundred unique visitors per day (thanks mainly to a mention by Nathan Bransford on his blog). No one person can shoulder the burden of commenting on every post, but as a group we can take care of each other.
If this system starts to fail, trust me, I am resourceful and I will find a way to fix it!
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For now, I don't plan to limit the posting. When I get a submission, I post it as soon as I see it and can get it up there. I read most of them, but I admit there are a few that I just posted and didn't read because I had several at once and just wanted to get them up on the site. I want to comment on all of them, too, but I've only been able to comment on about half of them so far.
I do read all of the comments, and in blogger I can see all of the posts and number of comments per post. So far every post has comments. If any queries go a couple days with no comments, I will put up a special post with links to those queries to call special attention to them.
The reason I want to do it this way is to provide everyone with a chance to get their query online, and to minimize the queue. I've submitted to other query review sites where there is a single reviewer, and I have waited days for posting / feedback on some, weeks on some, and I am still waiting on others (read: I have given up hope on others). No fault to the people who tend to those sites...Until the earth's rotation slows and we get 30 hours days, we will have to deal with the constraints of the 24-hour clock as it relates to families, day jobs, other hobbies, etc.
Most of us play the waiting game a lot...waiting for responses to queries, responses to manuscript submissions, etc. My hope is that this site will not be another line to wait in.
One thing that makes this work is the basic format. I post the queries, but there are 50 followers to the site and a couple hundred unique visitors per day (thanks mainly to a mention by Nathan Bransford on his blog). No one person can shoulder the burden of commenting on every post, but as a group we can take care of each other.
If this system starts to fail, trust me, I am resourceful and I will find a way to fix it!
#
QUERY - JULIE’S JUXTAPOSITION (Revised)
Click to Read the Original Query
Dear Agent { },
Julie Mc Nally has a lot to learn about being a cop. She is the rookie detective with the Pittsburgh P.D. when she is sent as liaison to assist with the nearby Bradford P.D., where she is paired with Michael Nolan. When they are assigned to the embezzlement case against Bradford’s former mayor, they discover he was part of a highly classified government program. The ‘Crowe Project’ is such a guarded secret that those involved are willing to commit murder to avoid exposure.
My 70,000-word suspense/thriller, JULIE’S JUXTAPOSITION, is the story of overcoming obstacles, asking for forgiveness, and falling in love. It has a strong female protagonist, a ruthless and terrifying villain, and a progression of disturbing setbacks that culminate to an uncompromising ending.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Dear Agent { },
Julie Mc Nally has a lot to learn about being a cop. She is the rookie detective with the Pittsburgh P.D. when she is sent as liaison to assist with the nearby Bradford P.D., where she is paired with Michael Nolan. When they are assigned to the embezzlement case against Bradford’s former mayor, they discover he was part of a highly classified government program. The ‘Crowe Project’ is such a guarded secret that those involved are willing to commit murder to avoid exposure.
My 70,000-word suspense/thriller, JULIE’S JUXTAPOSITION, is the story of overcoming obstacles, asking for forgiveness, and falling in love. It has a strong female protagonist, a ruthless and terrifying villain, and a progression of disturbing setbacks that culminate to an uncompromising ending.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
QUERY: DEATH AND ME
Dear Agent,
Death follows Charlotte—literally. When Charlotte was twelve, an intoxicated Death accidentally took her parents instead of another couple in a car crash. Due to his negligence, Death has been sentenced to be Charlotte’s temporary guardian till she finds a permanent home. Responsibility, though, isn’t Death’s top priorities. Instead of finding her a new home, he uses Charlotte as way to scam and steal from others to fuel his gambling, smoking, and drinking habits. With each bad deed, the ever impressionably, enthusiastic, and indecisive Charlotte finds it harder and harder to find her place in an adoptive family.
But just when Death begins to grow attached to Charlotte and feel responsible for her, a family wishes to tear their friendship apart when they begin to turn Charlotte against Death. When the family frames Death for a crime and Charlotte believes it, Death knows that Charlotte’s soon-to-be family is not who they seem to be at all. In a race against time, Death must clear his name and win Charlotte back before she is lost forever.
DEATH AND ME is a quirky 55,000 word novella.
Sincerly,
"E.Reliant" (fake name.)
Guess the Genre.
Death follows Charlotte—literally. When Charlotte was twelve, an intoxicated Death accidentally took her parents instead of another couple in a car crash. Due to his negligence, Death has been sentenced to be Charlotte’s temporary guardian till she finds a permanent home. Responsibility, though, isn’t Death’s top priorities. Instead of finding her a new home, he uses Charlotte as way to scam and steal from others to fuel his gambling, smoking, and drinking habits. With each bad deed, the ever impressionably, enthusiastic, and indecisive Charlotte finds it harder and harder to find her place in an adoptive family.
But just when Death begins to grow attached to Charlotte and feel responsible for her, a family wishes to tear their friendship apart when they begin to turn Charlotte against Death. When the family frames Death for a crime and Charlotte believes it, Death knows that Charlotte’s soon-to-be family is not who they seem to be at all. In a race against time, Death must clear his name and win Charlotte back before she is lost forever.
DEATH AND ME is a quirky 55,000 word novella.
Sincerly,
"E.Reliant" (fake name.)
Guess the Genre.
Mar 18, 2009
Got Questions?
No, this isn't a query, just a note from your friendly neighborhood Slushpile Administrator.
Here are some things I will do in the near future to enhance the site. By "the near future" I mean "when I have time," and by that I mean "sometime between right now and never."
- When revisions are posted, I will include a link to the original query, and likewise I'll add a link to the revision on the original query.
- On the sidebar, I will add in links to Agent Blogs, and Editor Blogs, Query Tips (may include specific posts from Agent/Editor blogs as well as my own input and submissions from you fine folks), and last but not least, Writer's Resources
- I will expand the site FAQ's
Now, specifically in regard to the latter most item, I need your input. What questions do you have? Particularly about the site, but if you want to ask about life, the universe and everything, I'll respond (NOTE: the answer is 42).
Submit your questions, suggestions for links, and query tips in the comments to this post.
#
Here are some things I will do in the near future to enhance the site. By "the near future" I mean "when I have time," and by that I mean "sometime between right now and never."
- When revisions are posted, I will include a link to the original query, and likewise I'll add a link to the revision on the original query.
- On the sidebar, I will add in links to Agent Blogs, and Editor Blogs, Query Tips (may include specific posts from Agent/Editor blogs as well as my own input and submissions from you fine folks), and last but not least, Writer's Resources
- I will expand the site FAQ's
Now, specifically in regard to the latter most item, I need your input. What questions do you have? Particularly about the site, but if you want to ask about life, the universe and everything, I'll respond (NOTE: the answer is 42).
Submit your questions, suggestions for links, and query tips in the comments to this post.
#
Query: Just Maybe
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Dear Mr./Ms. Agent,
I am caught between two worlds.
Outside my front door I’m just a high school student, doing my best not to flunk out of Physics. Inside my house, it’s more old world Asia than modern America.
My priorities were handed to me when I was born. Everything I’ve ever done has been for my family. When everyone’s happy, I’m happy. Or so I thought.
No one understood my life, except my best friend Sam. She always listened to me. Until her accident. Then it was my turn to listen.
I heard more than I expected.
In JUST MAYBE Lisa is exactly what any first generation Asian American family would expect from their only child. She’s good in school, respectful to her elders and most of all, obedient. Since her mother died, everything she’s done has been for her family.
After her best friend Samantha is involved in a devastating accident and turns to Lisa for support, she finds her friend is not the only one she’s supporting. As her closest friend’s recovery progresses, Lisa stumbles into something she never expected and begins to question everything she’s ever known. Can she take this chance to discover what life can really be or will she succumb to her family’s expectations?
JUST MAYBE is my first novel and stands complete at approximately 89,000 words. I’d be happy to provide a partial or complete manuscript for further review. Thank you for your consideration.
Dear Mr./Ms. Agent,
I am caught between two worlds.
Outside my front door I’m just a high school student, doing my best not to flunk out of Physics. Inside my house, it’s more old world Asia than modern America.
My priorities were handed to me when I was born. Everything I’ve ever done has been for my family. When everyone’s happy, I’m happy. Or so I thought.
No one understood my life, except my best friend Sam. She always listened to me. Until her accident. Then it was my turn to listen.
I heard more than I expected.
In JUST MAYBE Lisa is exactly what any first generation Asian American family would expect from their only child. She’s good in school, respectful to her elders and most of all, obedient. Since her mother died, everything she’s done has been for her family.
After her best friend Samantha is involved in a devastating accident and turns to Lisa for support, she finds her friend is not the only one she’s supporting. As her closest friend’s recovery progresses, Lisa stumbles into something she never expected and begins to question everything she’s ever known. Can she take this chance to discover what life can really be or will she succumb to her family’s expectations?
JUST MAYBE is my first novel and stands complete at approximately 89,000 words. I’d be happy to provide a partial or complete manuscript for further review. Thank you for your consideration.
Query - Dreaming Dark
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Meredith is convinced she's a normal seventeen year-old, until dark, terrifying, and unbearably beautiful Eirich moves into her nothern Ontario town.
The problem with Eirich's arrival is that whenever they touch - which isn't nearly as often as Meredith would like - he fills her with a strange and tempting feeling of power. Meredith can't even figure out why she gets these feelings, let alone explain them to anyone. So when her best friend Ally falls hard for Eirich, Meredith decides it would be best to stay away from both of them, choosing to spend time at her sister Val's old hangout rather than admitting that something really, really strange is happening.
But something really strange is happening and the new hangout makes it stranger. The cottage that Meredith thought belonged to Val's friend actually belongs to Meredith, and it was left to her by her mother with the promise that it comes with magical protection. Meredith learns that she's so far from normal, she's supernatural: the last member of an ancient race with the power to control and create dreams. Worse, Eirich needs Meredith's powers to revive his own ancient race, the dark counterpart to Meredith's, and he's kidnapped Ally to get to her.
So Meredith is left with a choice: does she preserve the dreams of mankind and, more importantly, rescue her best friend, or does she succumb to the beautiful Eirich and fill herself with the power she's always longed for?
DREAMING DARK is a work of YA urban fantasy, complete at 57 000 words.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Meredith is convinced she's a normal seventeen year-old, until dark, terrifying, and unbearably beautiful Eirich moves into her nothern Ontario town.
The problem with Eirich's arrival is that whenever they touch - which isn't nearly as often as Meredith would like - he fills her with a strange and tempting feeling of power. Meredith can't even figure out why she gets these feelings, let alone explain them to anyone. So when her best friend Ally falls hard for Eirich, Meredith decides it would be best to stay away from both of them, choosing to spend time at her sister Val's old hangout rather than admitting that something really, really strange is happening.
But something really strange is happening and the new hangout makes it stranger. The cottage that Meredith thought belonged to Val's friend actually belongs to Meredith, and it was left to her by her mother with the promise that it comes with magical protection. Meredith learns that she's so far from normal, she's supernatural: the last member of an ancient race with the power to control and create dreams. Worse, Eirich needs Meredith's powers to revive his own ancient race, the dark counterpart to Meredith's, and he's kidnapped Ally to get to her.
So Meredith is left with a choice: does she preserve the dreams of mankind and, more importantly, rescue her best friend, or does she succumb to the beautiful Eirich and fill herself with the power she's always longed for?
DREAMING DARK is a work of YA urban fantasy, complete at 57 000 words.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
QUERY - JULIE’S JUXTAPOSITION
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Julie Mc Nally has a lot to learn about being a cop in a predominately male world of police enforcement. She is the rookie detective with the Pittsburgh P.D. partnering with seasoned Detective Ross Maddox. When a kidnapped seven-year-old boy is accidentally killed in a police shootout, the entire community anxiously awaits the outcome of the evidence findings. Had this young boy died at the hand of Julie or her wounded partner Ross Maddox? Julie, herself, is unsure of the answer. When Maddox dies, most of the cops believe it was Julie’s bullet that killed the boy, and they intend to make life difficult for her.
Since none of the other detectives are willing to partner with her, Julie is challenged to bring in suspects single-handedly. And, her requests for backup are mostly ignored. Each day Julie must face the mounting pressure that she cannot trust or depend on her fellow cops. The situation comes to a breaking point when she is asked to assist in an interrogation. She is left alone with the suspect who attacks her, as her fellow detectives watch from the two-sided mirror.
To make matters worse, Julie finds her attorney boyfriend, Nick Falco, in bed with one of his clients. This looks like the right time to get out of town for Julie.
Her requests for transfer are denied, but she is assigned to assist with the nearby Bradford P.D., where she is paired with Michael Nolan, the town’s most sought after male. Working together they manage to catch thieves, burglars, and even nudists. The department nicknames them ‘Hot & Spicy’. They learn to trust and depend on each other.
When they are assigned to the embezzlement case against Bradford’s former mayor, they discover he was part of a highly classified government program. The ‘Crowe Project’ is such a guarded secret that those involved are willing to commit murder to avoid exposure. The investigation takes Julie and Michael to Las Vegas where they are aided by Michael’s police academy friend, Josh Kelly, and a stripper named Roxy, who is we learn is Michael’s estranged wife.
My 70,000-word womens' fiction titled JULIE’S JUXTAPOSITION, explores just how strong and resourceful a woman must be in a predominately male world of police departments.
I am in the Information Technology field and have authored procedural/technical white papers. If you would like to consider JULIE'S JUXTAPOSITION, I'd be happy to forward the complete manuscript to you.
Sincerely,
Julie Mc Nally has a lot to learn about being a cop in a predominately male world of police enforcement. She is the rookie detective with the Pittsburgh P.D. partnering with seasoned Detective Ross Maddox. When a kidnapped seven-year-old boy is accidentally killed in a police shootout, the entire community anxiously awaits the outcome of the evidence findings. Had this young boy died at the hand of Julie or her wounded partner Ross Maddox? Julie, herself, is unsure of the answer. When Maddox dies, most of the cops believe it was Julie’s bullet that killed the boy, and they intend to make life difficult for her.
Since none of the other detectives are willing to partner with her, Julie is challenged to bring in suspects single-handedly. And, her requests for backup are mostly ignored. Each day Julie must face the mounting pressure that she cannot trust or depend on her fellow cops. The situation comes to a breaking point when she is asked to assist in an interrogation. She is left alone with the suspect who attacks her, as her fellow detectives watch from the two-sided mirror.
To make matters worse, Julie finds her attorney boyfriend, Nick Falco, in bed with one of his clients. This looks like the right time to get out of town for Julie.
Her requests for transfer are denied, but she is assigned to assist with the nearby Bradford P.D., where she is paired with Michael Nolan, the town’s most sought after male. Working together they manage to catch thieves, burglars, and even nudists. The department nicknames them ‘Hot & Spicy’. They learn to trust and depend on each other.
When they are assigned to the embezzlement case against Bradford’s former mayor, they discover he was part of a highly classified government program. The ‘Crowe Project’ is such a guarded secret that those involved are willing to commit murder to avoid exposure. The investigation takes Julie and Michael to Las Vegas where they are aided by Michael’s police academy friend, Josh Kelly, and a stripper named Roxy, who is we learn is Michael’s estranged wife.
My 70,000-word womens' fiction titled JULIE’S JUXTAPOSITION, explores just how strong and resourceful a woman must be in a predominately male world of police departments.
I am in the Information Technology field and have authored procedural/technical white papers. If you would like to consider JULIE'S JUXTAPOSITION, I'd be happy to forward the complete manuscript to you.
Sincerely,
QUERY: AMELIA'S MONSTERS
A revision has been posted, click here to read it.
Dear X,
Since she was twelve, Amelia’s nights have been plagued with visits from monsters who lurk in her closet and try to lure her away from the safety of her bed, calling her Amelie and saying that they have been searching for her, waiting for her return. Two years later, at the request of her therapist, her and her family—along with her adopted cousin, Lily—are moving for a third time.
With a fresh start in a brand new home in a gated community, Amelia hopes that all her fears and problems will go away. But when the monster returns one night and takes Lily away, Amelia must face her fear of the dark and enter the monster’s world to rescue Lily, all along the way discovering a tangled past and an unresolved fight between a great hero—Jeanette—and the Monster King that connects her to their world and the one they call Amelie.
AMELIA’S MONSTERS is a 90,000 word young adult fantasy that explores the rationalities and irrationalities of our fears and how we can overcome them to save and protect the ones we love.
Dear X,
Since she was twelve, Amelia’s nights have been plagued with visits from monsters who lurk in her closet and try to lure her away from the safety of her bed, calling her Amelie and saying that they have been searching for her, waiting for her return. Two years later, at the request of her therapist, her and her family—along with her adopted cousin, Lily—are moving for a third time.
With a fresh start in a brand new home in a gated community, Amelia hopes that all her fears and problems will go away. But when the monster returns one night and takes Lily away, Amelia must face her fear of the dark and enter the monster’s world to rescue Lily, all along the way discovering a tangled past and an unresolved fight between a great hero—Jeanette—and the Monster King that connects her to their world and the one they call Amelie.
AMELIA’S MONSTERS is a 90,000 word young adult fantasy that explores the rationalities and irrationalities of our fears and how we can overcome them to save and protect the ones we love.
Mar 17, 2009
Query- YA Urban Fantasy
17-year-old Drew Donovan has an absolutely perfect, not-at-all-dangerous plan for her last real summer vacation (library job, reality show marathons, rinse, repeat). Her plan does not include working at Wylde Lake summer camp (as Drew’s pretty sure the forest gives her hives), nor does it include getting caught in the boys’ bathroom on her very first day by the hot-camp-boy-perfection that is Liam Walsh. And in no way does her plan include being chased across camp by a giant black dog that can make people disappear.
But Wylde Lake doesn't only have monsters. When Drew finds a pixie in her cabin, mermaids at the lake, and fairies in the forest, she starts to think that all of the Faerie Tales her dad told her when she was little might just be true, and that Liam, who seems to know all about this Faerie world, may actually be one of them. When Drew and Liam realize that all of the monsters coming out of the forest are actually coming for her, Drew decides to follow the clues of an ancient Alfar prophecy to stop the darkness from taking over the Fae, and save Liam from the darkness within himself, even if, as the prophecy predicts, she’ll have to give her life for his.
But Wylde Lake doesn't only have monsters. When Drew finds a pixie in her cabin, mermaids at the lake, and fairies in the forest, she starts to think that all of the Faerie Tales her dad told her when she was little might just be true, and that Liam, who seems to know all about this Faerie world, may actually be one of them. When Drew and Liam realize that all of the monsters coming out of the forest are actually coming for her, Drew decides to follow the clues of an ancient Alfar prophecy to stop the darkness from taking over the Fae, and save Liam from the darkness within himself, even if, as the prophecy predicts, she’ll have to give her life for his.
Mar 16, 2009
Query: KRELIS (Revision 1)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Agent,
Once every hundred years, Comet Orel blazes across the sky, calling to the heavens the souls of deceased dragons. During this time, an opportunity opens to imbue dragon stones with the souls, creating powerful talismans. Krelis and six wizards embark on a journey to collect the elusive dragon stones, which are formed from the hearts of dragons, but the power they yield proves to be too enticing, corrupting one of their own.
Krelis’ innate, magical ability earns him an apprenticeship with the great wizard, Antigonus. He lives in the conservatory on a small remote island where he practices the art with his friends. His life is simple, free from the conflicts that plague rest of Known World.
All of this changes when his mentor brings Krelis and his friends together to reveal the real reason for their selection; a dream of everlasting peace between the races of Known World that can only become a reality with the power of the dragon stones.
Krelis and his peers leave their home and undertake the quest filled with danger and ultimately…betrayal.
KRELIS is an 80,000 word, young adult fantasy.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to your response.
Sincerely,
Dear Agent,
Once every hundred years, Comet Orel blazes across the sky, calling to the heavens the souls of deceased dragons. During this time, an opportunity opens to imbue dragon stones with the souls, creating powerful talismans. Krelis and six wizards embark on a journey to collect the elusive dragon stones, which are formed from the hearts of dragons, but the power they yield proves to be too enticing, corrupting one of their own.
Krelis’ innate, magical ability earns him an apprenticeship with the great wizard, Antigonus. He lives in the conservatory on a small remote island where he practices the art with his friends. His life is simple, free from the conflicts that plague rest of Known World.
All of this changes when his mentor brings Krelis and his friends together to reveal the real reason for their selection; a dream of everlasting peace between the races of Known World that can only become a reality with the power of the dragon stones.
Krelis and his peers leave their home and undertake the quest filled with danger and ultimately…betrayal.
KRELIS is an 80,000 word, young adult fantasy.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to your response.
Sincerely,
Query for Love.com
Dear Agent:
Marsha Underwood is one of those people who actually can sell iceboxes to Eskimos. So it’s logical that she is recruited as Director of Marketing for the San Francisco based Internet dating service startup, LOVE.COM. The startup’s founder, Paul Latimer, has loved Marsha for her strength and beauty for more than ten years since their college days, but Marsha doesn’t consider Paul to be marriage material. Paul is desperate to win the approval of his own powerful but remote father as well as Marsha’s affection. Love.com becomes the vehicle for both of his desires. Paul also recruits Marsha’s father, the noted relationship expert Dr. John Underwood to develop matching protocols. The company becomes an overnight sensation after adopting Marsha’s novel pricing strategy: allow subscribers unlimited use of the site for free, and charge them only after a successful match is made. But such a pricing strategy proves an irresistible temptation for Paul to tinker with Mother Nature. Of course, he can’t let Marsha or her father in on the plot. They wouldn’t understand. They have morals.
A slick advertising campaign and the Company’s controversial ‘Soulmate Strategy’ isn’t enough to account for the Company’s success. Soon, subscribers begin marrying in numbers far greater than anyone can fathom. When Marsha and her father question why, danger and death are right behind. With Love.com now a worldwide phenomenon, Marsha is afraid for her life from the man who purports to love her. Will Marsha save her own life, discover the secrets of Love.com and perhaps even find her own soulmate?
LOVE.COM is a romantic suspense complete at 99,000 words. It will be of particular interest to the millions of women and men who have dabbled with Internet dating (we all know at least one). It is the first work I have submitted for representation. I was previously Vice President of Marketing for an information technology consulting firm, which not only is relevant to the story, I also have an excellent marketing plan for the project. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Author
Marsha Underwood is one of those people who actually can sell iceboxes to Eskimos. So it’s logical that she is recruited as Director of Marketing for the San Francisco based Internet dating service startup, LOVE.COM. The startup’s founder, Paul Latimer, has loved Marsha for her strength and beauty for more than ten years since their college days, but Marsha doesn’t consider Paul to be marriage material. Paul is desperate to win the approval of his own powerful but remote father as well as Marsha’s affection. Love.com becomes the vehicle for both of his desires. Paul also recruits Marsha’s father, the noted relationship expert Dr. John Underwood to develop matching protocols. The company becomes an overnight sensation after adopting Marsha’s novel pricing strategy: allow subscribers unlimited use of the site for free, and charge them only after a successful match is made. But such a pricing strategy proves an irresistible temptation for Paul to tinker with Mother Nature. Of course, he can’t let Marsha or her father in on the plot. They wouldn’t understand. They have morals.
A slick advertising campaign and the Company’s controversial ‘Soulmate Strategy’ isn’t enough to account for the Company’s success. Soon, subscribers begin marrying in numbers far greater than anyone can fathom. When Marsha and her father question why, danger and death are right behind. With Love.com now a worldwide phenomenon, Marsha is afraid for her life from the man who purports to love her. Will Marsha save her own life, discover the secrets of Love.com and perhaps even find her own soulmate?
LOVE.COM is a romantic suspense complete at 99,000 words. It will be of particular interest to the millions of women and men who have dabbled with Internet dating (we all know at least one). It is the first work I have submitted for representation. I was previously Vice President of Marketing for an information technology consulting firm, which not only is relevant to the story, I also have an excellent marketing plan for the project. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Author
QUERY - BAGASTANA
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Dear Ms. Agent:
There is a huge grizzly bear in their parents' bedroom.
This comes as rather a shock to Mina and Darwin, but they don't have time to think much about it before they and the bear fall through the portal into another world, Bagastana. As soon Bear sees what has happened, she begins to swear in quite forceful and creative ways, because getting the kids back home is going to be a challenge. The only known portal back is far away; it is guarded by a powerful creature who calls himself “The Maker,” and he will kill Mina and Darwin if he discovers who they really are.
Along the way, the twins encounter shape-shifting animals who worship a deceitful tiger; they are kidnapped by giant ants, forced undercover by misogynist horses, nearly devoured by eagles, and asked to make a great sacrifice by evangelizing fish. Mina and Darwin begin to develop their own magical abilities, and as they grow in power and knowledge, they begin to understand why the Maker would want them dead. They also learn how the Maker imprisons some of those who challenge him in his Living Clay, where they are unable to see, hear, breathe, or die.
BAGASTANA is the story of two young people who, while trying to get home, discover who they really are along the way. Like Pullman's GOLDEN COMPASS or L'Engle's A WRINKLE IN TIME, the story of Bagastana is multi-layered with deeper meanings. This novel is complete at 73,700 words; it can be marketed in the commercial-literary genre or as YA fantasy (no sex or profanity, although the religious symbolism might be a bit controversial).
I was born and raised in suburban New Jersey, but I managed to escape. After attending Yale as an undergraduate and getting my Ph.D. in psychology from Rutgers, I took a job with University of Maryland's overseas teaching program, living in several different cultures, many of which I've drawn on for this novel. I moved back to the U.S. in December.
Please contact me if you are interested in receiving a partial or the complete manuscript. The first chapters also are available on my website at http://www.mywebsite.com/writing.
Thank you for your time, and take care!
Dear Ms. Agent:
There is a huge grizzly bear in their parents' bedroom.
This comes as rather a shock to Mina and Darwin, but they don't have time to think much about it before they and the bear fall through the portal into another world, Bagastana. As soon Bear sees what has happened, she begins to swear in quite forceful and creative ways, because getting the kids back home is going to be a challenge. The only known portal back is far away; it is guarded by a powerful creature who calls himself “The Maker,” and he will kill Mina and Darwin if he discovers who they really are.
Along the way, the twins encounter shape-shifting animals who worship a deceitful tiger; they are kidnapped by giant ants, forced undercover by misogynist horses, nearly devoured by eagles, and asked to make a great sacrifice by evangelizing fish. Mina and Darwin begin to develop their own magical abilities, and as they grow in power and knowledge, they begin to understand why the Maker would want them dead. They also learn how the Maker imprisons some of those who challenge him in his Living Clay, where they are unable to see, hear, breathe, or die.
BAGASTANA is the story of two young people who, while trying to get home, discover who they really are along the way. Like Pullman's GOLDEN COMPASS or L'Engle's A WRINKLE IN TIME, the story of Bagastana is multi-layered with deeper meanings. This novel is complete at 73,700 words; it can be marketed in the commercial-literary genre or as YA fantasy (no sex or profanity, although the religious symbolism might be a bit controversial).
I was born and raised in suburban New Jersey, but I managed to escape. After attending Yale as an undergraduate and getting my Ph.D. in psychology from Rutgers, I took a job with University of Maryland's overseas teaching program, living in several different cultures, many of which I've drawn on for this novel. I moved back to the U.S. in December.
Please contact me if you are interested in receiving a partial or the complete manuscript. The first chapters also are available on my website at http://www.mywebsite.com/writing.
Thank you for your time, and take care!
Query for Demon Dreams, main stream paranormal fiction...
Almost thirty years ago Margaret Turner left the occult world and the duties of being a Guardian for a normal life. Two marriages and three kids later she’s still trying to find normal.
Late one night while relaxing and reading a good book an old friend pops in to pay Meg a visit. More curious than scared of the demon, Meg agrees to a battle of wills and quickly gains control of the situation. What she learns from the demon under her control makes her less than thrilled. Hell is in danger and needs her help.
A power hungry warlock has been killing demons and assuming their powers. He’s somehow blocked the higher level demons from leaving hell on their own and any move they make to attack him misses. Having exhausted every evil plan they can think of, Satan and his minions turn to their earthly counterparts for help.
The idea of returning to her duties as Guardian of the Way makes Meg pause. She left all of that behind to live a normal life. As she wonders if she can pick up where she left off, she realizes that if she doesn’t help everything she knows and loves will die. So with help from her psychic friend, druidic boss, a few demons and angels, Meg immerses herself into the world she left behind. Can she find a way to defeat the warlock at his own game before hell takes over earth?
Demon Dreams is a finished 65,000 word paranormal/fiction manuscript that follows Meg Turner, witch and Guardian of the Way on a wild ride to save Hell. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely Yours,
Late one night while relaxing and reading a good book an old friend pops in to pay Meg a visit. More curious than scared of the demon, Meg agrees to a battle of wills and quickly gains control of the situation. What she learns from the demon under her control makes her less than thrilled. Hell is in danger and needs her help.
A power hungry warlock has been killing demons and assuming their powers. He’s somehow blocked the higher level demons from leaving hell on their own and any move they make to attack him misses. Having exhausted every evil plan they can think of, Satan and his minions turn to their earthly counterparts for help.
The idea of returning to her duties as Guardian of the Way makes Meg pause. She left all of that behind to live a normal life. As she wonders if she can pick up where she left off, she realizes that if she doesn’t help everything she knows and loves will die. So with help from her psychic friend, druidic boss, a few demons and angels, Meg immerses herself into the world she left behind. Can she find a way to defeat the warlock at his own game before hell takes over earth?
Demon Dreams is a finished 65,000 word paranormal/fiction manuscript that follows Meg Turner, witch and Guardian of the Way on a wild ride to save Hell. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely Yours,
QUERY - XENOLITH
Bearing flowers to the cairn erected in his vanished wife's memory in the wilderness of Belize, an ambush awaits Dr. Robert Bowen and his heart.
Bound and bruised on the forest floor, he battles a potentially fatal arrhythmia while his captors bicker in an obscure tongue. They ignore his wallet and passport. He thinks they might be drug runners. He couldn't be more mistaken.
For millennia, the Philosophers of Ubabaor denied the existence of xenoliths -- stones rumored to mediate convergences between worlds. For centuries they had witnessed the advance of earthly technologies and summarily rejected them.
When a brutal invasion overwhelms their country's defenses, their military commandeers the stones to open corridors through our world to support the covert strikes and strategic evacuations that enable their country to persist under siege.
Robert's exile to Ubabaor for witnessing a convergence rekindles hope that his wife still lives. Seeking other exiles who might have seen her, he roams a war-ravaged landscape, facing Ubabaor's enemies, as traces of Elizabeth, faint but unmistakable, lead him closer to a possible reunion, if he can keep his balky heart beating long enough.
XENOLITH, an urban fantasy, is complete at 110,000 words. I am a Harvard-trained, tropical disease ecologist whose many forays in developing countries and innumerable bouts of culture shock help inspire my depictions of exotic cultures and settings.
Thank you for your time and consideration. Please let me know if you would like to see more.
Bound and bruised on the forest floor, he battles a potentially fatal arrhythmia while his captors bicker in an obscure tongue. They ignore his wallet and passport. He thinks they might be drug runners. He couldn't be more mistaken.
For millennia, the Philosophers of Ubabaor denied the existence of xenoliths -- stones rumored to mediate convergences between worlds. For centuries they had witnessed the advance of earthly technologies and summarily rejected them.
When a brutal invasion overwhelms their country's defenses, their military commandeers the stones to open corridors through our world to support the covert strikes and strategic evacuations that enable their country to persist under siege.
Robert's exile to Ubabaor for witnessing a convergence rekindles hope that his wife still lives. Seeking other exiles who might have seen her, he roams a war-ravaged landscape, facing Ubabaor's enemies, as traces of Elizabeth, faint but unmistakable, lead him closer to a possible reunion, if he can keep his balky heart beating long enough.
XENOLITH, an urban fantasy, is complete at 110,000 words. I am a Harvard-trained, tropical disease ecologist whose many forays in developing countries and innumerable bouts of culture shock help inspire my depictions of exotic cultures and settings.
Thank you for your time and consideration. Please let me know if you would like to see more.
Query: YA Fiction: Fault Lines
Sam can’t imagine her ancient grandmother, Granny Franny, or her mother, Angela, as teenagers. To Sam's mind, her grandmother was born an old lady and her mother has always been a bordering-on-boring single mother. But the discovery of a photo of a teenaged Franny kissing a cute boy and a look through Angela's high school yearbook now have Sam resolved to learn more about her grandmother's and mother's younger years. Her voyages through the past coincide with her finding her first boyfriend.
Sam discovers more than just exciting first kisses and tender hand-holding. She learns secrets with the power to destroy her fragile family. After Granny dies, petty arguments, old jealousies and unraveling secrets threaten to explode into intractable family feuds.
Fault Lines tells three interwoven stories of love, loss and identity, each echoing the shiver-inducing electricity of young love, the plaintive ache of lost innocence, and the ongoing struggle to become an independent, self-assured adult. Fault Lines is around 60,000 words long.
I have twelve years of professional writing experience, the bulk of which has involved writing instructional manuals for the computer software industry.
My freelance work has appeared in magazines such as Boys’ Life, Chicago Parent, American Health & Fitness, Bride & Groom, and Delicious Living.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sam discovers more than just exciting first kisses and tender hand-holding. She learns secrets with the power to destroy her fragile family. After Granny dies, petty arguments, old jealousies and unraveling secrets threaten to explode into intractable family feuds.
Fault Lines tells three interwoven stories of love, loss and identity, each echoing the shiver-inducing electricity of young love, the plaintive ache of lost innocence, and the ongoing struggle to become an independent, self-assured adult. Fault Lines is around 60,000 words long.
I have twelve years of professional writing experience, the bulk of which has involved writing instructional manuals for the computer software industry.
My freelance work has appeared in magazines such as Boys’ Life, Chicago Parent, American Health & Fitness, Bride & Groom, and Delicious Living.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Mar 15, 2009
Query: LAZY CATS (Revision 1)
A second revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Click here to read the original query.
Dear XXXXX,
LAZY CATS is a 60,000 word, work of Women’s fiction.
Just Maggie’s luck! Seven years in a comfortable marriage, one night of shamefully exciting sex, then poof, her husband’s gone without an explanation.
Did he run off with his secretary, Tracy Morgan?
Perhaps Maggie’s own wanton behavior drove him away.
Could Maggie’s latest story have anything to do with her husband’s disappearance? YES!
Maggie had no idea Chris had been secretly reading about Sarah.
“An undemanding woman, content living in the shadow of her puffed up husband, keeping a clean house, being the ideal wife, Sarah loses herself and gives up her dream of becoming a famous writer. But when her selfish husband goes too far, stepping out on her, Sarah cleverly plots his murder. Mouse poison should take care of a rat.”
Maggie and Sarah have a lot in common. The women even write alike. There is one big difference though, Maggie is real and Sarah is only a figment of Maggie’s imagination. But both women scare the hell out of their cheating husbands.
Thank you for your time. My contact information is listed below for your convenience.
raymond@threeriver.net
Click here to read the original query.
Dear XXXXX,
LAZY CATS is a 60,000 word, work of Women’s fiction.
Just Maggie’s luck! Seven years in a comfortable marriage, one night of shamefully exciting sex, then poof, her husband’s gone without an explanation.
Did he run off with his secretary, Tracy Morgan?
Perhaps Maggie’s own wanton behavior drove him away.
Could Maggie’s latest story have anything to do with her husband’s disappearance? YES!
Maggie had no idea Chris had been secretly reading about Sarah.
“An undemanding woman, content living in the shadow of her puffed up husband, keeping a clean house, being the ideal wife, Sarah loses herself and gives up her dream of becoming a famous writer. But when her selfish husband goes too far, stepping out on her, Sarah cleverly plots his murder. Mouse poison should take care of a rat.”
Maggie and Sarah have a lot in common. The women even write alike. There is one big difference though, Maggie is real and Sarah is only a figment of Maggie’s imagination. But both women scare the hell out of their cheating husbands.
Thank you for your time. My contact information is listed below for your convenience.
raymond@threeriver.net
Too much is never enough
I've received several comments asking if I plan to regulate or suppress the flow of new queries posted to the site.
For the time being, I don't. I know many people would like to critique all of the queries posted, but for most of us there just isn't time. I've struggled to find fifteen consecutive minutes of free time this weekend, so trust me, I'm playing in the same ballpark as you are.
I understand better than ever why agents send form rejections. I'm not saying I would be issuing rejections for all the queries posted here, what I mean is that reading a query takes time; providing concise feedback triples that time, at least.
If you ever wonder why agents beg us not to reply to a form rejections asking why, then do this:
Log onto this site. Read and critique five queries. Time yourself. Then pretend you have to do 95 more today. And tomorrow, another hundred. And another hundred every day after that...
As a courtesy, if you are submitting a query, please take the time to critique another query (or two, or three...). Any one of us can't critique them all, but as a community of readers and writers, we should be able to get through the slush.
So far I've posted 16 queries, counting two revisions. I've commented on about half, and I want to get tot hem all. There is only one query that has not received any comments, but in all fairness I only posted it 15 minutes ago.
If the volume of queries zaps the value from this project, I'll find a way to deal with it. I'm solutions-oriented.
Until that time, don't feel obligated to read everything. Just read something, and I think it will be fine.
Thanks again for visiting!
For the time being, I don't. I know many people would like to critique all of the queries posted, but for most of us there just isn't time. I've struggled to find fifteen consecutive minutes of free time this weekend, so trust me, I'm playing in the same ballpark as you are.
I understand better than ever why agents send form rejections. I'm not saying I would be issuing rejections for all the queries posted here, what I mean is that reading a query takes time; providing concise feedback triples that time, at least.
If you ever wonder why agents beg us not to reply to a form rejections asking why, then do this:
Log onto this site. Read and critique five queries. Time yourself. Then pretend you have to do 95 more today. And tomorrow, another hundred. And another hundred every day after that...
As a courtesy, if you are submitting a query, please take the time to critique another query (or two, or three...). Any one of us can't critique them all, but as a community of readers and writers, we should be able to get through the slush.
So far I've posted 16 queries, counting two revisions. I've commented on about half, and I want to get tot hem all. There is only one query that has not received any comments, but in all fairness I only posted it 15 minutes ago.
If the volume of queries zaps the value from this project, I'll find a way to deal with it. I'm solutions-oriented.
Until that time, don't feel obligated to read everything. Just read something, and I think it will be fine.
Thanks again for visiting!
Query: KRELIS
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Dear Wonderful Agent Person
Once every hundred years, Comet Orel blazes across the sky, calling to the heavens the souls of decease dragons, and during this time, an opportunity opens to imbue dragon stones with the souls, creating them into powerful talismans. Seven wizards embark on a journey to collect the elusive dragon stones, which are formed from the hearts of dragons, but the power they yield proves to be too enticing, corrupting one of their own.
Krelis’ innate, magical ability earns him an apprenticeship with the great wizard, Antigonus. He lives in the conservatory on a small remote island where he practices the art with his friends. He enjoys his simple life, free from the conflicts that plague rest of Known World. All of this changes when his mentor brings Krelis and his friends together to reveal the real reason for their selection; a dream of everlasting peace between the races of Known World that can become a reality with the magic of the dragon stones.
Krelis and his peers leave their home and undertake the perilous quest filled with danger and ultimately…betrayal.
KRELIS is an 80,000 word young adult fantasy.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to your response.
Dear Wonderful Agent Person
Once every hundred years, Comet Orel blazes across the sky, calling to the heavens the souls of decease dragons, and during this time, an opportunity opens to imbue dragon stones with the souls, creating them into powerful talismans. Seven wizards embark on a journey to collect the elusive dragon stones, which are formed from the hearts of dragons, but the power they yield proves to be too enticing, corrupting one of their own.
Krelis’ innate, magical ability earns him an apprenticeship with the great wizard, Antigonus. He lives in the conservatory on a small remote island where he practices the art with his friends. He enjoys his simple life, free from the conflicts that plague rest of Known World. All of this changes when his mentor brings Krelis and his friends together to reveal the real reason for their selection; a dream of everlasting peace between the races of Known World that can become a reality with the magic of the dragon stones.
Krelis and his peers leave their home and undertake the perilous quest filled with danger and ultimately…betrayal.
KRELIS is an 80,000 word young adult fantasy.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to your response.
Mar 14, 2009
Query: LAZY CATS
A second revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear XXXXX,
LAZY CATS is a 60,000 word, work of Women’s fiction.
Author Maggie Weather’s glass (slipper) would be more than half full if it wasn’t for those pesky mice.
Just Maggie’s luck! Seven years in a comfortable marriage, one night of shamefully exciting sex, then poof, her husband’s gone without an explanation.
Did he run off with his secretary Tracy Morgan? Highly unlikely, she was just a temptation that got out of hand.
Did Maggie’s wanton behavior drive him away? Possibly, Chris had always kept Maggie on a pedestal. Their one night of uninhibited sex might have tarnished her halo.
Did he get tired of the peaceful country life where Maggie insisted they live? Doubtful, he seemed to enjoy the quiet after a busy day in the City.
Did Maggie’s latest story have anything to do with her husband’s disappearance? YES!
Maggie had no idea Chris had been secretly reading about Sarah.
“An undemanding woman, content living in the shadow of her puffed up husband, keeping a clean house, being the ideal wife, Sarah loses herself and gives up her dream of becoming a famous writer. But when her selfish husband goes too far, stepping out on her, Sarah cleverly plots his murder. Mouse poison should take care of a rat.”
Maggie and Sarah have a lot in common. The women even write alike. There is one big difference though, Maggie is real and Sarah is only a figment of Maggie’s imagination. But both women scare the hell out of their cheating husbands.
Thank you for your time. My contact information is listed below for your convenience.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear XXXXX,
LAZY CATS is a 60,000 word, work of Women’s fiction.
Author Maggie Weather’s glass (slipper) would be more than half full if it wasn’t for those pesky mice.
Just Maggie’s luck! Seven years in a comfortable marriage, one night of shamefully exciting sex, then poof, her husband’s gone without an explanation.
Did he run off with his secretary Tracy Morgan? Highly unlikely, she was just a temptation that got out of hand.
Did Maggie’s wanton behavior drive him away? Possibly, Chris had always kept Maggie on a pedestal. Their one night of uninhibited sex might have tarnished her halo.
Did he get tired of the peaceful country life where Maggie insisted they live? Doubtful, he seemed to enjoy the quiet after a busy day in the City.
Did Maggie’s latest story have anything to do with her husband’s disappearance? YES!
Maggie had no idea Chris had been secretly reading about Sarah.
“An undemanding woman, content living in the shadow of her puffed up husband, keeping a clean house, being the ideal wife, Sarah loses herself and gives up her dream of becoming a famous writer. But when her selfish husband goes too far, stepping out on her, Sarah cleverly plots his murder. Mouse poison should take care of a rat.”
Maggie and Sarah have a lot in common. The women even write alike. There is one big difference though, Maggie is real and Sarah is only a figment of Maggie’s imagination. But both women scare the hell out of their cheating husbands.
Thank you for your time. My contact information is listed below for your convenience.
QUERY- The Amazing Tale of Rudy Toot-Toot
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Dear Agent XYZ,
Please consider my 500 word picture book, THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT. This quirky comedy will make little boys giggle, but the laughs come with a lesson on manners. I chose to query you based on the interests listed in your bio on the 123 Literary Agency website.
Rudy Toot-Toot was born on a bean farm. He has an amazing gift - at least he thinks it is amazing – but I’ll tell you about that in a second. He also has an amazing problem: Rudy Toot-Toot does not know how to use any manners. His family tries to eat dinner, but can barely even get started because of Rudy’s antics. “Rudy Toot-Toot! How rude!” the family exclaims repeatedly, a fun phrase that kids can say, too. But then when Rudy starts eating his beans, his amazing gift takes over…and the family had better run for cover!
I have been writing professionally for business for the past eight years, including copywriting, press releases, and proposals. THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT is my first picture book manuscript, inspired by my own two sons.
Thank you for your time and consideration. The complete manuscript follows, per your submission guidelines.
Regards,
Rick Daley
Dear Agent XYZ,
Please consider my 500 word picture book, THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT. This quirky comedy will make little boys giggle, but the laughs come with a lesson on manners. I chose to query you based on the interests listed in your bio on the 123 Literary Agency website.
Rudy Toot-Toot was born on a bean farm. He has an amazing gift - at least he thinks it is amazing – but I’ll tell you about that in a second. He also has an amazing problem: Rudy Toot-Toot does not know how to use any manners. His family tries to eat dinner, but can barely even get started because of Rudy’s antics. “Rudy Toot-Toot! How rude!” the family exclaims repeatedly, a fun phrase that kids can say, too. But then when Rudy starts eating his beans, his amazing gift takes over…and the family had better run for cover!
I have been writing professionally for business for the past eight years, including copywriting, press releases, and proposals. THE AMAZING TALE OF RUDY TOOT-TOOT is my first picture book manuscript, inspired by my own two sons.
Thank you for your time and consideration. The complete manuscript follows, per your submission guidelines.
Regards,
Rick Daley
Query- DON'T LET THE BEDBUGS BITE!
Dear Editor/Agent,
If you stop and think about many of the old sayings we use to calm and soothe our children, you will find that most of them don’t really include much by way of comfort. For example, why do we sing our babies to sleep with a song about them falling “cradle and all” out of a tree? One saying that always gave me the creeps is the one about not letting the bedbugs bite. If there are bugs in my bed, should I really be sleeping there? And yet, I find myself muttering that same old phrase each night when putting my own kids to bed. Therefore, I’ve decided to make the bedbug seem a little less scary and a lot more fun.
I have written a picture book entitled, DON’T LET THE BEDBUGS BITE! It is a quirky, fun bedtime story written in verse with a twist. In it, mom puts her child to bed and spouts the old bedbug adage. Sure enough, the anxious child soon discovers there is indeed a bedbug in her bed. But this is no ordinary bug. Dressed in her own frilly pajamas this weary insect isn’t thrilled to find a human in bed with her either! Can these two adversaries iron out their differences before another night-time fable comes a-calling?
My manuscript is approximately 400 words and is written for the 4-8 age group. It can be sent to you immediately upon request by email or regular post. (Publishing credits go here.) I have enclosed a SASE for your convenience and look forward to hearing from you soon.
If you stop and think about many of the old sayings we use to calm and soothe our children, you will find that most of them don’t really include much by way of comfort. For example, why do we sing our babies to sleep with a song about them falling “cradle and all” out of a tree? One saying that always gave me the creeps is the one about not letting the bedbugs bite. If there are bugs in my bed, should I really be sleeping there? And yet, I find myself muttering that same old phrase each night when putting my own kids to bed. Therefore, I’ve decided to make the bedbug seem a little less scary and a lot more fun.
I have written a picture book entitled, DON’T LET THE BEDBUGS BITE! It is a quirky, fun bedtime story written in verse with a twist. In it, mom puts her child to bed and spouts the old bedbug adage. Sure enough, the anxious child soon discovers there is indeed a bedbug in her bed. But this is no ordinary bug. Dressed in her own frilly pajamas this weary insect isn’t thrilled to find a human in bed with her either! Can these two adversaries iron out their differences before another night-time fable comes a-calling?
My manuscript is approximately 400 words and is written for the 4-8 age group. It can be sent to you immediately upon request by email or regular post. (Publishing credits go here.) I have enclosed a SASE for your convenience and look forward to hearing from you soon.
Query: GHOST OF ZORRO
In THE GHOST OF ZORRO, a 35,000-word book for boys, Zorro comes alive to save a thirteen-year-old living in New York
I’m Carlos Rodriguez and my life’s been one bad event after another since my father went out for cigarettes one day three years ago, and never came back. My mother says I’m the man in the family now, and I’m in charge of my little brother.
What a handful. He’s trying to join a gang and I have to stop him, but how much can a thirteen-year-old do?
One night after my brother just about got killed, I couldn’t sleep, and so I watched an old Zorro movie on TV. After I saw all the things he could do, I made a wish to be just like him. This part you won’t believe. I know I don’t. When I woke up the next day, he was in my bedroom. Zorro! I think he’s just a ghost, but he told me he was going to teach me to be a man. That’s when my life started changing.
I’ve copied in the first pages below.
Thank you for your consideration.
THE GHOST OF ZORRO
1
Word on the street: my little brother is trying to join a gang.
I’d been looking for him everywhere. So far, no results. My eyes watered from the cold and I had to zip up my Day-Glo Jets jacket just to block out the wind. I rushed along, hoping to find Manuel.
He was my responsibility. My mother told me so.
She’d sat me down three years ago after my father went out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back. “You’re the man in the family now, Carlos,” she told me, tears in her eyes, sadness in her voice.
Too much for a ten-year-old to understand, but I’d been growing up fast. Out of a possible ten, I gave myself a four on how I was doing. What I really needed was a father to show me the ropes about how to be a man. So far, I hadn’t found one.
So, there I was on the street, pushing people out of the way and zigzagging around tamale vendors and taquerias, the smells of quesadillas filled with pork tantalizing my nose. I didn’t have time to stop. I had to find Manuel before he did something really
stupid.
No one looked friendly, but maybe that was because I was nervous. Not because of the crowd, but because I might be too late.
“¡Cuidado!” A Nuyorican elbowed me as I ran by.
“Sorry,” I shouted back. Didn’t my brother know gangs just played on your weaknesses and fear? They made you do bad things. What gave him the idea to join a gang?
One of the men jostled me as I shoved past.
Another shouted in what sounded like Chinese. “Jiănsù!”
Not daring to look back, or take time to explain, I kept running. Split by weather and speckled with spit and flattened chewing gum, the cement felt cold under my sneakers. What if I couldn’t find my brother in time?
Manuel could get hurt or worse. If only I’d been able to keep him out of trouble.
Salsa, soul, rap and reggae music tumbled from windows above me and cars alongside me. As I neared McDonald’s, the smells of snow cones, uncollected garbage, and fresh-cut flowers combined with the lure of French fries.
I had no idea how to stop my brother or even how to find him. My heart thundered and my lungs ached, but I kept going. I threaded my way around the two-for-one sweat suits, evening gowns, underwear and overcoats hanging on racks and lying in bins that spilled from the open doors of discount stores and the folding tables of temporary merchants.
“Slow down!” One of the employees raised a fist and shouted when I nearly tripped over his decrepit chair held together with speaker wire and duct tape.
I didn’t answer. I had to find Manuel and according to my calculations, it had to be soon.
At the corner, almost covered over by a dumpster and scaffolding, graffiti marked the building with a portrait of the salsa king, Tito Puente. Next to that, a Rest in Peace mural marked the site of a local tragedy. Charred by soot, a temporary altar made of a cardboard box, candle, and liquor bottles depicted the dead kid’s face.
I jumped back when a gypsy cab driver in a black Lincoln Town Car tapped his horn at me in the intersection. I ran around the back of the vehicle and across the street past his favorite bodega. Throat dry and stomach empty, I wanted to stop for a package of mini-donuts and a bottle of quarter water, but I didn’t have the time or the money.
I rushed toward Mr. Blanco’s vegetable stand like a cat, listening for any sound that might give me a clue. I stopped for a gulp of air in front of a hardware store where a couple of gray-haired men sat on a bench, talking.
“Have you seen a boy, about eight years old, about this tall?” I held my hand shoulder high. “Black hair, brown eyes.”
They pointed down the street. “About a dozen boys that size just ran by here going towards the river,” one of them said.
Half a block down, I saw two of Manuel’s friends run across the street to join about a dozen other boys.
“Wait!” I shouted to them, but they kept going, moving as if some kind of invisible force pulled them along. If they were here, Manuel wasn’t far behind. I squinted down the street. He might even be with them.
They wore high-top sneakers and jackets with patches sewn on them and bright-colored baseball hats. Some of the gang wannabees wore their red handkerchiefs in the wrong pocket. Their breath came out like smoke in the chilly air as they streamed across the street, dodging in between cars and trucks, all shouting and whooping. They headed for Mr. Blanco’s stand.
“Hey, you.” I yelled at the boys. “Stop. Manuel?” They paid no attention. I told myself not to think the worst, but with Manuel for a brother, it was hard not to.
I knew I looked even smaller and skinnier than I was in the too big jeans and jacket my mother bought me. But I was big enough and fast enough to teach Manuel a lesson. If I caught him stealing fruit, I’d make him eat lemons, skin and all, for breakfast, lunch and dinner for two weeks.
Still shouting and whooping, the boys rushed up to Mr. Blanco’s stand. They grabbed handfuls of shiny red apples and knobby oranges and most of the bananas. They dropped some of the fruit and it smashed onto the ground. The boys just ran away.
“Get out of here you delinquents!” Red-faced and with a towel tied around his waist, Mr. Blanco came running out of his store. He whacked a couple of the slower boys
with a broom.
The others stuffed fruit into their jacket pockets. They ran back across the street and down the alleyway.
All but one of the smaller boys. He must have gotten confused or just wasn’t watching. He kept running forward and taking more fruit.
“Manuel?” The breath caught in my throat. It couldn’t be Manuel because he didn’t own a jacket with patches sewn on it, at least not that I knew about. But he did look a
lot like my brother with his curly hair and stocky body.
I started across the street. Halfway there a delivery truck roared around the corner and headed toward me. Heart pounding, I shouted out a warning to the boy. “Look
out!” I could barely hear my own voice above the street noise and the boy was too far away for me to grab him.
The driver leaned on the horn and the truck bore down on the boy. At the last second, I jumped back on the sidewalk, and stood watching, terror filling up my heart.
With a loud thud, the truck scooped up the boy and threw him onto the curb. The driver raced past, not even slowing down.
“No!” I somehow willed myself to move, and raced across the street to the boy. It couldn’t be Manuel, it just couldn’t. Once I got to the curb, I wasn’t sure what to do. What I wouldn’t give to find someone to show me. Hands shaking, I stared at the boy lying on the sidewalk and knelt down beside him.
Thank God, it wasn’t Manuel. And triple thanks the kid wasn’t dead, just breathing sort of hacky like he had something stuck in his throat.
Shouldn’t I push on the kid’s chest? I put out my hands and touched the boy, but when he moaned in pain, I jerked back. That was a stupid thing to do. Maybe I hurt the kid even worse. He wasn’t even somebody I knew, but I still felt sorry for what happened to him. And guilty. Why hadn’t I run across the street and tackled the kid before truck
I’m Carlos Rodriguez and my life’s been one bad event after another since my father went out for cigarettes one day three years ago, and never came back. My mother says I’m the man in the family now, and I’m in charge of my little brother.
What a handful. He’s trying to join a gang and I have to stop him, but how much can a thirteen-year-old do?
One night after my brother just about got killed, I couldn’t sleep, and so I watched an old Zorro movie on TV. After I saw all the things he could do, I made a wish to be just like him. This part you won’t believe. I know I don’t. When I woke up the next day, he was in my bedroom. Zorro! I think he’s just a ghost, but he told me he was going to teach me to be a man. That’s when my life started changing.
I’ve copied in the first pages below.
Thank you for your consideration.
THE GHOST OF ZORRO
1
Word on the street: my little brother is trying to join a gang.
I’d been looking for him everywhere. So far, no results. My eyes watered from the cold and I had to zip up my Day-Glo Jets jacket just to block out the wind. I rushed along, hoping to find Manuel.
He was my responsibility. My mother told me so.
She’d sat me down three years ago after my father went out for a pack of cigarettes and never came back. “You’re the man in the family now, Carlos,” she told me, tears in her eyes, sadness in her voice.
Too much for a ten-year-old to understand, but I’d been growing up fast. Out of a possible ten, I gave myself a four on how I was doing. What I really needed was a father to show me the ropes about how to be a man. So far, I hadn’t found one.
So, there I was on the street, pushing people out of the way and zigzagging around tamale vendors and taquerias, the smells of quesadillas filled with pork tantalizing my nose. I didn’t have time to stop. I had to find Manuel before he did something really
stupid.
No one looked friendly, but maybe that was because I was nervous. Not because of the crowd, but because I might be too late.
“¡Cuidado!” A Nuyorican elbowed me as I ran by.
“Sorry,” I shouted back. Didn’t my brother know gangs just played on your weaknesses and fear? They made you do bad things. What gave him the idea to join a gang?
One of the men jostled me as I shoved past.
Another shouted in what sounded like Chinese. “Jiănsù!”
Not daring to look back, or take time to explain, I kept running. Split by weather and speckled with spit and flattened chewing gum, the cement felt cold under my sneakers. What if I couldn’t find my brother in time?
Manuel could get hurt or worse. If only I’d been able to keep him out of trouble.
Salsa, soul, rap and reggae music tumbled from windows above me and cars alongside me. As I neared McDonald’s, the smells of snow cones, uncollected garbage, and fresh-cut flowers combined with the lure of French fries.
I had no idea how to stop my brother or even how to find him. My heart thundered and my lungs ached, but I kept going. I threaded my way around the two-for-one sweat suits, evening gowns, underwear and overcoats hanging on racks and lying in bins that spilled from the open doors of discount stores and the folding tables of temporary merchants.
“Slow down!” One of the employees raised a fist and shouted when I nearly tripped over his decrepit chair held together with speaker wire and duct tape.
I didn’t answer. I had to find Manuel and according to my calculations, it had to be soon.
At the corner, almost covered over by a dumpster and scaffolding, graffiti marked the building with a portrait of the salsa king, Tito Puente. Next to that, a Rest in Peace mural marked the site of a local tragedy. Charred by soot, a temporary altar made of a cardboard box, candle, and liquor bottles depicted the dead kid’s face.
I jumped back when a gypsy cab driver in a black Lincoln Town Car tapped his horn at me in the intersection. I ran around the back of the vehicle and across the street past his favorite bodega. Throat dry and stomach empty, I wanted to stop for a package of mini-donuts and a bottle of quarter water, but I didn’t have the time or the money.
I rushed toward Mr. Blanco’s vegetable stand like a cat, listening for any sound that might give me a clue. I stopped for a gulp of air in front of a hardware store where a couple of gray-haired men sat on a bench, talking.
“Have you seen a boy, about eight years old, about this tall?” I held my hand shoulder high. “Black hair, brown eyes.”
They pointed down the street. “About a dozen boys that size just ran by here going towards the river,” one of them said.
Half a block down, I saw two of Manuel’s friends run across the street to join about a dozen other boys.
“Wait!” I shouted to them, but they kept going, moving as if some kind of invisible force pulled them along. If they were here, Manuel wasn’t far behind. I squinted down the street. He might even be with them.
They wore high-top sneakers and jackets with patches sewn on them and bright-colored baseball hats. Some of the gang wannabees wore their red handkerchiefs in the wrong pocket. Their breath came out like smoke in the chilly air as they streamed across the street, dodging in between cars and trucks, all shouting and whooping. They headed for Mr. Blanco’s stand.
“Hey, you.” I yelled at the boys. “Stop. Manuel?” They paid no attention. I told myself not to think the worst, but with Manuel for a brother, it was hard not to.
I knew I looked even smaller and skinnier than I was in the too big jeans and jacket my mother bought me. But I was big enough and fast enough to teach Manuel a lesson. If I caught him stealing fruit, I’d make him eat lemons, skin and all, for breakfast, lunch and dinner for two weeks.
Still shouting and whooping, the boys rushed up to Mr. Blanco’s stand. They grabbed handfuls of shiny red apples and knobby oranges and most of the bananas. They dropped some of the fruit and it smashed onto the ground. The boys just ran away.
“Get out of here you delinquents!” Red-faced and with a towel tied around his waist, Mr. Blanco came running out of his store. He whacked a couple of the slower boys
with a broom.
The others stuffed fruit into their jacket pockets. They ran back across the street and down the alleyway.
All but one of the smaller boys. He must have gotten confused or just wasn’t watching. He kept running forward and taking more fruit.
“Manuel?” The breath caught in my throat. It couldn’t be Manuel because he didn’t own a jacket with patches sewn on it, at least not that I knew about. But he did look a
lot like my brother with his curly hair and stocky body.
I started across the street. Halfway there a delivery truck roared around the corner and headed toward me. Heart pounding, I shouted out a warning to the boy. “Look
out!” I could barely hear my own voice above the street noise and the boy was too far away for me to grab him.
The driver leaned on the horn and the truck bore down on the boy. At the last second, I jumped back on the sidewalk, and stood watching, terror filling up my heart.
With a loud thud, the truck scooped up the boy and threw him onto the curb. The driver raced past, not even slowing down.
“No!” I somehow willed myself to move, and raced across the street to the boy. It couldn’t be Manuel, it just couldn’t. Once I got to the curb, I wasn’t sure what to do. What I wouldn’t give to find someone to show me. Hands shaking, I stared at the boy lying on the sidewalk and knelt down beside him.
Thank God, it wasn’t Manuel. And triple thanks the kid wasn’t dead, just breathing sort of hacky like he had something stuck in his throat.
Shouldn’t I push on the kid’s chest? I put out my hands and touched the boy, but when he moaned in pain, I jerked back. That was a stupid thing to do. Maybe I hurt the kid even worse. He wasn’t even somebody I knew, but I still felt sorry for what happened to him. And guilty. Why hadn’t I run across the street and tackled the kid before truck
Mar 13, 2009
QUERY - BROKEN
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Click here to read the most recent revision.
Dear Agent,
While standing on a busy London street, American psychologist Alec Sumner spots Eli Burke and likes the look of him, but there’s no way for him to know that behind the man’s bright blue eyes lies the memory of his lover’s murder.
Having relocated after a failed love affair, Alec is not eager to launch the next, but when he unknowingly rents the attic in the house Burke shares with his loving, if flawed, family of friends, he’ll have little choice.
My 80,000 word gay fiction manuscript, BROKEN, explores the idea that whatever scars you carry, there might be someone out there who will see beyond them and love you through the pain.
I worked as a copy editor for a daily newspaper. This is my first novel.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Click here to read the most recent revision.
Dear Agent,
While standing on a busy London street, American psychologist Alec Sumner spots Eli Burke and likes the look of him, but there’s no way for him to know that behind the man’s bright blue eyes lies the memory of his lover’s murder.
Having relocated after a failed love affair, Alec is not eager to launch the next, but when he unknowingly rents the attic in the house Burke shares with his loving, if flawed, family of friends, he’ll have little choice.
My 80,000 word gay fiction manuscript, BROKEN, explores the idea that whatever scars you carry, there might be someone out there who will see beyond them and love you through the pain.
I worked as a copy editor for a daily newspaper. This is my first novel.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
QUERY - EVONALÉ
Dear X,
[Intro explaining why I think agent X might be interested], I think you might like my YA fantasy novel EVONALÉ. Sprinkling elements of Shakespearean comedy in with modernized female gothic, it tells the tale of a justifiably paranoid girl in 70,000 words.
Tales of loathesome tyrants, seduced maids, prophesied saviors—many a child loves hearing such stories and wishes he could be the hero. But if you are the helpless, hapless prophesied-savior-but-still-little-girl stuck in the middle of the would-you-(please)-die? group, things aren't so fun. Evonalé has therefore fled the enslaved remains of her grandmother's kingdom, her two half-siblings who should've been her cousins, and her father who really should've stayed her uncle.
Trapped between a prophecy she sees no way of fulfilling and a realization that any ruler would do well to return her to her powerful and deadly father, she's terrified of being recognized. Due to her elf quarter, even her terror can cause problems for her. Fear makes her body temperature drop. (She's also justifiably afraid of her lethal and not quite insane faery godmother, but that's a side issue.)
But then King Aldrik inexplicably picks her up from his hunting grounds and personally ensures that she is unusually well-cared for, despite her uncanny ability to turn chicken feeding into a life-threatening experience. She's being taught in private lessons beside the king's own son and heir. His prophetess is giving her magic lessons. What does King Aldrik think he's doing?
Thank you for your time and consideration. May you have an excellent day (or evening, or whatever it is when you're reading this).
Sincerely,
"Carradee" [actual name and penname to be included in actual query]
[Intro explaining why I think agent X might be interested], I think you might like my YA fantasy novel EVONALÉ. Sprinkling elements of Shakespearean comedy in with modernized female gothic, it tells the tale of a justifiably paranoid girl in 70,000 words.
Tales of loathesome tyrants, seduced maids, prophesied saviors—many a child loves hearing such stories and wishes he could be the hero. But if you are the helpless, hapless prophesied-savior-but-still-little-girl stuck in the middle of the would-you-(please)-die? group, things aren't so fun. Evonalé has therefore fled the enslaved remains of her grandmother's kingdom, her two half-siblings who should've been her cousins, and her father who really should've stayed her uncle.
Trapped between a prophecy she sees no way of fulfilling and a realization that any ruler would do well to return her to her powerful and deadly father, she's terrified of being recognized. Due to her elf quarter, even her terror can cause problems for her. Fear makes her body temperature drop. (She's also justifiably afraid of her lethal and not quite insane faery godmother, but that's a side issue.)
But then King Aldrik inexplicably picks her up from his hunting grounds and personally ensures that she is unusually well-cared for, despite her uncanny ability to turn chicken feeding into a life-threatening experience. She's being taught in private lessons beside the king's own son and heir. His prophetess is giving her magic lessons. What does King Aldrik think he's doing?
Thank you for your time and consideration. May you have an excellent day (or evening, or whatever it is when you're reading this).
Sincerely,
"Carradee" [actual name and penname to be included in actual query]
Query- The Stolen Moon of Londor
Dear Mr. Blank:
My name is Aaron Stephens, and I would like to submit my fantasy novel The Stolen Moon of Londor (93,200 words) for representation by your agency.
The era of peace among the elves, men, and dwarves comes to an end when one of Londor's twin moons disappears from the heavens. Without the moon's balancing effect, evil forces grow bold, and warfare, sickness, and chaos threaten life itself.
Hearing the prayers of desperation that ride on the violent winds, the ancient wizard Randor Miithra, servant to the elf-gods, takes it upon himself to mend the world he has sworn to protect. The task will not be an easy one, though, for the wizard, too, has begun to feel the effects of the world's imbalance. As Randor struggles to maintain some semblance of his powers, he meets a secretive band of colorful characters from all walks of life, drawn together by a common goal: to find the stolen moon, whatever the cost. It does not take Randor and his motley company long to see that someone or something does not want the moon returned to the heavens. After encountering werewolves and magical monks along the perilous journey, they learn that the warlock Lord Adian has used his dark powers to pull the moon from the sky, only to give it as a bauble to a beautiful enchantress. Randor and company must hasten to Adian's stronghold, which is protected by legions of soldiers, and reclaim the moon before it is too late.
My extensive background in theater and martial arts has also aided me in fleshing out action sequences and building compelling, diverse characters. You can find a sample chapter, an audio excerpt, and artwork for The Stolen Moon of Londor at my website, www.apstephens.com. I have been writing for seven years.
The Stolen Moon of Londor is the first book of my WHITE SHADOW SAGA trilogy, and would appeal to readers of Terry Brooks as well as other fantasy readers. I would be happy to send you sample chapters or the entire manuscript at your request.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Me
Chapter One: A Great Downfall
Chapter One: A Troubled World
In the dawn of Londor’s greatest tragedy, the elf-mercenary, Gildan, sat near his campfire—pondering the fate of the world. The summer night was bitter, yet calm in this mysterious time. Gildan was accompanied closely by two fellow elves, Faragen and Telsar, as they rested uncomfortably underneath a large oak tree before their soldiers of the Obinoth Kingdom. The elves took refuge from their travels at the edge of the Plains of Erogd, a place which was all too familiar to them.
Many other campfires laid a short distance behind Gildan and the two Obinoth officers as the mercenary granted the soldiers under his authority short respite after two strenuous days of marching back into the west. Soft songs and inaudible conversations hazed the night air.
Gildan looked over to the trunk of the tree where the famed wizard, Randor Miithra, rested peacefully, sitting propped up with his wide-brimmed hat of blue felt covering his face. His cloak lay motionless in the weak breeze from the vast fields. Gildan smiled slightly as he brushed his tall, green hair back, forever grateful to the wizard’s role in the recent victory of the mercenary and the elves of Obinoth.
As Gildan led the remainder of his army towards the Obinoth Kingdom, his thoughts were consumed with many items of business—with no apparent answers thus far.
“Is there anything either of us can do for you, sir?” Telsar asked.
“No,” Gildan replied, looking at Telsar, a sturdy young elf, who reminded Gildan of himself in his younger days. “Just try and rest. We will be on the move again shortly.”
Telsar nodded and shifted his silver armor before leaning back on his elbows. “I hope Obinoth is safe. I have much to attend to once we are returned.”
“As do I,” said Gildan. “Though I will no longer be able to assist you or your king, my future days are now certain to be full of work from those wishing to solve this mystery.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Gildan laid back in the soft grass and looked into the heavens. The memories of the recent night of catastrophe charged to the forefront of his mind, and he embraced the details of his victory, once again.
Two nights ago, Gildan and his elf-knights drew up at the edge of a dark, wooded valley—once again on the heels of the Obinoth’s ancient foes. The twin moons rode high in the clear night sky, casting muted double shadows beneath the trees. For forty miles the army had crossed the Plains of Erogd, a region once known for its placid rivers and lush fields. But now the beauty of this land was tainted, its rivers polluted with blood and its fields heaped with the bodies of the slain enemy. None of the Obinoth had ever traveled this far east, and now fatigue weighed heavier on them even more than even their pierced and dented armor.
Gildan paced alone before the awaiting ranks, his finely crafted, short yellow cape billowing in the constant breeze. The cape was the only personal clothing effect he kept with him, leaving his usual wardrobe of extravagant jackets, pants, and boots behind. These were set aside for uniformity of Obinoth’s black clothing and silver armor, not very pleasing to Gildan’s taste. His green eyes scanned the valley below, seeking out his next move, as his fingers tapped the silver buckle on his precious leather belt.
Telsar and Faragen approached quietly and stood at attention.
“We await your command, Gildan,” said Faragen.
Gildan turned, looking beyond them to the gathered troops, seeing the fading morale written on every face. “We need to end this tonight,” he said at last. “Send a small squad of scouts to get the lay of the land. I do not know much about this place. Have them search out the Rhingar forces, but tread with caution—the scouts must not be seen.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Faragen.
“Report to me once the sweep is complete.” Gildan paused. “Now I must speak with our advisor.”
The two lieutenants saluted and returned to the ranks.
As Gildan strode to the boulder at the dark wood’s edge, he looked uneasily up at the mountains that surrounded the small valley on three sides.
For centuries the Rhingar had attempted to overthrow their neighboring country, the Obinoth Kingdom, yet had never been successful. The Rhingar wished nothing more than to seize the Obinoth capitol, Handefel, and destroy it—for it was in Handefel that the founding fathers of the Rhingar Kingdom perished during the Dark War. For the past two hundred years the Rhingar burdened the Obinoth, bent on vengeance for the spirits of their ancient heroes.
For months on end both armies
waged war at the edges of the Obinoth Kingdom until, at last, the Obinoth drove their enemies outside its borders. Yet they pursued the Rhingar into the east with orders from their king to eliminate them—no matter the distance traveled. The Obinoth were determined more than ever to convey to the Rhingar that they would never yield to them.
There, standing alone upon one of the many boulders and puffing a long-stemmed pipe, was Randor Miithra, the eldest servant of the elven god, Ethindar. Randor, as he was simply called, was invested with all the magic and arcane wisdom of his famed order of wizards. He stood tall, shrouded in his deep-blue cloak, uncowed by the continuous battles and lack of rest. Though he had seen eight thousand winters, he looked like a human of thirty. His face was shadowed from the moonlight by his ever-present hat.
This campaign was not the first encounter for Gildan and Randor, befriending one another many decades ago. Gildan always welcomed the opportunity to fight alongside his oldest friend and closest confidant.
Gildan stepped up onto the boulder and held silent.
“I see you have finally sent scouts about the perimeter, my old friend.”
“Indeed. You have tracked the Rhingar for me across Erogd, but I will let these elves survey this instance,” Gildan replied. “But…what do you make of this, Randor?”
“That is a good question,” the wizard replied. He slid his dark-tinted spectacles up his narrow nose and puffed again at his pipe. “Do you know where you find yourself?” Randor grinned slightly.
“No. I have traveled far and wide, but this place has no particular memory for me.”
“Before you lies the Valley of Siln.”
“Siln,” whispered Gildan. “What can you tell me of this place?”
“A featureless, barren place, with neither inhabitants nor wildlife—unless you love the company of scorpions.” Randor paused to savor the pipe’s comforting taste. “Only one road leads into and out of the valley…” Gildan turned his head and looked at the wizard. “This lonesome road is the one that you and the Obinoth now control.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“Although many years have passed since last I was here, I doubt anyone has altered this land.”
Before the elf-mercenary could reply, Randor raised his hand and added, “I cannot be certain of their strategy here, but nevertheless, we must not falter now. You hold the advantage, Gildan, and you must keep it this time. I grow weary of all this cat-and-mouse.”
“Trust me, Randor, when I say that I will hold true to my vow and see this to its end. The Rhingar are fools, and we shall slaughter every foul one of them. Besides, the gold I was paid is wearing thin to my terms of this job.” Gildan scanned the forest, looking for some clue to evil’s whereabouts. Even aided by the light of the two moons, his green eyes picked up nothing helpful. “They are unpredictable this night,” the elf observed. “Not one campfire, nor a single piercing shriek. Yes, the Rhingar are behaving most strangely.”
My name is Aaron Stephens, and I would like to submit my fantasy novel The Stolen Moon of Londor (93,200 words) for representation by your agency.
The era of peace among the elves, men, and dwarves comes to an end when one of Londor's twin moons disappears from the heavens. Without the moon's balancing effect, evil forces grow bold, and warfare, sickness, and chaos threaten life itself.
Hearing the prayers of desperation that ride on the violent winds, the ancient wizard Randor Miithra, servant to the elf-gods, takes it upon himself to mend the world he has sworn to protect. The task will not be an easy one, though, for the wizard, too, has begun to feel the effects of the world's imbalance. As Randor struggles to maintain some semblance of his powers, he meets a secretive band of colorful characters from all walks of life, drawn together by a common goal: to find the stolen moon, whatever the cost. It does not take Randor and his motley company long to see that someone or something does not want the moon returned to the heavens. After encountering werewolves and magical monks along the perilous journey, they learn that the warlock Lord Adian has used his dark powers to pull the moon from the sky, only to give it as a bauble to a beautiful enchantress. Randor and company must hasten to Adian's stronghold, which is protected by legions of soldiers, and reclaim the moon before it is too late.
My extensive background in theater and martial arts has also aided me in fleshing out action sequences and building compelling, diverse characters. You can find a sample chapter, an audio excerpt, and artwork for The Stolen Moon of Londor at my website, www.apstephens.com. I have been writing for seven years.
The Stolen Moon of Londor is the first book of my WHITE SHADOW SAGA trilogy, and would appeal to readers of Terry Brooks as well as other fantasy readers. I would be happy to send you sample chapters or the entire manuscript at your request.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Me
Chapter One: A Great Downfall
Chapter One: A Troubled World
In the dawn of Londor’s greatest tragedy, the elf-mercenary, Gildan, sat near his campfire—pondering the fate of the world. The summer night was bitter, yet calm in this mysterious time. Gildan was accompanied closely by two fellow elves, Faragen and Telsar, as they rested uncomfortably underneath a large oak tree before their soldiers of the Obinoth Kingdom. The elves took refuge from their travels at the edge of the Plains of Erogd, a place which was all too familiar to them.
Many other campfires laid a short distance behind Gildan and the two Obinoth officers as the mercenary granted the soldiers under his authority short respite after two strenuous days of marching back into the west. Soft songs and inaudible conversations hazed the night air.
Gildan looked over to the trunk of the tree where the famed wizard, Randor Miithra, rested peacefully, sitting propped up with his wide-brimmed hat of blue felt covering his face. His cloak lay motionless in the weak breeze from the vast fields. Gildan smiled slightly as he brushed his tall, green hair back, forever grateful to the wizard’s role in the recent victory of the mercenary and the elves of Obinoth.
As Gildan led the remainder of his army towards the Obinoth Kingdom, his thoughts were consumed with many items of business—with no apparent answers thus far.
“Is there anything either of us can do for you, sir?” Telsar asked.
“No,” Gildan replied, looking at Telsar, a sturdy young elf, who reminded Gildan of himself in his younger days. “Just try and rest. We will be on the move again shortly.”
Telsar nodded and shifted his silver armor before leaning back on his elbows. “I hope Obinoth is safe. I have much to attend to once we are returned.”
“As do I,” said Gildan. “Though I will no longer be able to assist you or your king, my future days are now certain to be full of work from those wishing to solve this mystery.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Gildan laid back in the soft grass and looked into the heavens. The memories of the recent night of catastrophe charged to the forefront of his mind, and he embraced the details of his victory, once again.
Two nights ago, Gildan and his elf-knights drew up at the edge of a dark, wooded valley—once again on the heels of the Obinoth’s ancient foes. The twin moons rode high in the clear night sky, casting muted double shadows beneath the trees. For forty miles the army had crossed the Plains of Erogd, a region once known for its placid rivers and lush fields. But now the beauty of this land was tainted, its rivers polluted with blood and its fields heaped with the bodies of the slain enemy. None of the Obinoth had ever traveled this far east, and now fatigue weighed heavier on them even more than even their pierced and dented armor.
Gildan paced alone before the awaiting ranks, his finely crafted, short yellow cape billowing in the constant breeze. The cape was the only personal clothing effect he kept with him, leaving his usual wardrobe of extravagant jackets, pants, and boots behind. These were set aside for uniformity of Obinoth’s black clothing and silver armor, not very pleasing to Gildan’s taste. His green eyes scanned the valley below, seeking out his next move, as his fingers tapped the silver buckle on his precious leather belt.
Telsar and Faragen approached quietly and stood at attention.
“We await your command, Gildan,” said Faragen.
Gildan turned, looking beyond them to the gathered troops, seeing the fading morale written on every face. “We need to end this tonight,” he said at last. “Send a small squad of scouts to get the lay of the land. I do not know much about this place. Have them search out the Rhingar forces, but tread with caution—the scouts must not be seen.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Faragen.
“Report to me once the sweep is complete.” Gildan paused. “Now I must speak with our advisor.”
The two lieutenants saluted and returned to the ranks.
As Gildan strode to the boulder at the dark wood’s edge, he looked uneasily up at the mountains that surrounded the small valley on three sides.
For centuries the Rhingar had attempted to overthrow their neighboring country, the Obinoth Kingdom, yet had never been successful. The Rhingar wished nothing more than to seize the Obinoth capitol, Handefel, and destroy it—for it was in Handefel that the founding fathers of the Rhingar Kingdom perished during the Dark War. For the past two hundred years the Rhingar burdened the Obinoth, bent on vengeance for the spirits of their ancient heroes.
For months on end both armies
waged war at the edges of the Obinoth Kingdom until, at last, the Obinoth drove their enemies outside its borders. Yet they pursued the Rhingar into the east with orders from their king to eliminate them—no matter the distance traveled. The Obinoth were determined more than ever to convey to the Rhingar that they would never yield to them.
There, standing alone upon one of the many boulders and puffing a long-stemmed pipe, was Randor Miithra, the eldest servant of the elven god, Ethindar. Randor, as he was simply called, was invested with all the magic and arcane wisdom of his famed order of wizards. He stood tall, shrouded in his deep-blue cloak, uncowed by the continuous battles and lack of rest. Though he had seen eight thousand winters, he looked like a human of thirty. His face was shadowed from the moonlight by his ever-present hat.
This campaign was not the first encounter for Gildan and Randor, befriending one another many decades ago. Gildan always welcomed the opportunity to fight alongside his oldest friend and closest confidant.
Gildan stepped up onto the boulder and held silent.
“I see you have finally sent scouts about the perimeter, my old friend.”
“Indeed. You have tracked the Rhingar for me across Erogd, but I will let these elves survey this instance,” Gildan replied. “But…what do you make of this, Randor?”
“That is a good question,” the wizard replied. He slid his dark-tinted spectacles up his narrow nose and puffed again at his pipe. “Do you know where you find yourself?” Randor grinned slightly.
“No. I have traveled far and wide, but this place has no particular memory for me.”
“Before you lies the Valley of Siln.”
“Siln,” whispered Gildan. “What can you tell me of this place?”
“A featureless, barren place, with neither inhabitants nor wildlife—unless you love the company of scorpions.” Randor paused to savor the pipe’s comforting taste. “Only one road leads into and out of the valley…” Gildan turned his head and looked at the wizard. “This lonesome road is the one that you and the Obinoth now control.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“Although many years have passed since last I was here, I doubt anyone has altered this land.”
Before the elf-mercenary could reply, Randor raised his hand and added, “I cannot be certain of their strategy here, but nevertheless, we must not falter now. You hold the advantage, Gildan, and you must keep it this time. I grow weary of all this cat-and-mouse.”
“Trust me, Randor, when I say that I will hold true to my vow and see this to its end. The Rhingar are fools, and we shall slaughter every foul one of them. Besides, the gold I was paid is wearing thin to my terms of this job.” Gildan scanned the forest, looking for some clue to evil’s whereabouts. Even aided by the light of the two moons, his green eyes picked up nothing helpful. “They are unpredictable this night,” the elf observed. “Not one campfire, nor a single piercing shriek. Yes, the Rhingar are behaving most strangely.”
Query: HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK
A revision of this query has been posted. Click here to read it.
Click here to read the second revision.
Dear Agent,
The undead are everywhere in popular culture, from video and board games to novels and films. Even my two-year-old nephew claims that zombies live in grandpa’s garage. HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK is speculative fiction, and explores a new kind of future where existing isn’t just about running from and killing the undead, but about the survivors who turn humanity’s leftovers into something spectacular.
The world is dirty. The centers of the continents are filled with dust and undead. Clean water and peaceful sleep are things of the past. After all, a barricade of rusted metal, broken glass and people with guns isn’t always enough to keep the dead out. And for some, it’s all about letting them in.
Kumari is a wrangler, a poacher and a gambler who catches undead and fights them against one another in the pit as gladiators. It’s not pretty, but it’s good enough. All Kumari has ever wanted to do, just like everyone else, is to live and die without becoming a monster.
Kumari’s simple life is tested with a wager against her fiercest rival – a gamble that could cost her everything. The bet yields complicated results and Kumari finds herself in possession of the slave and child-whore Heaven. Granting the girl freedom is the first in an avalanche of events, and Kumari faces the death of a treasured friend after she is forced to pull the trigger. From there, mere survival becomes much more complicated.
As Heaven struggles between the acceptance of misery and the chance to live for herself, Kumari stares in the maw of her greatest fear when she is bitten by an undead and the death she believes so strongly in is threatened.
HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK, complete at 101,500 words, is capable of standing on its own, but also leaves the door open for a possible sequel.
I currently work for Costco Wholesale where I write for a magazine, Costco Today, with a circulation of more than 140,000 employees. In January 2009, my short story “Savage” was published in “Monstrous: 20 Tales of Giant Creature Terror” by Permuted Press. I have samples of both my professional writing and fiction posted on my blog at http://www.thescreamingguppy.blogspot.com/.
Thank you for your consideration,
Erin
Hound in Blood and Black
Part I
I remember the first time I met Kumari. I recall, most vividly, that she smelled of gunmetal, blood and death.
I hated her.
Chapter 1
“Harder!”
Kumari screamed the words over the howl of the battered engine. It revved as Bastion punched the gas pedal, dust and pebbles spraying the side of the jeep in peppered graffiti. Driven by the wind, coarse bits of the world clawed her face and scratched the surface of her smoke-glass shades. She tugged the bandana across her nose and lips, turning around to stare at the back of his head.
“I said harder, Bastion.” Her voice barely broke the wind. The driver twisted his neck only an inch to the left, an affirmation that he indeed heard her over the grinding engine. The jeep jumped in speed again, spewing more of the broken earth into the sky.
She stepped down from behind the seats, striding easily through the back of the moving bed. Bending low, she scooped the collar from her feet, turning the seven foot pole around in her grip. She checked the prongs at the tip of the weapon, satisfied that the horseshoe was intact and strong. Only a fool, or an inexperienced wrangler, would jump the bed with a broken collar.
“Left!”
His response was swift, and the jeep veered hard to the side, tires skidding and jumping over the roadless plain. She caught herself with a hard foot to the wheel well, the span of the collar keeping her upright as it rammed against the crossover bars above her head. Despite the murky air, she saw her quarry, clear against the horizon.
“Again, harder!” Her throat was dry. It was only daybreak, but the heat was already climbing. Best to get done and home before noon. The jeep jerked again, this time right, and she checked her arsenal as they closed the gap. Handgun, kukri, rifle, bootblade and collar. Her shields, the gauntlets that covered her fingers to her mid-bicep and metal boots that stood to her upper thigh, were in place and secure. She flexed her hand around the collar pole. She remembered a time when she thought the armor heavy.
Today she didn’t feel the weight when she jumped.
The landing jarred her knees, but she rolled with it as she’d practiced for years. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, grunting as her armored feet dug into the drought-ridden soil. Her grip was solid still, the collar light as air.
She heard the jeep and Bastion turning to come back for her over the wind. She inhaled the exhaust, savoring the smell before it faded away and was replaced by the ripe taste of decay. The bandana was to block the unpleasant scent, but she always felt it limited her capacity when she hunted. And while she knew her prey understood little, she still wanted them to see her smile when she won.
She was running, the pounding of her stride lost in the ocean of noise. The hunted paused, its shambling canter stumbling to an unbalanced halt. It smelled her. Kumari licked her lips and ran harder.
Less than twenty more feet.
The shape, human and hunched over, finished its rotation, facing full on the incoming attack. She planted the spike of the collar in the dirt, using her weight and momentum, to vault through the air.
Her weighted feet slammed into the undead’s chest, flattening the creature to the dirt. She bellowed as they connected, the cry coming from deep in her belly. They both collided hard, but she was ready. She was quicker. She was alive.
On her feet before the monster moved, she lifted the collar high up and above her head, before driving it around the neck of her catch. The undead flailed, roaring and moaning in the broken voice of what was once a man. She wrinkled her nose at the smell and sight of one this close. The pole of the collar vibrated in the hair, flapping like an empty flagpole.
She backed away, leisurely taking off her glasses as she watched the undead struggle. As she tucked the sunglasses on the front of her tank, she ran her other metal-cased hand across her forehead. The heated metal stung her skin, but it kept the sweat and salt out of her eyes. She cracked her neck, a tangle of braided black hair slipping forward over her shoulder.
She sunk slowly to her knees, a pace away from her catch, and forced herself to swallow the thickness in her mouth. As she considered it, the sun warmed what was exposed of her tanned skin, her ability to burn under the rays vanquished years ago.
She didn’t turn around at the sound of the jeep pulling up behind her, or even at the sound of Bastion’s footsteps as he walked over to gauge her handiwork. She was thinking.
“It’s thin, don’t you think?”
His voice was gruff, but light. She turned her head, cupping a hand over her eyes to block the light. Bastion shifted to his right, positioning his mass between her and the rising sun. She lowered her hand, staring into his face.
“So am I.”
A grin tugged at the edge of Bastion mouth, before he shrugged his shoulders in retraction.
“You’re the wrangler, Kumari. Not me. If you think it’s a good catch, let’s pack it and go.” Bastion peeled back the sleeve of his tattered windbreaker, staring into the face of a solar watch. “Rem’s up by now. I’m sure he’s wondering where we are.”
Kumari snorted, shaking her head as she turned to the flopping body.
“He’s a brilliant man. I’m sure he can guess.” Kumari reached a hand out to grab one of the undead’s jerking limbs. The muscle tissue was soft, denting under the pressure of her hand. The thing roared, and with its predictably above-human strength, it tore easily from her grip. The undead left the meat of its forearm behind, draped over Kumari’s palm. A vicious stench wafted up, and Bastion took a step back with a frown.
Kumari sighed, hauling herself slowly to her feet and dropping the chunk of rancid meat next to the struggling corpse.
“Mushy.” Bastion wrinkled his nose. “It’s been dead too long, or found a damp place to keep home.”
She nodded, reaching out to grab the waving pole.
“You’re right. This one’s no good. It’ll never make it in the pits.” Kumari twisted the collar, snapping the undead’s neck with a single flick of her wrist. She leaned her weight against the pole, easily separating the head from the shoulders once the neck was shattered. The sound was one of tearing meat, tendons stretching and snapping apart. The flailing ceased. “How long do we have left?”
“Noon is four hours off. Right now we’re two hours out from the barricades.” Bastion held out a hand as he spoke, and Kumari passed the collar into his palm. Together they walked back to the jeep, leaving the bloodless, rotting corpse to bake in the sun and be eaten by vultures. Black wings were already dotting the horizon, aggressively coming for a meal.
“Plenty of time.”
Bastion raised a brow, looking down at Kumari. She was fierce, of all things, but he still stood nearly two feet taller. He watched her as she climbed into the back of the jeep, checking for the things she always ignored. She appeared hydrated, no signs of fatigue, no injuries from the scuffle. Of course, that collaring had been flawless, as most of hers were.
He watched as she pulled up her hair, winding the tangled dreads away from her face. It was normal, he knew, for women to keep that hairstyle, at least the few who didn’t run in the prostitution rings or keep house. Glints of silver caught in the dim sunlight, the marks of her victories in the arena for all to see, displayed in the form of the valuable metal decorating her hair. To Bastion it was less trouble to simply shave his head with grease and a dull blade.
“What?” Kumari caught his attention, narrowing her gaze just before she slipped the sunglasses over her dark eyes. Bastion shrugged, leaving the gnawing nostalgia behind with the dead as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.
Click here to read the second revision.
Dear Agent,
The undead are everywhere in popular culture, from video and board games to novels and films. Even my two-year-old nephew claims that zombies live in grandpa’s garage. HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK is speculative fiction, and explores a new kind of future where existing isn’t just about running from and killing the undead, but about the survivors who turn humanity’s leftovers into something spectacular.
The world is dirty. The centers of the continents are filled with dust and undead. Clean water and peaceful sleep are things of the past. After all, a barricade of rusted metal, broken glass and people with guns isn’t always enough to keep the dead out. And for some, it’s all about letting them in.
Kumari is a wrangler, a poacher and a gambler who catches undead and fights them against one another in the pit as gladiators. It’s not pretty, but it’s good enough. All Kumari has ever wanted to do, just like everyone else, is to live and die without becoming a monster.
Kumari’s simple life is tested with a wager against her fiercest rival – a gamble that could cost her everything. The bet yields complicated results and Kumari finds herself in possession of the slave and child-whore Heaven. Granting the girl freedom is the first in an avalanche of events, and Kumari faces the death of a treasured friend after she is forced to pull the trigger. From there, mere survival becomes much more complicated.
As Heaven struggles between the acceptance of misery and the chance to live for herself, Kumari stares in the maw of her greatest fear when she is bitten by an undead and the death she believes so strongly in is threatened.
HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK, complete at 101,500 words, is capable of standing on its own, but also leaves the door open for a possible sequel.
I currently work for Costco Wholesale where I write for a magazine, Costco Today, with a circulation of more than 140,000 employees. In January 2009, my short story “Savage” was published in “Monstrous: 20 Tales of Giant Creature Terror” by Permuted Press. I have samples of both my professional writing and fiction posted on my blog at http://www.thescreamingguppy.blogspot.com/.
Thank you for your consideration,
Erin
Hound in Blood and Black
Part I
I remember the first time I met Kumari. I recall, most vividly, that she smelled of gunmetal, blood and death.
I hated her.
Chapter 1
“Harder!”
Kumari screamed the words over the howl of the battered engine. It revved as Bastion punched the gas pedal, dust and pebbles spraying the side of the jeep in peppered graffiti. Driven by the wind, coarse bits of the world clawed her face and scratched the surface of her smoke-glass shades. She tugged the bandana across her nose and lips, turning around to stare at the back of his head.
“I said harder, Bastion.” Her voice barely broke the wind. The driver twisted his neck only an inch to the left, an affirmation that he indeed heard her over the grinding engine. The jeep jumped in speed again, spewing more of the broken earth into the sky.
She stepped down from behind the seats, striding easily through the back of the moving bed. Bending low, she scooped the collar from her feet, turning the seven foot pole around in her grip. She checked the prongs at the tip of the weapon, satisfied that the horseshoe was intact and strong. Only a fool, or an inexperienced wrangler, would jump the bed with a broken collar.
“Left!”
His response was swift, and the jeep veered hard to the side, tires skidding and jumping over the roadless plain. She caught herself with a hard foot to the wheel well, the span of the collar keeping her upright as it rammed against the crossover bars above her head. Despite the murky air, she saw her quarry, clear against the horizon.
“Again, harder!” Her throat was dry. It was only daybreak, but the heat was already climbing. Best to get done and home before noon. The jeep jerked again, this time right, and she checked her arsenal as they closed the gap. Handgun, kukri, rifle, bootblade and collar. Her shields, the gauntlets that covered her fingers to her mid-bicep and metal boots that stood to her upper thigh, were in place and secure. She flexed her hand around the collar pole. She remembered a time when she thought the armor heavy.
Today she didn’t feel the weight when she jumped.
The landing jarred her knees, but she rolled with it as she’d practiced for years. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, grunting as her armored feet dug into the drought-ridden soil. Her grip was solid still, the collar light as air.
She heard the jeep and Bastion turning to come back for her over the wind. She inhaled the exhaust, savoring the smell before it faded away and was replaced by the ripe taste of decay. The bandana was to block the unpleasant scent, but she always felt it limited her capacity when she hunted. And while she knew her prey understood little, she still wanted them to see her smile when she won.
She was running, the pounding of her stride lost in the ocean of noise. The hunted paused, its shambling canter stumbling to an unbalanced halt. It smelled her. Kumari licked her lips and ran harder.
Less than twenty more feet.
The shape, human and hunched over, finished its rotation, facing full on the incoming attack. She planted the spike of the collar in the dirt, using her weight and momentum, to vault through the air.
Her weighted feet slammed into the undead’s chest, flattening the creature to the dirt. She bellowed as they connected, the cry coming from deep in her belly. They both collided hard, but she was ready. She was quicker. She was alive.
On her feet before the monster moved, she lifted the collar high up and above her head, before driving it around the neck of her catch. The undead flailed, roaring and moaning in the broken voice of what was once a man. She wrinkled her nose at the smell and sight of one this close. The pole of the collar vibrated in the hair, flapping like an empty flagpole.
She backed away, leisurely taking off her glasses as she watched the undead struggle. As she tucked the sunglasses on the front of her tank, she ran her other metal-cased hand across her forehead. The heated metal stung her skin, but it kept the sweat and salt out of her eyes. She cracked her neck, a tangle of braided black hair slipping forward over her shoulder.
She sunk slowly to her knees, a pace away from her catch, and forced herself to swallow the thickness in her mouth. As she considered it, the sun warmed what was exposed of her tanned skin, her ability to burn under the rays vanquished years ago.
She didn’t turn around at the sound of the jeep pulling up behind her, or even at the sound of Bastion’s footsteps as he walked over to gauge her handiwork. She was thinking.
“It’s thin, don’t you think?”
His voice was gruff, but light. She turned her head, cupping a hand over her eyes to block the light. Bastion shifted to his right, positioning his mass between her and the rising sun. She lowered her hand, staring into his face.
“So am I.”
A grin tugged at the edge of Bastion mouth, before he shrugged his shoulders in retraction.
“You’re the wrangler, Kumari. Not me. If you think it’s a good catch, let’s pack it and go.” Bastion peeled back the sleeve of his tattered windbreaker, staring into the face of a solar watch. “Rem’s up by now. I’m sure he’s wondering where we are.”
Kumari snorted, shaking her head as she turned to the flopping body.
“He’s a brilliant man. I’m sure he can guess.” Kumari reached a hand out to grab one of the undead’s jerking limbs. The muscle tissue was soft, denting under the pressure of her hand. The thing roared, and with its predictably above-human strength, it tore easily from her grip. The undead left the meat of its forearm behind, draped over Kumari’s palm. A vicious stench wafted up, and Bastion took a step back with a frown.
Kumari sighed, hauling herself slowly to her feet and dropping the chunk of rancid meat next to the struggling corpse.
“Mushy.” Bastion wrinkled his nose. “It’s been dead too long, or found a damp place to keep home.”
She nodded, reaching out to grab the waving pole.
“You’re right. This one’s no good. It’ll never make it in the pits.” Kumari twisted the collar, snapping the undead’s neck with a single flick of her wrist. She leaned her weight against the pole, easily separating the head from the shoulders once the neck was shattered. The sound was one of tearing meat, tendons stretching and snapping apart. The flailing ceased. “How long do we have left?”
“Noon is four hours off. Right now we’re two hours out from the barricades.” Bastion held out a hand as he spoke, and Kumari passed the collar into his palm. Together they walked back to the jeep, leaving the bloodless, rotting corpse to bake in the sun and be eaten by vultures. Black wings were already dotting the horizon, aggressively coming for a meal.
“Plenty of time.”
Bastion raised a brow, looking down at Kumari. She was fierce, of all things, but he still stood nearly two feet taller. He watched her as she climbed into the back of the jeep, checking for the things she always ignored. She appeared hydrated, no signs of fatigue, no injuries from the scuffle. Of course, that collaring had been flawless, as most of hers were.
He watched as she pulled up her hair, winding the tangled dreads away from her face. It was normal, he knew, for women to keep that hairstyle, at least the few who didn’t run in the prostitution rings or keep house. Glints of silver caught in the dim sunlight, the marks of her victories in the arena for all to see, displayed in the form of the valuable metal decorating her hair. To Bastion it was less trouble to simply shave his head with grease and a dull blade.
“What?” Kumari caught his attention, narrowing her gaze just before she slipped the sunglasses over her dark eyes. Bastion shrugged, leaving the gnawing nostalgia behind with the dead as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.
QUERY: THE UNICORN TAMER
Dear Agent,
With a pro-environment motif similar to Carl Hiaasen's HOOT, THE UNICORN TAMER is Greek mythology meets Pokémon.
Try being 13 and discovering that your parents spent your whole life lying to you.
Try being 13 and having to deal with a kidnapped dad.
Try being 13 and learning that your mom - yeah, she can create fire with her bare hands.
When Emma Brown's dad mysteriously disappears, Emma is catapulted back to her birthplace - a dimension where fairies are anything but tales. In the wonderland called Drualtys, teenagers study to become Tamers - people who for unique bonds with legendary animals to save them from extinction. Through this bond, Tamers absorb the creatures' majick, special powers ranging from the ability to control lightening, run on water, or see through skin.
Emma embraces her taming lessons to rescue her dad from the Hunters, a ruthless clan of humans hell-bent on proving that man is the most powerful beast of all. Their mission: murder the creatures of Drualtys and steal their majickal abilities. The prize: a unicorn's cloak of invisibility. Together with her newfound friends, including a half-pixie who's too pretty for his own good and a whimsical boy who can talk to animals, Emma must stay one step ahead of the Hunters and save her dad and the unicorns - before she is hunted herself.
THE UNICORN TAMER is approximately 100,000 words and is the first in a middle-grade fantasy trilogy. Upon your request, I'd be more than happy to send you the complete manuscript.
I graduated from Santa Clara University with a Major in Communications and a Minor in Creative Writing. I worked on my university's literary magazine as well as a Children's Storyteller at Barnes and Noble.
Thank you for taking the time to consider representing my work. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Christine
With a pro-environment motif similar to Carl Hiaasen's HOOT, THE UNICORN TAMER is Greek mythology meets Pokémon.
Try being 13 and discovering that your parents spent your whole life lying to you.
Try being 13 and having to deal with a kidnapped dad.
Try being 13 and learning that your mom - yeah, she can create fire with her bare hands.
When Emma Brown's dad mysteriously disappears, Emma is catapulted back to her birthplace - a dimension where fairies are anything but tales. In the wonderland called Drualtys, teenagers study to become Tamers - people who for unique bonds with legendary animals to save them from extinction. Through this bond, Tamers absorb the creatures' majick, special powers ranging from the ability to control lightening, run on water, or see through skin.
Emma embraces her taming lessons to rescue her dad from the Hunters, a ruthless clan of humans hell-bent on proving that man is the most powerful beast of all. Their mission: murder the creatures of Drualtys and steal their majickal abilities. The prize: a unicorn's cloak of invisibility. Together with her newfound friends, including a half-pixie who's too pretty for his own good and a whimsical boy who can talk to animals, Emma must stay one step ahead of the Hunters and save her dad and the unicorns - before she is hunted herself.
THE UNICORN TAMER is approximately 100,000 words and is the first in a middle-grade fantasy trilogy. Upon your request, I'd be more than happy to send you the complete manuscript.
I graduated from Santa Clara University with a Major in Communications and a Minor in Creative Writing. I worked on my university's literary magazine as well as a Children's Storyteller at Barnes and Noble.
Thank you for taking the time to consider representing my work. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Christine
Query- Angel Undercover (Revision 1)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Mr./Ms. Agentperson
A heart of gold and shy as a mouse. That was Paige Moss before the adventure that led to her saving her city and becoming the hero no one, leastwise herself, ever thought she could be. A real angel undercover.
Getting kidnapped turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Paige Moss. She is brought to an exotic rainforest, where myth and magic exist, where her new friends teach her aerial acrobatics and underwater horse riding. She gets reunited with her older sister, Savannah, who set up the abduction to save Paige from dangerous thieves back home. And best of all, she finds the chance to escape the shyness that has always held her back.
But Savannah is actually working for her kidnapper, Maisen, training an army for his vision to unite the three sister races of the world. While Maisen’s aims are noble, he’ll use any means necessary to accomplish them. So when Paige learns of the covert mission, he drags her through an arsenal of magical tortures before leaving her to die in a sea cave, just so she cannot interfere.
When Paige is rescued, the truth comes out and Maisen flees. Weeks later, an entire city is leveled overnight and Paige is positive he’s involved. She rounds up her friends and allies and returns to her turbulent home city, a shy girl no longer. With her sister at her side, Paige expects one final showdown with the person she fears most, but it turns out that Maisen has become the victim of one of his own plans. The rogue firestorm he sparked is out of control and it’s up to Paige and her team to stop it.
Angel Undercover is a YA fantasy and is complete at 94,000 words. It is the first in a planned quartet.
Kind Regards,
Dear Mr./Ms. Agentperson
A heart of gold and shy as a mouse. That was Paige Moss before the adventure that led to her saving her city and becoming the hero no one, leastwise herself, ever thought she could be. A real angel undercover.
Getting kidnapped turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Paige Moss. She is brought to an exotic rainforest, where myth and magic exist, where her new friends teach her aerial acrobatics and underwater horse riding. She gets reunited with her older sister, Savannah, who set up the abduction to save Paige from dangerous thieves back home. And best of all, she finds the chance to escape the shyness that has always held her back.
But Savannah is actually working for her kidnapper, Maisen, training an army for his vision to unite the three sister races of the world. While Maisen’s aims are noble, he’ll use any means necessary to accomplish them. So when Paige learns of the covert mission, he drags her through an arsenal of magical tortures before leaving her to die in a sea cave, just so she cannot interfere.
When Paige is rescued, the truth comes out and Maisen flees. Weeks later, an entire city is leveled overnight and Paige is positive he’s involved. She rounds up her friends and allies and returns to her turbulent home city, a shy girl no longer. With her sister at her side, Paige expects one final showdown with the person she fears most, but it turns out that Maisen has become the victim of one of his own plans. The rogue firestorm he sparked is out of control and it’s up to Paige and her team to stop it.
Angel Undercover is a YA fantasy and is complete at 94,000 words. It is the first in a planned quartet.
Kind Regards,
Revised Query: The Legend
Zinnia always thought she would be able to do whatever it took for the greater good, until now. Zinnia, a Nature Maker, whose kind represents a race made of two parts, Nature Makers and Weather Makers, a race that fled from humans’ centuries before in order to preserve their kind, now living in a world hidden, with the Fairy’s help, from them. But when Zinnia discovers that she is one of two destined to fulfill an ancient Legend in order to preserve her world, life becomes more complicated than she ever imagined.
When Zinnia and Stephan, the other half of the Legend, meet for the first time neither of them can deny the instant and powerful attraction they feel, however, even more alarming is the fact the everyone else around them can sense it too, including those that seek to destroy them to ensure that the Legend is never fulfilled. Learning to harness and control a power that neither of them asked for is only the beginning of things Zinnia and Stephan are asked to do for the greater good. But, when faced with making the ultimate sacrifice, Zinnia alone must decide just how much she is willing to lose for the greater good.
The Legend, a Young Adult Fantasy is complete at 93,000 words, and I would be happy to send you the complete manuscript.
Sincerely,
Carley
When Zinnia and Stephan, the other half of the Legend, meet for the first time neither of them can deny the instant and powerful attraction they feel, however, even more alarming is the fact the everyone else around them can sense it too, including those that seek to destroy them to ensure that the Legend is never fulfilled. Learning to harness and control a power that neither of them asked for is only the beginning of things Zinnia and Stephan are asked to do for the greater good. But, when faced with making the ultimate sacrifice, Zinnia alone must decide just how much she is willing to lose for the greater good.
The Legend, a Young Adult Fantasy is complete at 93,000 words, and I would be happy to send you the complete manuscript.
Sincerely,
Carley
Thanks for your support!
To all who have stopped by: Thank you! (And I really mean that exclamation point!)
Since I launched this blog last Thursday it's received 288 visits, and 615 page views. Not a bad opening, in my opinion. The average visitor views 2.14 pages, and stays on the site for 3 min 54 seconds. This tells me that you aren't just stopping by, but you are staying and reading.
I've seen a lot of positive feedback in the comments- for the writers who have posted their queries, for the visitors who are providing feedback, and to me for the initiative to start this project. For those who have offered thanks to me, you are very welcome. All I ask for in return is your help in promoting the site. Several of my cyber-friends have posted links on their blogs, and if anyone else is contemplating linking to this site, go for it!
Let me know if you have questions or suggestions to make this site better. I will be adding in an FAQ's section, and as more queries come in I will be looking for ways to make the site easier to search, especially for updated / revised queries.
#
Since I launched this blog last Thursday it's received 288 visits, and 615 page views. Not a bad opening, in my opinion. The average visitor views 2.14 pages, and stays on the site for 3 min 54 seconds. This tells me that you aren't just stopping by, but you are staying and reading.
I've seen a lot of positive feedback in the comments- for the writers who have posted their queries, for the visitors who are providing feedback, and to me for the initiative to start this project. For those who have offered thanks to me, you are very welcome. All I ask for in return is your help in promoting the site. Several of my cyber-friends have posted links on their blogs, and if anyone else is contemplating linking to this site, go for it!
Let me know if you have questions or suggestions to make this site better. I will be adding in an FAQ's section, and as more queries come in I will be looking for ways to make the site easier to search, especially for updated / revised queries.
#
Mar 12, 2009
Query: Just Cause
When Katherine's son is mutilated and killed in the exact same manner as her brother, she becomes convinced that the perpetrator is the same man. She goes to the authorities, but even with new evidence, the killer continues to elude police.
Her search for answers puts her in contact with Jon, who presents damning evidence that the man who killed her son and brother and the man responsible for his daughter’s suicide are part of a network of pedophiles called The Convent. Unwilling to trust a system that has failed her twice, she bypasses the police and vows to help Jon stop The Convent before they hurt more children.
Together, Katherine and Jon stalk and gun down members of the group. But when their thirst for retribution lands them on the FBI's Most Wanted list, they must stay one step ahead of a tenacious lawman out to stop them. With the help of a few sympathizers they manage to outsmart the FBI but soon they find out that a member of The Convent is on their trail and looking for a little revenge of his own. If the FBI agent doesn’t catch Katherine and Jon, they stand the chance of losing their lives to one of the very men they are hunting.
Her search for answers puts her in contact with Jon, who presents damning evidence that the man who killed her son and brother and the man responsible for his daughter’s suicide are part of a network of pedophiles called The Convent. Unwilling to trust a system that has failed her twice, she bypasses the police and vows to help Jon stop The Convent before they hurt more children.
Together, Katherine and Jon stalk and gun down members of the group. But when their thirst for retribution lands them on the FBI's Most Wanted list, they must stay one step ahead of a tenacious lawman out to stop them. With the help of a few sympathizers they manage to outsmart the FBI but soon they find out that a member of The Convent is on their trail and looking for a little revenge of his own. If the FBI agent doesn’t catch Katherine and Jon, they stand the chance of losing their lives to one of the very men they are hunting.
Mar 11, 2009
Query: CONTROL ISSUES
Dear Secret Agent,
In a world where Thinkers control the population and Rules are not meant to be broken, fifteen-year-old Violet Schoenfeld does a hell of a job shattering them to pieces.
After committing her eighth lame-ass crime (walking in the park at night [after dark] with a boy, gasp!), Vi is taken to the Green, a group of Thinkers who control the Goodgrounds. She’s found unrehabilitatable (yeah, she doesn’t think it’s a word either) and exiled to the Badlands. Good thing sexy Bad boy Jag Barque will be going too.
Dodging Greenies and hovercopters, dealing with absent-father issues, and coming to terms with feelings for an ex-boyfriend—and Jag as a possible new one—leave Vi little time for much else. Which is too damn bad, because she’s more important than she realizes. When secrets about her “dead” sister and not-so-missing father hit the fan, Vi must make a choice: control or be controlled.
A dystopian science fiction novel for young adults, CONTROL ISSUES is complete at 82,000 words. Fans of Scott Westerfeld’s dystopian UGLIES series will enjoy similar elements, and a strong teen voice.
I am an elementary school teacher by day and a contributing author to the QueryTracker blog by night. If you would like to consider CONTROL ISSUES, I’d be happy to forward the complete manuscript to you.
Sincerely,
ElanaJ
In a world where Thinkers control the population and Rules are not meant to be broken, fifteen-year-old Violet Schoenfeld does a hell of a job shattering them to pieces.
After committing her eighth lame-ass crime (walking in the park at night [after dark] with a boy, gasp!), Vi is taken to the Green, a group of Thinkers who control the Goodgrounds. She’s found unrehabilitatable (yeah, she doesn’t think it’s a word either) and exiled to the Badlands. Good thing sexy Bad boy Jag Barque will be going too.
Dodging Greenies and hovercopters, dealing with absent-father issues, and coming to terms with feelings for an ex-boyfriend—and Jag as a possible new one—leave Vi little time for much else. Which is too damn bad, because she’s more important than she realizes. When secrets about her “dead” sister and not-so-missing father hit the fan, Vi must make a choice: control or be controlled.
A dystopian science fiction novel for young adults, CONTROL ISSUES is complete at 82,000 words. Fans of Scott Westerfeld’s dystopian UGLIES series will enjoy similar elements, and a strong teen voice.
I am an elementary school teacher by day and a contributing author to the QueryTracker blog by night. If you would like to consider CONTROL ISSUES, I’d be happy to forward the complete manuscript to you.
Sincerely,
ElanaJ
Query- Angel Undercover
A revision of this query has been posted, click here to read it.
Dear Mr./Ms. Agentperson
Paige Moss was an angel undercover long before she knew it. Her friend Dak (a real angel in disguise) told her she’s always had the heart and maybe she just needed the right situation for her courage to show.
After she is whisked far from home, fourteen-year-old Paige decides to escape her shyness by pretending to be like her hero, Everest. She maintains the façade to investigate when her beloved older sister is accused of endangering thousands of lives through an underhanded plot. Keeping up the boldness ruse, Paige exposes the real villain – a visionary with good aims and all the wrong means – and a whole new set of problems spring forth. But her pretending turns into something very real because, while she feels unconfident and fearful inside, others only see a brave and caring young woman. Paige learns that shyness is not a state of existence, but a choice; that her true character is really the sum of her actions. By the end of her myth-and-magic-filled adventures, Paige is organizing a militant force to save her fractured home city from rogues – a far cry from the girl who couldn’t even give a class presentation.
Paige always dreamed of making a difference, but never thought she could… until she did and became the unexpected hero. The angel undercover.
Angel Undercover is a YA fantasy and is complete at 95,000 words. It is the first in a planned quartet.
Kind Regards,
Dear Mr./Ms. Agentperson
Paige Moss was an angel undercover long before she knew it. Her friend Dak (a real angel in disguise) told her she’s always had the heart and maybe she just needed the right situation for her courage to show.
After she is whisked far from home, fourteen-year-old Paige decides to escape her shyness by pretending to be like her hero, Everest. She maintains the façade to investigate when her beloved older sister is accused of endangering thousands of lives through an underhanded plot. Keeping up the boldness ruse, Paige exposes the real villain – a visionary with good aims and all the wrong means – and a whole new set of problems spring forth. But her pretending turns into something very real because, while she feels unconfident and fearful inside, others only see a brave and caring young woman. Paige learns that shyness is not a state of existence, but a choice; that her true character is really the sum of her actions. By the end of her myth-and-magic-filled adventures, Paige is organizing a militant force to save her fractured home city from rogues – a far cry from the girl who couldn’t even give a class presentation.
Paige always dreamed of making a difference, but never thought she could… until she did and became the unexpected hero. The angel undercover.
Angel Undercover is a YA fantasy and is complete at 95,000 words. It is the first in a planned quartet.
Kind Regards,
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