Click here for a search string on IRON THIRST. There are queries and sample pages available.
I redid the beginning, and added a chapter before. It is told from another POV, someone that is aware of the danger that lurks. Let me know what you guys think. Especially of the POV switch in chapter 2. The rest of the story is told in Felicity's POV. Thanks-
Chapter 1
*/ /*
*/Adam Bristow/*
It is merely the beginning of the night when Gabriel decides upon his first victim. He locks his sights on her the moment she steps into the bar. The curvaceous blonde lass will be in is bed in under an hour, and shortly after her blood will be in his veins. She doesn't stand a chance.
Thursday night at DragonCon is when most of the guests check into their hotel and start the weekend with a drink in hand. My hand is empty. The first night of Con is when I begin to patrol, as the out-of-towners descend upon our town. I'm not worried about the geeks, the costumed
fans, or the party animals. My concern is very specific--those who are removing their disguises. Vamps get this weekend to be themselves, but there are rules, and this bloodsucker is dangerously close to breaking the first one--aggravating me.
His fangs are protruding, turned on by the blue-eyed soon-to-be donor. She doesn't blink as she gravitates towards him. What irks me is that she is an unwilling donor. There will be plenty of those, but I ain't going to sit on my arse and watch. She may be walking to him on her own
two feet, but the brain in her head currently belongs to him.
What a lovely time to buy my dear old pal a drink?
"Gabriel," I call out as I step in front of her path, breaking their eye contact and the hold he has over her. Bastard snarls at me. "Run along, love," I tell the blonde.
She blinks a few times with that expression of confusion. Lost at why she is standing here, she lets out a heavy sigh and scurries along looking for her friends.
When I look back, Gabriel has painted a smile on his face. He leans in close to me so others can't hear. "Bristow, if you continue to run off my dinner then I will be forced to believe that you are volunteering. Although you're not my taste, your blood is much too bitter."
No one likes a clever vampire. I pull the unlit pipe from my lips, and raise an eyebrow at him. "You are not threatening me now, are ya?"
His smile vanishes. "I was not harming anyone, nor am I breaking any of your precious rules."
"That's debatable, and I am not really up to the debate. So, just behave yourself and you'll live, well exist, to see your two hundredth birthday."
"Ahh, you flatter me. I am not nearly that old."
"But I am," adds a smooth Arabian voice from behind me.
I am a rather smart bloke. I wouldn't still be alive if I wasn't. So allowing a thousand year old vamp to sneak up on me is just piss poor form. I turn to see the dark-skinned vampire, fangs extended, staring back at me. I haven't seen Zamir in nearly ten years, and if I am being
honest, I ain't thrilled at seeing him now.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, rubbing my palm over the prickly stubble that is my hair. /More importantly, when are you leaving?/
I could take out Gabriel and three fledglings all by myself. But this bloody bastard shooting holes through my skin, I ain't so sure of. I avert my eyes to a spot above his slick black hair. Looking at the floor would give the appearance of weakness, and I ain't weak and even less stupid.
"Ah, my dearest Bristow, you do not seem happy to see me. No matter. Many of my progenies look expectantly upon this weekend, and I find myself wondering what all the chatter is about. Thought I would come and see for myself."
Rubbish, I'm sure. "I'm on my early rounds making sure everyone keeps it copasetic. We want all the humans' hearts beating and the secret safe. We got rules in this area. So, keep it peaceful."
As I turn to walk away, Zamir says, "We are aware of your so-called rules. Maybe you should run along and check the more recent additions to our world. The ones that actually care."
I hate the way his words crawl over my skin. I glance at Gabriel's smug face, grinning like he's getting away with something. I'd love nothing more than to knock him arse over elbow, but starting a fight on the first night over something as silly as pride would not be my best move.
Not without back up. Currently, the rest of my team is doing the exact same thing all through the other three hotels.
If the humans knew what was swarming DragonCon, they might have just stayed home behind locked doors. Not that a flimsy door would keep the monsters out.
Chapter 2
*/Felicity Johnson/*
Who knew two tiny fangs could be so hard to find? I bought the pair nearly five months ago, and I specifically remember thinking to put them somewhere that I could find them. My room is a complete and utter disaster. I have been through every drawer, emptying the contents onto
my bed in search for the last thing needed to complete my costume. I can't be a vampire without fangs.
I plop down on the bed, and close my eyes. /Where did I put them?/
"Bathroom, second drawer, along with the red contacts," I say aloud to the ceiling.
I leap from the bed. Christian will be here any minute, and I want him to see the complete look. I slide open the drawer, and there they sit. I can't believe I forgot the contacts too. That set me back nearly a hundred bucks.
I insert the teeth, and begin trying to attach the colored plastic to my eyeballs. I should have waited on the eye makeup. I run back to my closet to grab shoes, zipping up the knee-high leather boots.
I stop by the mirror for one last look. The struggle was well worth it. My eyes glow a bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside has burnt the curved periphery. I bounce my palm off the spikes of my black pixie wig. The menacing grin is complete with two
sharp fangs over my scarlet red lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city of Atlanta, Georgia.
Well, the town won't be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead.
As I darken the shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, the doorbell rings. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.
I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, suspenders, and pants that look as if they had been buried. His normally perfect hair is dirty and
a total mess. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my clean-cut best buddy.
"Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing. I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off."
I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday "me" is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.
"Well, hello Pot, I must be the kettle," I say with a laugh while opening the door wide. "Hey, listen to this," I say, letting out my version of a snarl. "I've been practicing."
"Um, keep practicing. You sound like a drowning kitten."
I stick out my pouty lip. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.
"Hey, Fee… I…I…," Christian stutters. He looks down and starts to fiddle with his shirt sleeves, pulling them longer. "I may have kinda invited Mike."
"Why, in the name of everything holy, would you do that?" I ask as I look down, fretting over the red tank top with three holes sliced across the front and the black leather miniskirt. It's one thing to look this way in front of Christian and tens of thousands of random strangers, but
Mike will never let me hear the end of it.
"He swears that he will be good, and he is excited about meeting some of the celebrities, and /he/ is even dressing up."
"Is he meeting us there?"
Christian walks over to the couch and plops down. He tugs again on the sleeves. They can't stretch any further. "No, he is meeting us here."
"Are you telling me that you gave Mr. Grabass my address? What were you thinking?"
He stops jerking on his clothes, and looks up at me. "You are totally over-reacting. Just calm down. He's not that bad."
My eyes roll like dice. Mike Fletcher is Christian's best guy friend who is nothing like him. More like his alter-ego. Where Christian is sweet, understanding, and everything a girl looks for in a best friend, Mike is a chauvinistic, egocentric, pig-headed jerk. They were fraternity brothers at UGA, home of the Bulldogs, and I've been stuck with him ever since. Lucky me.
The door bell rings, and I jump ten feet in the air. Just wonderful. I don't have time to tone down the outfit. I am stuck dressed like this with only a piece of wood separating me from my nemesis. I take a deep breath, and then open the door.
"Hey sexy lady, where's Felicity?" Mike says with a wink. I start to walk away, when he adds, "What's eating her? Wish it was…" I turn on my heels, and playfully punch him in the stomach before he can finish that thought.
"Dude, you said you would behave," Christian states.
"Man, that's before I knew she was going as Sexy Fee." He looks at me and tries to turn on the charm, softening his voice and flashing a smile. "Felicity, I am just kidding. I think it's cool you got all dressed up. You look really nice and very realistic. Can I lick your fangs?"
He almost had me believing that for a minute.
Oct 19, 2009
Oct 17, 2009
QUERY: HATSHEPSUT: FEMALE PHARAOH
Dear Agent,
The gods taunt those they love most. And they absolutely adore Hatshepsut.
When her father dies, Hatshepsut is forced to marry her hippo of a half-brother to secure his claim to the throne. She becomes the real power behind Egypt’s crown, but as a woman, remains relegated to the shadows of the Horus Throne. Thutmosis’s death can’t come soon enough.
Thutmosis dies three years into his reign and Hatshepsut becomes regent to her two-year-old stepson, launching Egypt into its golden age. Then she does the unthinkable. Amid foreign wars and a palace coup, Hatshepsut proclaims herself Pharaoh of Egypt. Tormented by her love of a commoner and cursed with personal tragedies, Hatshepsut will face a choice: family or eternal glory.
HATSHEPSUT: FEMALE PHARAOH is historical fiction complete at 90,000 words.
With the recent discovery of her mummy, Hatshepsut has been showcased in National Geographic, Smithsonian Magazine, and the Discovery Channel over the past three years. A history teacher, I have traveled to Egypt twice to better tell Hatshepsut’s story and am currently at work on my second novel set in ancient Egypt.
Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Best wishes,
The gods taunt those they love most. And they absolutely adore Hatshepsut.
When her father dies, Hatshepsut is forced to marry her hippo of a half-brother to secure his claim to the throne. She becomes the real power behind Egypt’s crown, but as a woman, remains relegated to the shadows of the Horus Throne. Thutmosis’s death can’t come soon enough.
Thutmosis dies three years into his reign and Hatshepsut becomes regent to her two-year-old stepson, launching Egypt into its golden age. Then she does the unthinkable. Amid foreign wars and a palace coup, Hatshepsut proclaims herself Pharaoh of Egypt. Tormented by her love of a commoner and cursed with personal tragedies, Hatshepsut will face a choice: family or eternal glory.
HATSHEPSUT: FEMALE PHARAOH is historical fiction complete at 90,000 words.
With the recent discovery of her mummy, Hatshepsut has been showcased in National Geographic, Smithsonian Magazine, and the Discovery Channel over the past three years. A history teacher, I have traveled to Egypt twice to better tell Hatshepsut’s story and am currently at work on my second novel set in ancient Egypt.
Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Best wishes,
Oct 16, 2009
Writing Contest- Watching Paint Dry
‘Tis the season for writing contests. Who am I to ignore the bandwagon? Apparently not one of the capable…So without further ado, I present to you The First Official Public Query Slushpile Writing Contest (TFOPQSWC, for your anagram junkies). Here’s the scoop:
Most of us are familiar with the old clichés about watching paint dry. Many would have you believe it’s the most boring thing in the world. Sure, from a visual perspective. But how about a written scene?
Who among you thinks you can write an interesting scene about watching paint dry? Who can go above interesting and make drying paint exciting? Mysterious? Funny? Scary?
Post your entries in the comments section of this post. Entries must be between 300 and 500 words. I will pick the top three finalists – based solely on my own convoluted sense of quality, humor, excitement, or whatever other qualifying criteria I make up at the time. I will post those finalists and you will vote for the winner. And the prize, other than bragging rights? On your deathbed, you shall receive total consciousness…
Deadline for submissions: 5pm EDT on Tuesday, October 20. Finalists will be posted on Wednesday, October 21 and voting will be open through 8am Friday, October 23.
Most of us are familiar with the old clichés about watching paint dry. Many would have you believe it’s the most boring thing in the world. Sure, from a visual perspective. But how about a written scene?
Who among you thinks you can write an interesting scene about watching paint dry? Who can go above interesting and make drying paint exciting? Mysterious? Funny? Scary?
Post your entries in the comments section of this post. Entries must be between 300 and 500 words. I will pick the top three finalists – based solely on my own convoluted sense of quality, humor, excitement, or whatever other qualifying criteria I make up at the time. I will post those finalists and you will vote for the winner. And the prize, other than bragging rights? On your deathbed, you shall receive total consciousness…
Deadline for submissions: 5pm EDT on Tuesday, October 20. Finalists will be posted on Wednesday, October 21 and voting will be open through 8am Friday, October 23.
Oct 15, 2009
Query: Butter and Margarine
Dear Agent,
Until Justin Reinhart walked into their dad’s insurance agency, Sunny Cumberledge lived a margarine existence, a life hardly worth spreading on weekday toast. Or so her sister always said; Rain never let someone’s feelings stand in the way of a good metaphor. Although Sunny can’t be entirely mad at her: if the always- impatient Rain hadn’t set up their first date, Justin might have taken his new policy rates and left without her number. But like always, Rain shoved Sunny headlong into her life and didn’t apologize for it. Why should she? Rain lives in a butter- pat world full of flavor and worth every calorie. Sunny’s the one living like a twenty- one year old grocery list, unremarkable, unmemorable.
Sunny never really understood her sister, a woman who didn’t seem to care that she was mostly loathed by her family. Before that December day in the office, Sunny had resigned herself to being the good daughter, the Cumberledge their father loved the most. Someone had to live practically; Rain stopped trying to be anything but fantastic eleven years ago. But Justin makes Sunny think she could be so much more. She starts to see herself as a potentially interesting person, a person worthy of remembering. She let herself be buried alive underneath eleven years worth of pleasing dirt. It’s finally time for Sunny to please herself, and in doing that, she might discover just what her sister has tried to show her for so long. Anyone can merely exist; only the fantastic can really live.
Butter and Margarine is an eighty- one thousand word novel in the women’s fiction genre. [Personal Information]. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Saison Williams
Until Justin Reinhart walked into their dad’s insurance agency, Sunny Cumberledge lived a margarine existence, a life hardly worth spreading on weekday toast. Or so her sister always said; Rain never let someone’s feelings stand in the way of a good metaphor. Although Sunny can’t be entirely mad at her: if the always- impatient Rain hadn’t set up their first date, Justin might have taken his new policy rates and left without her number. But like always, Rain shoved Sunny headlong into her life and didn’t apologize for it. Why should she? Rain lives in a butter- pat world full of flavor and worth every calorie. Sunny’s the one living like a twenty- one year old grocery list, unremarkable, unmemorable.
Sunny never really understood her sister, a woman who didn’t seem to care that she was mostly loathed by her family. Before that December day in the office, Sunny had resigned herself to being the good daughter, the Cumberledge their father loved the most. Someone had to live practically; Rain stopped trying to be anything but fantastic eleven years ago. But Justin makes Sunny think she could be so much more. She starts to see herself as a potentially interesting person, a person worthy of remembering. She let herself be buried alive underneath eleven years worth of pleasing dirt. It’s finally time for Sunny to please herself, and in doing that, she might discover just what her sister has tried to show her for so long. Anyone can merely exist; only the fantastic can really live.
Butter and Margarine is an eighty- one thousand word novel in the women’s fiction genre. [Personal Information]. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Saison Williams
QUERY- THE EMERALD GIRL
Complete at 108,000 words, THE EMERALD GIRL is a science fiction novel that explores the effects of good intentions gone wrong and how honorable people right those wrongs.
Life on Earth suffers a toxic reaction when exposed to alien life. Agnes is a researcher sent to Earth to solve this riddle. The DNA of Melvin Humphrey holds the key. Agnes activates a dormant gene in Melvin. He can now have contact with Agnes without ill effect. Unknown to Melvin, he now emits the same pheromone Agnes does. His wife and son are exposed, suffer a severe reaction, and cling to life while Agnes and Melvin race against time to save their lives.
While working together, Agnes grows to love Melvin. She wants to melt into his mind and soul. Melvin fears Agnes may sacrifice his family to satisfy her lust.
The answer lies in the history books. The dormant gene in Melvin entered the human genome as the part of a failed experiment to modify life on Earth. The missing pieces of the puzzle will take him to ancient Egypt and Rome, and the early days of the American government. The answer he finds is impossible to believe. Yet, he must believe, or his family will die.
THE EMERALD GIRL is best described as Catherine Asaro with a bitter edge and should appeal to Ace, Baen, and Tor. I draw from my farming background for a scene where steer become infected. I am the treasurer of the Wisconsin Regional Writers’ Association.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Chapter 1:
Unwelcome Guests
The glass rattles at the front door. We have few visitors, leaving one possibility: the steer are out. I can see my animals running down the side of the road, thousand pound bovines built of solid muscle, giving my insurance carrier indigestion.
I throw my book to the living room table. I wonder which neighbor I pissed off now as I rush to the door, tripping over the up-step between kitchen and hallway.
Ann is pulling laundry out of the wash machine as I pass the utility room. Mason is crawling underfoot, tripping me as I pass.
The urgency of the knock is muted when I see the woman standing on the other side of the door. She wears a business suit and loose fitting slacks. Her short black hair in messed from the wind. Her short stature matches her slim face. A black line of eye shadow, thin lips, and an aquiline nose highlight her facial strong points. I open the door praying she doesn’t hand me a pamphlet telling me ‘Jesus Loves You’.
I step back as I open the door, startled. Two men in dark blue suits stand to the side and behind the woman.
“Mr. Melvin Humphrey?” Her voice is firm, yet polite; all business. She extends her hand. I take it, feeling like a sheep ready to be sheared.
“What can I do for you?” The words catch in my throat with a click; I handle tense situations poorly.
“I’m Agent Alice Hanson with the FBI,” she shows me her badge. “This is Agent Vic Savant, and Agent Tyron Meyer.” They show their badge as they are introduced. Agent Savant is tall, thin, with a permanent five o’clock shadow; Agent Meyer a large black man, pushing the seams of his suit to the limit.
Ann checks to see what the commotions is, Mason in tow. She has a worried look on her face when she sees the crowd at the door. I appreciate Ann’s talent at sizing up a situation fast and correct. And the look on her face is concerning.
“We need to talk,” Agent Alice Hanson said. Her tone of voice is commanding with a hint of respect.
Life on Earth suffers a toxic reaction when exposed to alien life. Agnes is a researcher sent to Earth to solve this riddle. The DNA of Melvin Humphrey holds the key. Agnes activates a dormant gene in Melvin. He can now have contact with Agnes without ill effect. Unknown to Melvin, he now emits the same pheromone Agnes does. His wife and son are exposed, suffer a severe reaction, and cling to life while Agnes and Melvin race against time to save their lives.
While working together, Agnes grows to love Melvin. She wants to melt into his mind and soul. Melvin fears Agnes may sacrifice his family to satisfy her lust.
The answer lies in the history books. The dormant gene in Melvin entered the human genome as the part of a failed experiment to modify life on Earth. The missing pieces of the puzzle will take him to ancient Egypt and Rome, and the early days of the American government. The answer he finds is impossible to believe. Yet, he must believe, or his family will die.
THE EMERALD GIRL is best described as Catherine Asaro with a bitter edge and should appeal to Ace, Baen, and Tor. I draw from my farming background for a scene where steer become infected. I am the treasurer of the Wisconsin Regional Writers’ Association.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Chapter 1:
Unwelcome Guests
The glass rattles at the front door. We have few visitors, leaving one possibility: the steer are out. I can see my animals running down the side of the road, thousand pound bovines built of solid muscle, giving my insurance carrier indigestion.
I throw my book to the living room table. I wonder which neighbor I pissed off now as I rush to the door, tripping over the up-step between kitchen and hallway.
Ann is pulling laundry out of the wash machine as I pass the utility room. Mason is crawling underfoot, tripping me as I pass.
The urgency of the knock is muted when I see the woman standing on the other side of the door. She wears a business suit and loose fitting slacks. Her short black hair in messed from the wind. Her short stature matches her slim face. A black line of eye shadow, thin lips, and an aquiline nose highlight her facial strong points. I open the door praying she doesn’t hand me a pamphlet telling me ‘Jesus Loves You’.
I step back as I open the door, startled. Two men in dark blue suits stand to the side and behind the woman.
“Mr. Melvin Humphrey?” Her voice is firm, yet polite; all business. She extends her hand. I take it, feeling like a sheep ready to be sheared.
“What can I do for you?” The words catch in my throat with a click; I handle tense situations poorly.
“I’m Agent Alice Hanson with the FBI,” she shows me her badge. “This is Agent Vic Savant, and Agent Tyron Meyer.” They show their badge as they are introduced. Agent Savant is tall, thin, with a permanent five o’clock shadow; Agent Meyer a large black man, pushing the seams of his suit to the limit.
Ann checks to see what the commotions is, Mason in tow. She has a worried look on her face when she sees the crowd at the door. I appreciate Ann’s talent at sizing up a situation fast and correct. And the look on her face is concerning.
“We need to talk,” Agent Alice Hanson said. Her tone of voice is commanding with a hint of respect.
Oct 13, 2009
QUERY - THE LOST CHILDREN CHRONICLES
Thanks to everyone over at my blog for helping me streamline this:
When thirteen-year-old Kevin McDonald is abducted to the netherworld, he must befriend his goblin kidnappers and elude an army of vampires if he ever wants to see his family again.
Given his indomitable spirit and the magical power of his soul, Kevin just might be able to do it. One slight problem. Every time he casts a fireball or commands the sun to appear, the rash of goblin-skin that started on his arm spreads a bit more across his body. Without magic, the vamps will capture and turn him, but if he uses too much before he finds his way back home, he’ll become a monster anyway.
THE LOST CHILDREN CHRONICLES is a 70,000 word MG fantasy set in a netherworld filled with dark creatures, darker intents, and one courageous boy who will do everything he can to save himself, his fellow abductees, and even some of his kidnappers from damnation. [Personal info, etc].
When thirteen-year-old Kevin McDonald is abducted to the netherworld, he must befriend his goblin kidnappers and elude an army of vampires if he ever wants to see his family again.
Given his indomitable spirit and the magical power of his soul, Kevin just might be able to do it. One slight problem. Every time he casts a fireball or commands the sun to appear, the rash of goblin-skin that started on his arm spreads a bit more across his body. Without magic, the vamps will capture and turn him, but if he uses too much before he finds his way back home, he’ll become a monster anyway.
THE LOST CHILDREN CHRONICLES is a 70,000 word MG fantasy set in a netherworld filled with dark creatures, darker intents, and one courageous boy who will do everything he can to save himself, his fellow abductees, and even some of his kidnappers from damnation. [Personal info, etc].
Oct 9, 2009
QUERY- DEMON DREAMS (first revision)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear Agent,
There’s only one thing worse than Hell itself and that’s Hell on earth and some idiot is trying to accomplish just that. Nobody cares about a few dead demons but when they start appearing by the hundreds, even Satan takes notice. Every evil plan hatched to find the culprit backfires until left with no other choice they turn to mortals for help.
There are only two things Belza wants in his lifetime, Satan to rule the world and to have sex with Meg so he can own her soul, not necessarily in that order. Sent by Satan himself to procure the services of a powerful witch, he can only think of one with balls enough to stand up to the Dark Lord and spit in his eye.
It’s been thirty years since she withdrew from the world of the occult, but Meg Turner knows the stakes. Given a choice, she’d rather not side with Hell. If she doesn’t, everything and everyone she knows and loves will die. Saving the world isn’t enough is it? She has the perks of dealing with the charming and erotic wooing attempts of Belza and the occasional two cents worth of Alexander, her self appointed guardian angel who’s thrown his hat into the ring for her ‘affections’. Angels, demons and crazed warlocks, what more could a witch ask for?
Demon Dreams is a 69,500 word paranormal/romance that follows Meg Turner, retired witch and Guardian of the Way on a wild ride to save Hell while keeping her sanity and soul in tact. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely Yours,
Dear Agent,
There’s only one thing worse than Hell itself and that’s Hell on earth and some idiot is trying to accomplish just that. Nobody cares about a few dead demons but when they start appearing by the hundreds, even Satan takes notice. Every evil plan hatched to find the culprit backfires until left with no other choice they turn to mortals for help.
There are only two things Belza wants in his lifetime, Satan to rule the world and to have sex with Meg so he can own her soul, not necessarily in that order. Sent by Satan himself to procure the services of a powerful witch, he can only think of one with balls enough to stand up to the Dark Lord and spit in his eye.
It’s been thirty years since she withdrew from the world of the occult, but Meg Turner knows the stakes. Given a choice, she’d rather not side with Hell. If she doesn’t, everything and everyone she knows and loves will die. Saving the world isn’t enough is it? She has the perks of dealing with the charming and erotic wooing attempts of Belza and the occasional two cents worth of Alexander, her self appointed guardian angel who’s thrown his hat into the ring for her ‘affections’. Angels, demons and crazed warlocks, what more could a witch ask for?
Demon Dreams is a 69,500 word paranormal/romance that follows Meg Turner, retired witch and Guardian of the Way on a wild ride to save Hell while keeping her sanity and soul in tact. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely Yours,
Oct 8, 2009
QUERY- STORIES ENDING (revision 2)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear agent Blah:
I know that you are interested in representing literary fiction, so I thought that you might be interested in my literary novel, STORIES ENDING.It is not unlike Mark Haddon’s novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time in that some of the prose is affected by the protagonist’s mental state (in the case of my novel, manic thought patterns) while the book as a whole remains very approachable.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. Earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness; all she knows is that she wants to escape from the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that’s hung over her since her fiancé called off their engagement months before.
After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic to save it, even if it means sacrificing herself.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable ability to heal. I appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
Click here to read the first revision.
Dear agent Blah:
I know that you are interested in representing literary fiction, so I thought that you might be interested in my literary novel, STORIES ENDING.It is not unlike Mark Haddon’s novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time in that some of the prose is affected by the protagonist’s mental state (in the case of my novel, manic thought patterns) while the book as a whole remains very approachable.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. Earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness; all she knows is that she wants to escape from the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that’s hung over her since her fiancé called off their engagement months before.
After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic to save it, even if it means sacrificing herself.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable ability to heal. I appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
AM I WORTH IT - sample pages Brand New - Trying a different Chapter
Click here to search through the prior sample pages and queries.
*Special note- I'm trying something different. This is actually my second chapter. It might be a better starting place???? I am struggling with this more than any other part of the novel. Any first chapter experts out there that have some advice I'd love to hear it.
"Mr. Anderson! I was worried you weren't coming." The frantic history teacher Mr. Epstein spoke loudly as I walked into his classroom a few minutes late.
I nodded mumbling a sorry and slipped into the desk closest to the door.
"Anyway," he continued, "I was just telling everyone that I think we have a real chance to win the state competition and maybe even the national competition this year. Last year we just missed qualifying to nationals, but the team is stronger than ever." He nodded toward me.
Six heads turned in my direction. The last thing I wanted was to be singled out – although most valuable member of the 'geek squad' had to be the worst title in high school.
It could be good – maybe a goal I would work toward.
"Alex, I'd like you to take Dan and Claire through last year's state questions from the card box. The rest of you can do the same with the other box. Try to finish as many as you can." Mr. Epstein rubbed his hands together, oozing with excitement.
Alex Jenkins waved at me – I recognized him from my German class. Geek wasn't a strong enough word for this guy, but he was seemed decent enough.
But he shared my love of Star Wars.
I walked over to his side of the room and noticed a girl with light brown wavy hair and . . . well let's just say she didn't fit in here. I couldn't remember ever seeing her before.
I had at least one class with everyone else on the team.
"I don't think we've met? I'm Claire Ramsey." She stuck out her hand.
I shook it politely.
"Dan Anderson," I said. Then I sat down in one of the desks next to Alex and she did the same.
"I'm going to get the cards." Alex got up to walk over to Mr. Epstein.
"Just so you know," Claire whispered, leaning in close to me, letting me smell her perfume, "I'm only here because Mr. Epstein is my brother in-law and my father practically forced him to let me on the team to help with my college applications. We've never had seven players before, usually it's just three backups, not four." She rolled her eyes.
I scooted my desk away from her a little and leaned back crossing my arms to my chest.
"Too much for your reputation?" I looked her over curiously.
"God no! Nothing like that, I'm not a snob!"
She sounded a little offended, which surprised me, and girls didn't surprise me very often. They were even more predictable than shrinks.
"But I'm not smart enough to actually make the team. I was just giving you a warning before we go head-to-head today."
"Sorry, it's a natural reaction- years of being called a dweeb are bound to leave some scarring," I looked right into her eyes- a really unusual shade of green. Green eyes have always fascinated me. Mostly because of the genetic improbability.
She raised her eyebrows as Alex returned with our box of cards.
"Years of being a dweeb, huh?" Her tone left me hanging.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I was a little offended myself that she wouldn't stop talking to me, and looking at me.
This was already more words than I had spoken to any student in over two months.
Damn, I was slipping!
"Nothing," she said quickly, her cheeks blushing a little, "I think Alex is ready to quiz us," she turned her eyes on him and he pulled the first card out of the box.
"What is the only novel Harper Lee has ever written?" Alex asked.
Claire looked at me and I sighed thinking I better live up to my reputation. Things were so different now.
"To Kill a Mocking Bird," I answered and Alex nodded.
"What is the native language of Brazil?" Alex asked.
I gave Claire a minute to answer.
"Portuguese," I said when Claire made it obvious she wasn't going to speak up.
"Nice!" Alex said, "Against what opposing team did Babe Ruth hit his first home run?"
"The Yankees," I said.
Alex looked excited and started firing at rapid speed.
"What is the most common element in the human body?"
"Oxygen." I made the mistake of looking at Claire while I answered.
For some reason I didn't tone it down for her. I usually made intentional pauses or missed a few on purpose. I think I was trying to scare her off- nobody likes a freak.
"What illness accounted for more than forty percent of U.S. casualties during World War I?"
"Influenza."
The rest of the practice went the same – Claire never opened her mouth once and I started to feel guilty about making her look stupid.
I was the first one out the door when Epstein dismissed us and I hurried down the hall toward the front doors. I heard footsteps following behind and then Claire was there at my side.
"You were really good." She turned her smile on me.
Her face was interesting, so full of secrets and depth – I couldn't help wanting to know more about her. But that was asking for trouble and it was pleasure I didn't deserve.
"Thanks." I looked at the ground and sped up my pace. "See you tomorrow." I headed through the door and let it shut before she could follow. I felt like such an ass. But it was better this way.
"Hey Steve," I said quietly, when I walked in the door to my uncle's house.
He was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of papers and a red pen.
"How was practice? I heard the team's looking strong this year. I thought about stopping in to see for myself."
"I thought you were running detention?" Steve is my German teacher. It's his third year teaching.
Oddly enough he's only nine years older than me. That's always seemed so strange. He's halfway between peer and parent- but he's cool. I couldn't pick a better person to live with.
"Yeah, I was stuck with detention. Is pizza alright for dinner? I'm totally beat," he asked.
"Sounds good." I sat down at the table and took the first few papers off the stack and started marking the first test.
"How was your session with Dr. Stevens?" he asked tentatively, when we were eating pizza in front of the T.V. watching Monday night football.
"Don't you mean the Dr. Phil wannabe? Do I really need to keep seeing him?" I was hoping he might understand.
He looked at me more serious now. "Do you need to keep seeing him?"
"It's not like it changes anything."
"Your parents want you to. It was part of the agreement. But if you won't really talk to him, it seems like a waste of money. Of course they don't care, they just want to say they're doing something." His voice was filled with a bitter edge, very rare for Steve.
He had issues with wasting money. It wasn't easy living on a teacher's salary in the north suburbs of Chicago.
"I'll talk to them again." He didn't sound very hopeful that he could make any more progress than I had.
"Thanks anyway."
"If you don't mind me asking, do you really like the trivia bowl team? It just seems so different for you. And you're not playing basketball?" He immediately looked worried he might have gone too deep.
"That's sort-of the goal."
"I understand you're avoiding certain crowds, it's just that you aren't being yourself. Doesn't that bother you?"
This was the most he'd ever tried to get out of me and if I was going to talk to anyone it would probably be Steve, but I didn't want to talk. What if he made me doubt my decision, tried to make me feel less guilty?
"I'll make the most of it, I promise. In fact I was planning on taking the team out for a beer on Friday night. I thought we could hit the clubs maybe pick up a few college girls."
He laughed probably visualizing Alex Jenkins in his Dark Vader costume – that I knew he secretly had hanging in his closet- slam dancing with a cocktail in one hand.
"Claire Ramsey's on the team this year, isn't she?"
"Yeah, but not on merit." I immediately felt guilty betraying her secret. But Steve was a teacher I'm sure he already knew this.
"She's a nice girl." He gave me a look that added to my guilt.
"I wouldn't know, she hardly spoke a word." I grabbed my books and headed to my room, turned on the computer to write my essay on Hamlet-it would take less than thirty minutes.
I woke up to the same nightmare. My eyes flew open, my breathing heavy, it was still dark. I turned my head to look at the clock and groaned when I saw it was only four in the morning.
I used to be able to sleep in till noon, of course I was out partying until two or three. I picked up another book to read and stayed in bed until five, not wanting Steve to think something was wrong with me – that's the last thing I needed.
I turned on the computer to check the weather and groaned again when I saw it was only sixteen degrees. I've been running every morning since I moved to Chicago in June. But fuck that! I'm not training for a winter marathon.
It would have to be the school field house today and possibly several months.
I walked in the empty field house at six and started my run, with my IPOD turned up as loud as it would go. It's really strange how much I love running now because I used to hate it.
I did three sports all three years of high school- football, basketball, and baseball – very stereotypical jock. The most we ever had to run all at once was two or three miles. I clocked in at least six to eight miles every day now, of course I wasn't playing any sports.
I focused on the music, something loud with a good beat. The rhythm of my feet hitting the track – a steady consistent pace, calmed me better than any therapy session. It was the most peace I would have all day.
I continued lap after lap allowing my surroundings- the red padded walls, to melt and spin in front of me like bloody water swirling down the drain of the bathroom sink. I jumped when I felt a cold hand on my cheek pulling one of the head phones out of my ear.
"Dan," It was Claire in her P.E. uniform jogging next to me.
I focused my eyes taking notice of my surroundings and realized about thirty kids in uniform were sharing the track with me.
"Fuck! Did I miss this first period?" I asked her frantically and she laughed.
"Don't worry, it's early bird P.E.- before school at 6:45." She smiled at my confusion, "Are you really that out of it when you run?" Her speed picked up to match mine.
"I guess I am today." I wiped sweat from my face with the bottom of my t-shirt.
"Hey Ramsey?" Jason Elliot came up behind Claire and poked her in the side.
I didn't know him personally, but from what I've heard he was the senior star of the basketball team and on his way to the University of Illinois next year with a scholarship.
We didn't have any classes together, but that's only because I was in all the 'smartest' classes now and he fell more in to the 'smart' category – along with Claire.
"Who's your friend?" He nodded toward me.
"This is Dan, he's a senior too. We're on the trivia team together, except Dan's actually going to play where as I am going to sit and look pretty." She laughed again.
I loved her laugh, it was so real. Everything about her was real.
"I'm sure you'll be great at that," Jason joked, looking her over.
I thought she seemed a little uncomfortable being checked out – not that I hadn't done the same.
But at least I was discrete enough to wait until she wasn't looking before checking out her long and very sexy legs, among other outstanding qualities.
Claire was a pretty tall girl, maybe five six or five seven – I'm six one, so I've always liked taller girls.
"Are you on the wrestling team, Dan?" Jason peeled his eyes from Claire to look at me.
I needed to get out of this conversation and away from this girl.
"God no!" I shook my head, "Just watching my weight, I used to be a fat ass- over three hundred pounds." I looked him straight in the eye.
His eyes widened. "No shit!"
Claire looked down at the track, smiling. She guessed I was joking.
"How did you lose that much weight?" He sounded truly amazed.
"Jenny Craig." I ran ahead, away from both of them.
*Special note- I'm trying something different. This is actually my second chapter. It might be a better starting place???? I am struggling with this more than any other part of the novel. Any first chapter experts out there that have some advice I'd love to hear it.
"Mr. Anderson! I was worried you weren't coming." The frantic history teacher Mr. Epstein spoke loudly as I walked into his classroom a few minutes late.
I nodded mumbling a sorry and slipped into the desk closest to the door.
"Anyway," he continued, "I was just telling everyone that I think we have a real chance to win the state competition and maybe even the national competition this year. Last year we just missed qualifying to nationals, but the team is stronger than ever." He nodded toward me.
Six heads turned in my direction. The last thing I wanted was to be singled out – although most valuable member of the 'geek squad' had to be the worst title in high school.
It could be good – maybe a goal I would work toward.
"Alex, I'd like you to take Dan and Claire through last year's state questions from the card box. The rest of you can do the same with the other box. Try to finish as many as you can." Mr. Epstein rubbed his hands together, oozing with excitement.
Alex Jenkins waved at me – I recognized him from my German class. Geek wasn't a strong enough word for this guy, but he was seemed decent enough.
But he shared my love of Star Wars.
I walked over to his side of the room and noticed a girl with light brown wavy hair and . . . well let's just say she didn't fit in here. I couldn't remember ever seeing her before.
I had at least one class with everyone else on the team.
"I don't think we've met? I'm Claire Ramsey." She stuck out her hand.
I shook it politely.
"Dan Anderson," I said. Then I sat down in one of the desks next to Alex and she did the same.
"I'm going to get the cards." Alex got up to walk over to Mr. Epstein.
"Just so you know," Claire whispered, leaning in close to me, letting me smell her perfume, "I'm only here because Mr. Epstein is my brother in-law and my father practically forced him to let me on the team to help with my college applications. We've never had seven players before, usually it's just three backups, not four." She rolled her eyes.
I scooted my desk away from her a little and leaned back crossing my arms to my chest.
"Too much for your reputation?" I looked her over curiously.
"God no! Nothing like that, I'm not a snob!"
She sounded a little offended, which surprised me, and girls didn't surprise me very often. They were even more predictable than shrinks.
"But I'm not smart enough to actually make the team. I was just giving you a warning before we go head-to-head today."
"Sorry, it's a natural reaction- years of being called a dweeb are bound to leave some scarring," I looked right into her eyes- a really unusual shade of green. Green eyes have always fascinated me. Mostly because of the genetic improbability.
She raised her eyebrows as Alex returned with our box of cards.
"Years of being a dweeb, huh?" Her tone left me hanging.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I was a little offended myself that she wouldn't stop talking to me, and looking at me.
This was already more words than I had spoken to any student in over two months.
Damn, I was slipping!
"Nothing," she said quickly, her cheeks blushing a little, "I think Alex is ready to quiz us," she turned her eyes on him and he pulled the first card out of the box.
"What is the only novel Harper Lee has ever written?" Alex asked.
Claire looked at me and I sighed thinking I better live up to my reputation. Things were so different now.
"To Kill a Mocking Bird," I answered and Alex nodded.
"What is the native language of Brazil?" Alex asked.
I gave Claire a minute to answer.
"Portuguese," I said when Claire made it obvious she wasn't going to speak up.
"Nice!" Alex said, "Against what opposing team did Babe Ruth hit his first home run?"
"The Yankees," I said.
Alex looked excited and started firing at rapid speed.
"What is the most common element in the human body?"
"Oxygen." I made the mistake of looking at Claire while I answered.
For some reason I didn't tone it down for her. I usually made intentional pauses or missed a few on purpose. I think I was trying to scare her off- nobody likes a freak.
"What illness accounted for more than forty percent of U.S. casualties during World War I?"
"Influenza."
The rest of the practice went the same – Claire never opened her mouth once and I started to feel guilty about making her look stupid.
I was the first one out the door when Epstein dismissed us and I hurried down the hall toward the front doors. I heard footsteps following behind and then Claire was there at my side.
"You were really good." She turned her smile on me.
Her face was interesting, so full of secrets and depth – I couldn't help wanting to know more about her. But that was asking for trouble and it was pleasure I didn't deserve.
"Thanks." I looked at the ground and sped up my pace. "See you tomorrow." I headed through the door and let it shut before she could follow. I felt like such an ass. But it was better this way.
"Hey Steve," I said quietly, when I walked in the door to my uncle's house.
He was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of papers and a red pen.
"How was practice? I heard the team's looking strong this year. I thought about stopping in to see for myself."
"I thought you were running detention?" Steve is my German teacher. It's his third year teaching.
Oddly enough he's only nine years older than me. That's always seemed so strange. He's halfway between peer and parent- but he's cool. I couldn't pick a better person to live with.
"Yeah, I was stuck with detention. Is pizza alright for dinner? I'm totally beat," he asked.
"Sounds good." I sat down at the table and took the first few papers off the stack and started marking the first test.
"How was your session with Dr. Stevens?" he asked tentatively, when we were eating pizza in front of the T.V. watching Monday night football.
"Don't you mean the Dr. Phil wannabe? Do I really need to keep seeing him?" I was hoping he might understand.
He looked at me more serious now. "Do you need to keep seeing him?"
"It's not like it changes anything."
"Your parents want you to. It was part of the agreement. But if you won't really talk to him, it seems like a waste of money. Of course they don't care, they just want to say they're doing something." His voice was filled with a bitter edge, very rare for Steve.
He had issues with wasting money. It wasn't easy living on a teacher's salary in the north suburbs of Chicago.
"I'll talk to them again." He didn't sound very hopeful that he could make any more progress than I had.
"Thanks anyway."
"If you don't mind me asking, do you really like the trivia bowl team? It just seems so different for you. And you're not playing basketball?" He immediately looked worried he might have gone too deep.
"That's sort-of the goal."
"I understand you're avoiding certain crowds, it's just that you aren't being yourself. Doesn't that bother you?"
This was the most he'd ever tried to get out of me and if I was going to talk to anyone it would probably be Steve, but I didn't want to talk. What if he made me doubt my decision, tried to make me feel less guilty?
"I'll make the most of it, I promise. In fact I was planning on taking the team out for a beer on Friday night. I thought we could hit the clubs maybe pick up a few college girls."
He laughed probably visualizing Alex Jenkins in his Dark Vader costume – that I knew he secretly had hanging in his closet- slam dancing with a cocktail in one hand.
"Claire Ramsey's on the team this year, isn't she?"
"Yeah, but not on merit." I immediately felt guilty betraying her secret. But Steve was a teacher I'm sure he already knew this.
"She's a nice girl." He gave me a look that added to my guilt.
"I wouldn't know, she hardly spoke a word." I grabbed my books and headed to my room, turned on the computer to write my essay on Hamlet-it would take less than thirty minutes.
I woke up to the same nightmare. My eyes flew open, my breathing heavy, it was still dark. I turned my head to look at the clock and groaned when I saw it was only four in the morning.
I used to be able to sleep in till noon, of course I was out partying until two or three. I picked up another book to read and stayed in bed until five, not wanting Steve to think something was wrong with me – that's the last thing I needed.
I turned on the computer to check the weather and groaned again when I saw it was only sixteen degrees. I've been running every morning since I moved to Chicago in June. But fuck that! I'm not training for a winter marathon.
It would have to be the school field house today and possibly several months.
I walked in the empty field house at six and started my run, with my IPOD turned up as loud as it would go. It's really strange how much I love running now because I used to hate it.
I did three sports all three years of high school- football, basketball, and baseball – very stereotypical jock. The most we ever had to run all at once was two or three miles. I clocked in at least six to eight miles every day now, of course I wasn't playing any sports.
I focused on the music, something loud with a good beat. The rhythm of my feet hitting the track – a steady consistent pace, calmed me better than any therapy session. It was the most peace I would have all day.
I continued lap after lap allowing my surroundings- the red padded walls, to melt and spin in front of me like bloody water swirling down the drain of the bathroom sink. I jumped when I felt a cold hand on my cheek pulling one of the head phones out of my ear.
"Dan," It was Claire in her P.E. uniform jogging next to me.
I focused my eyes taking notice of my surroundings and realized about thirty kids in uniform were sharing the track with me.
"Fuck! Did I miss this first period?" I asked her frantically and she laughed.
"Don't worry, it's early bird P.E.- before school at 6:45." She smiled at my confusion, "Are you really that out of it when you run?" Her speed picked up to match mine.
"I guess I am today." I wiped sweat from my face with the bottom of my t-shirt.
"Hey Ramsey?" Jason Elliot came up behind Claire and poked her in the side.
I didn't know him personally, but from what I've heard he was the senior star of the basketball team and on his way to the University of Illinois next year with a scholarship.
We didn't have any classes together, but that's only because I was in all the 'smartest' classes now and he fell more in to the 'smart' category – along with Claire.
"Who's your friend?" He nodded toward me.
"This is Dan, he's a senior too. We're on the trivia team together, except Dan's actually going to play where as I am going to sit and look pretty." She laughed again.
I loved her laugh, it was so real. Everything about her was real.
"I'm sure you'll be great at that," Jason joked, looking her over.
I thought she seemed a little uncomfortable being checked out – not that I hadn't done the same.
But at least I was discrete enough to wait until she wasn't looking before checking out her long and very sexy legs, among other outstanding qualities.
Claire was a pretty tall girl, maybe five six or five seven – I'm six one, so I've always liked taller girls.
"Are you on the wrestling team, Dan?" Jason peeled his eyes from Claire to look at me.
I needed to get out of this conversation and away from this girl.
"God no!" I shook my head, "Just watching my weight, I used to be a fat ass- over three hundred pounds." I looked him straight in the eye.
His eyes widened. "No shit!"
Claire looked down at the track, smiling. She guessed I was joking.
"How did you lose that much weight?" He sounded truly amazed.
"Jenny Craig." I ran ahead, away from both of them.
CALLARION AT NIGHT -- Revision 2
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read revision 1.
I've been playing with hooks and working in mention of steam technology earlier. Hopefully this meets with everyone's approval!
Dear Agent:
Moriah Rowani returns home after nearly a decade away to discover her father bleeding to death in the entrance hall of their estate. His final act was to extract a promise that she'd find her mother's diary.
Three days later, Moriah is forced from her family's home by the steam-powered might of Lord Chancellor Lucian Rombard and his soldiers, who are intent on eradicating human-nymph hybrids like Moriah and the human-satyr hybrids that pepper the city of Callarion. Moriah goes into hiding and almost immediately receives the first clue to the diary's location, one of a series of riddles designed to lead her to the lost tome.
Allies appear from all corners -- in a Chancellery major, the underground resistance, and the disbanded King's Navy -- who help her avoid capture and torture at the hands of the Brotherhood of Purity, while revealing that Moriah's not the only one who wants the diary.
For there's more inside the diary than Rombard's true scheme for the city. There's a plan that has a chance to shatter Rombard's stranglehold on the city and save Callarion from the long night it faces. A plan, in fact, that the last ten years of Moriah's life have been an integral part of.
My steampunk fantasy novel, CALLARION AT NIGHT, is complete at 100,000 words. Thank you for taking the time to consider my submission.
Click here to read revision 1.
I've been playing with hooks and working in mention of steam technology earlier. Hopefully this meets with everyone's approval!
Dear Agent:
Moriah Rowani returns home after nearly a decade away to discover her father bleeding to death in the entrance hall of their estate. His final act was to extract a promise that she'd find her mother's diary.
Three days later, Moriah is forced from her family's home by the steam-powered might of Lord Chancellor Lucian Rombard and his soldiers, who are intent on eradicating human-nymph hybrids like Moriah and the human-satyr hybrids that pepper the city of Callarion. Moriah goes into hiding and almost immediately receives the first clue to the diary's location, one of a series of riddles designed to lead her to the lost tome.
Allies appear from all corners -- in a Chancellery major, the underground resistance, and the disbanded King's Navy -- who help her avoid capture and torture at the hands of the Brotherhood of Purity, while revealing that Moriah's not the only one who wants the diary.
For there's more inside the diary than Rombard's true scheme for the city. There's a plan that has a chance to shatter Rombard's stranglehold on the city and save Callarion from the long night it faces. A plan, in fact, that the last ten years of Moriah's life have been an integral part of.
My steampunk fantasy novel, CALLARION AT NIGHT, is complete at 100,000 words. Thank you for taking the time to consider my submission.
Oct 4, 2009
IRON THIRST SAMPLE PAGES (attempt 2)
Click here to read the original query. (Originally posted as Vanishing Iron)
Click here to read the revised query.
Click here to read the first three pages (original submission).
Chapter 1
Choices surround us. We are faced with life altering decisions on a daily basis. However nothing could have prepared me for this. I did not truly believe that such things existed. I've read about them, I've studied them, but they are things of fairytales, legends.
This beautiful vampire has given me power over my own death. A choice. His kiss is earth shattering. His eyes could move mountains. Somehow I gained his attention, and he has gone through great lengths to be with me. I've tried to escape him, to run away, but his force is much too great. He has a power over me like a moon orbiting a planet. Our destinies have been intertwined, and I cannot break free. My body aches. My heart yearns for the one I love. Blood still spills out of the two small holes that have been pierced in my throat. I can either close my
eyes and drift away, or drink his blood and live forever.
This is my choice, and this is my story.
Chapter 2
Pure evil is staring back at me from my full length floor mirror. I may even be afraid of myself. My eyes glow a very bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside had burnt the curved periphery. I look like I have not had a "bite" in weeks. My skin, which is normally
pale, is almost iridescent now. The jet black pixie haircut is arranged in little spikes that spell trouble. The menacing grin is complete with two sharp fangs over my scarlet red full lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city's people of Atlanta, Georgia.
The town won't be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead. In addition to the wig, glitter, and contacts, my costume is complete with a red tank with three holes sliced across
the front, a black leather floor length trench coat with three waist-high silver buckles, a black leather mini skirt, and black leather high heel boots that cover my knees but leave much of my thigh to be seen. Dare, I say it… I look hot.
This will be my second year to attend the huge convention/party that is Con. Last year, I went as plain old me, and in a crowd of freaks, the normal person is the weirdo. I, a Con virgin, walked among the pirates, wookies, zombies, and even got to pet a real live functioning R2-D2. To
call DragonCon a convention would be an insult. It is a place of worship to all geeks, freaks, and nerds, and a source of entertainment to anyone else who dares to enter. This year, we plan to submerse ourselves in this magical wonderland.
I am in the midst of trying to add a little more dark shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, when the doorbell rings. It must be Christian, my best friend, who/ is /a true fanatic. He is the reason I even started attending these types of things and unlike me, he
is a fan of it all. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.
I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. No one is really scared, we are just that silly. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, pants that actually look like they had been buried, and suspenders. His normally perfect hair is dirty and a total mess at the top of his head. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my normal, calm, clean-cut best buddy.
"Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing. I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off." I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday me is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.
"Well, hello Pot, I must be the kettle," I say with a laugh while opening the door for him to enter.
Christian stands at about six foot and can best be described as cute as a button. His dark brown hair, the color of tree bark, comes out in front of his face in a wave. His skin, when not covered in goop, is a nice golden tan. His face is clean shaven and smooth, and is small and angular. Although today he is wearing contacts, his nose normally holds his silver rimmed glasses. Behind them peer soft green eyes.
"Hey, listen to this," I say, letting out a very non-intimidating version of a snarl. "I've been practicing."
"Um, keep practicing; you sound like a drowning kitten."
I look at him with my pouty lip showing. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.
"Hey, Fee… I…I…," Christian stutters. Great, this cannot be good. "I may have kinda invited Mike."
Way worse than not good. Mike Fletcher is Christian's best guy friend who is nothing like him. More like his alter-ego. Where Christian is sweet, understanding, and everything a girl looks for in a best friend, Mike is a chauvinistic, egocentrical, pig-headed jerk. I cannot tell you how many times he has tried to randomly grab my breasts. It is a mystery to me why they are even friends. Well, they were fraternity brothers at Georgia, and from what I hear, that bonds you for life. Lucky me.
"Why, in the name of everything holy, would you do that?" I ask as I look down, feeling very exposed. It's one thing to look this way in front of Christian and tens of thousands of random strangers, but Mike will never let me hear the end of it.
"He swears that he will be good, and he is excited about meeting some of the celebrities, and /he/ is even dressing up," Christian says, looking a little proud of himself.
"Is he meeting us there?"
"No, he is meeting us here." That's it. I am going to have to kill him.
"Are you telling me that you gave Mr. Grabass my address? Christian, what were you thinking?"
"You are totally over-reacting. Just calm down. He's not that bad."
The door bell rings, and I jump ten feet in the air. Just wonderful. I don't have time to tone down the outfit. I am stuck dressed as sexy vampire with only a piece of wood separating me from my nemesis. Might as well get this over. I sling open the door.
"Hey sexy lady, where's Felicity?" Mike says with a wink. I just turn on my heals and start to walk away, when he adds, "What's eating her? Wish it was…" I punch him in the stomach before he can finish that thought.
"Dude, you said you would behave," Christian states, as he turns his head and looks at Mike like a puppy dog.
"Man, that's before I knew she was going as Sexy Fee." He looks at me and tries to turn on the charm. "Felicity, I am just kidding. I think it's cool you got all dressed up. You look really nice and very realistic. Can I lick your fangs?" He almost had me believing that for a minute.
"Absolutely not, but I do love your costume," I say, changing the subject.
Click here to read the revised query.
Click here to read the first three pages (original submission).
Chapter 1
Choices surround us. We are faced with life altering decisions on a daily basis. However nothing could have prepared me for this. I did not truly believe that such things existed. I've read about them, I've studied them, but they are things of fairytales, legends.
This beautiful vampire has given me power over my own death. A choice. His kiss is earth shattering. His eyes could move mountains. Somehow I gained his attention, and he has gone through great lengths to be with me. I've tried to escape him, to run away, but his force is much too great. He has a power over me like a moon orbiting a planet. Our destinies have been intertwined, and I cannot break free. My body aches. My heart yearns for the one I love. Blood still spills out of the two small holes that have been pierced in my throat. I can either close my
eyes and drift away, or drink his blood and live forever.
This is my choice, and this is my story.
Chapter 2
Pure evil is staring back at me from my full length floor mirror. I may even be afraid of myself. My eyes glow a very bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside had burnt the curved periphery. I look like I have not had a "bite" in weeks. My skin, which is normally
pale, is almost iridescent now. The jet black pixie haircut is arranged in little spikes that spell trouble. The menacing grin is complete with two sharp fangs over my scarlet red full lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city's people of Atlanta, Georgia.
The town won't be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead. In addition to the wig, glitter, and contacts, my costume is complete with a red tank with three holes sliced across
the front, a black leather floor length trench coat with three waist-high silver buckles, a black leather mini skirt, and black leather high heel boots that cover my knees but leave much of my thigh to be seen. Dare, I say it… I look hot.
This will be my second year to attend the huge convention/party that is Con. Last year, I went as plain old me, and in a crowd of freaks, the normal person is the weirdo. I, a Con virgin, walked among the pirates, wookies, zombies, and even got to pet a real live functioning R2-D2. To
call DragonCon a convention would be an insult. It is a place of worship to all geeks, freaks, and nerds, and a source of entertainment to anyone else who dares to enter. This year, we plan to submerse ourselves in this magical wonderland.
I am in the midst of trying to add a little more dark shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, when the doorbell rings. It must be Christian, my best friend, who/ is /a true fanatic. He is the reason I even started attending these types of things and unlike me, he
is a fan of it all. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.
I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. No one is really scared, we are just that silly. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, pants that actually look like they had been buried, and suspenders. His normally perfect hair is dirty and a total mess at the top of his head. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my normal, calm, clean-cut best buddy.
"Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing. I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off." I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday me is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.
"Well, hello Pot, I must be the kettle," I say with a laugh while opening the door for him to enter.
Christian stands at about six foot and can best be described as cute as a button. His dark brown hair, the color of tree bark, comes out in front of his face in a wave. His skin, when not covered in goop, is a nice golden tan. His face is clean shaven and smooth, and is small and angular. Although today he is wearing contacts, his nose normally holds his silver rimmed glasses. Behind them peer soft green eyes.
"Hey, listen to this," I say, letting out a very non-intimidating version of a snarl. "I've been practicing."
"Um, keep practicing; you sound like a drowning kitten."
I look at him with my pouty lip showing. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.
"Hey, Fee… I…I…," Christian stutters. Great, this cannot be good. "I may have kinda invited Mike."
Way worse than not good. Mike Fletcher is Christian's best guy friend who is nothing like him. More like his alter-ego. Where Christian is sweet, understanding, and everything a girl looks for in a best friend, Mike is a chauvinistic, egocentrical, pig-headed jerk. I cannot tell you how many times he has tried to randomly grab my breasts. It is a mystery to me why they are even friends. Well, they were fraternity brothers at Georgia, and from what I hear, that bonds you for life. Lucky me.
"Why, in the name of everything holy, would you do that?" I ask as I look down, feeling very exposed. It's one thing to look this way in front of Christian and tens of thousands of random strangers, but Mike will never let me hear the end of it.
"He swears that he will be good, and he is excited about meeting some of the celebrities, and /he/ is even dressing up," Christian says, looking a little proud of himself.
"Is he meeting us there?"
"No, he is meeting us here." That's it. I am going to have to kill him.
"Are you telling me that you gave Mr. Grabass my address? Christian, what were you thinking?"
"You are totally over-reacting. Just calm down. He's not that bad."
The door bell rings, and I jump ten feet in the air. Just wonderful. I don't have time to tone down the outfit. I am stuck dressed as sexy vampire with only a piece of wood separating me from my nemesis. Might as well get this over. I sling open the door.
"Hey sexy lady, where's Felicity?" Mike says with a wink. I just turn on my heals and start to walk away, when he adds, "What's eating her? Wish it was…" I punch him in the stomach before he can finish that thought.
"Dude, you said you would behave," Christian states, as he turns his head and looks at Mike like a puppy dog.
"Man, that's before I knew she was going as Sexy Fee." He looks at me and tries to turn on the charm. "Felicity, I am just kidding. I think it's cool you got all dressed up. You look really nice and very realistic. Can I lick your fangs?" He almost had me believing that for a minute.
"Absolutely not, but I do love your costume," I say, changing the subject.
QUERY- STORIES ENDING (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. When she begins her first novel earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness. All she knows is that she wants to escape— from both the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that's hung over her since her fiancé dumped her two months before in a crowded coffee shop.
After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of her own reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable potential to heal. It is loosely based off of an experience of my own with mental illness. I appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. When she begins her first novel earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness. All she knows is that she wants to escape— from both the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that's hung over her since her fiancé dumped her two months before in a crowded coffee shop.
After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of her own reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable potential to heal. It is loosely based off of an experience of my own with mental illness. I appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
Oct 2, 2009
IRON THIRST - QUERY (2ND ATTEMPT)
Click here to read the original query. (Originally posted as Vanishing Iron)
Click here to read the first three pages.
Dear agent,
When Felicity Johnson disguises herself as a sexy vampire when she and her friends attend DragonCon, the convention in Atlanta that celebrates everything sci-fi and fantasy, she attracts two men: Blake, the rugged attorney that turns poor Felicity into a lovesick bumbling idiot, and Gabriel, the undisclosed vampire who would much rather just turn her and keep her as a pet.
Felicity is thrilled to be spending some alone time with Blake, but when Christian, her best friend, doesn’t show up at the planned meeting spot, she decides to search for him. She stumbles into a crime scene, and at the center is the last person seen with Christian--dead. Once the initial shock wears off, her only question is “Where is Christian?” No one else believes he is in danger, but to Felicity it is as obvious as the blood on the pavement. The one person she can depend on is the one person she can’t find: now she must save him, although she doesn’t have a clue how or from what.
She begins to falls for Blake as he and his team work overtime trying to find Christian and to keep Felicity safe. Gabriel has different plans in mind, leading Felicity to the most difficult choice of all. The desperate search for her best friend puts Felicity in danger of two things, death and love, neither of which she has time for.
IRON THIRST is a suspenseful urban fantasy novel complete at 80,000 words, and is the first in an open ended series. I am a member of Sisters in Crime and Atlanta Writer’s Club.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Me
Click here to read the first three pages.
Dear agent,
When Felicity Johnson disguises herself as a sexy vampire when she and her friends attend DragonCon, the convention in Atlanta that celebrates everything sci-fi and fantasy, she attracts two men: Blake, the rugged attorney that turns poor Felicity into a lovesick bumbling idiot, and Gabriel, the undisclosed vampire who would much rather just turn her and keep her as a pet.
Felicity is thrilled to be spending some alone time with Blake, but when Christian, her best friend, doesn’t show up at the planned meeting spot, she decides to search for him. She stumbles into a crime scene, and at the center is the last person seen with Christian--dead. Once the initial shock wears off, her only question is “Where is Christian?” No one else believes he is in danger, but to Felicity it is as obvious as the blood on the pavement. The one person she can depend on is the one person she can’t find: now she must save him, although she doesn’t have a clue how or from what.
She begins to falls for Blake as he and his team work overtime trying to find Christian and to keep Felicity safe. Gabriel has different plans in mind, leading Felicity to the most difficult choice of all. The desperate search for her best friend puts Felicity in danger of two things, death and love, neither of which she has time for.
IRON THIRST is a suspenseful urban fantasy novel complete at 80,000 words, and is the first in an open ended series. I am a member of Sisters in Crime and Atlanta Writer’s Club.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Me
AM I WORTH IT? sample pages- attempt # 2
Click here to read the first sample page submission.
Click here to read the most recent query.
He's only learned one thing from this experience. One lesson to carry him forward in his desolate life- getting off easy is the worst punishment possible.
He can't sit in silence for longer than a minute. His eyes close and he sees everything again. No one knows about the entire bottle of vodka he drank and tried to wash down with thirty Vicodin.
He was too much of a coward to do it, but everyone knows cowards get off easy. Now he can't go a week without being engulfed in the less than comforting words of a mental health professional.
It won't help. Nothing will help because nothing will change what he did.
"Have you made any progress yet?"
Shrink number four attempted to pull me from another session of mentally writing my memoir- it was just one of many creative methods to make it through the hour sentence.
"Progress?" I played dumb letting the minutes pass without an ounce of effort. My eyes scanned the rows of bookshelves. Countless hours here and I had them all memorized.
Right between 'Healing Post Traumatic Stress' and 'Signs Your Child Is Socially Challenged', he sighed heavily, his wordless way of telling me I was being a pain in the ass. Don't pity him- he's getting a big fat check every hour we spent together- three hundred dollars to be exact.
His eyes zipped to the page of notes in front of him and when he looked up at me again, it was return of the concerned-and-helpful-therapist.
"Your uncle says you've joined the jazz band, and made the team for the school trivia bowl?"
I threw a couple pieces of candy in my mouth and chewed slowly, leaving him in that uncomfortable silence, watching him squirm in his chair. It was so fucking funny- about the only entertainment I got lately.
"Yep, I'm aiming for extreme popularity. Can you tell?" I tossed one of the candies in the air and caught it in my mouth. His face relaxed forming the look I knew all too well – he was trying to get intimate again. Discuss the dark side of Dan- pour out our hearts and souls until we're weeping uncontrollably in each other's arms.
"Dan."
Oh here it comes, the tight-ass-therapist is going to tell me he loves me and I'm not alone. If I'm lucky he'll hold my hand. They're all so predictable.
I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost- if he wasn't so freakin' annoying. I groaned and rolled my eyes.
"Dan, you've been at your new school for two months now. Haven't you made any friends?"
No, thank God!
"A few," I lied.
He narrowed his eyes at me. He knew I was full of shit. But then why even ask?
"What about girls?"
"You're kidding right?" How could he even bring that up?
He ignored my sarcasm, "You're a smart, good looking guy. There must be someone you've thought about asking out?"
I shook my head in disbelief, "It's a curse I wish I didn't have." I immediately regretted letting the words slip out. Now he looked confused which meant I had to explain myself further.
Nah, I'll just fuck with him a little.
Luckily I knew exactly how much I could screw with his head before I would be sent on to shrink number five and maybe eventually declared insane. Which might be true- who the hell knows?
"When you say things like that, I think you want to talk, but you never do. What did you mean by that – why do you think being smart or good looks are a curse? I don't know any seventeen-year-old boy who would think that."
"I'm just thinking of nearly every vampire book or movie- the sadistic creature is always some super-stud able to lure the beautiful girl into a grave yard late at night. And if you throw in a little brains with the face- now you've got a pretty-boy who can quote Shakespeare."
"But how is that a curse for the vampire? It's the girl lured into the graveyard who's dealt the bad hand."
"Exactly." I narrowed my eyes, looking dark and mysterious.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat while I worked hard not to laugh- it was too damn easy! I sent him in a different direction every time- picking a symptom from a psychological disorder and hinting at it.
Thursday, I'm planning a sexual identity crisis- maybe a dream about the guy who washes our PE uniforms in the locker room. It would be perfect, 'Dr. Stevens what does this mean? I'm so confused!'
I needed to think about what act would best follow that one? Hallucinations about an alien abduction? Might be too over the top.
"Are you saying you're dangerous?" He was trying to sound calm, but he wasn't.
He was worried he missed something important- slipped in his diagnosis. In a couple days he'll be feeling sorry for my struggle to come-out-of-the-closet.
"I was disproving your theory. If you're only talking of me specifically, you shouldn't generalize your questions to include the entire population of Seventeen-year-old boys."
I knew exactly which buttons to push- give him little snippets of information or just a half second glance in to my mind and then I slam the door in his face. He was frustrated now. So was I. But who gives a damn if I'm frustrated as long as I behave?
Sometimes I felt guilty for screwing with him so much. But it was the only time I did anything rebellious or acting out of impulse, like I used to. It was like seeing an old friend after a summer apart. But I had no desire to move on to shrink number five.
"Look, Dr. Stevens, I know what you're trying to do, it's the same plan that all three shrinks tried on me in California. I'm not ready for any of that – I don't think I'll ever be ready, so lay-off. I do everything I'm supposed to. I'm the model teen. Any parent would love to have me."
Any parent but my own.
He raised his eyebrows probably guessing what I was thinking – damn shrinks! Just when you think they're complete idiots they go and read your mind.
"Have you talked to your parents lately?"
"They sent a check and a credit card last week."
"Well, that's good they're communicating with you." He frowned like he was disappointed.
Sometimes I wondered if I was the subject for a future bestseller. I could totally see him on Oprah crying and telling the world how he saved me from myself. Maybe he's disappointed because I'm not progressing like I should- probably has a 'ladder of healing' I need to climb for his achievements?
If I'm not healed and perfect in a few months he won't have shit to write about. It was a pointless attempt on his part- obviously he was too much of an idiot to see that. It wasn't my job to tell him.
"Your parents sent me your SAT scores- have you seen them?"
I hadn't seen them but I didn't need to. I shook my head. He glanced down at his notes again.
"You got five perfect scores on the subject tests – German, French, Spanish, Physics, and Biology. How does someone your age speak three languages proficiently enough to get a perfect score?"
I couldn't help smiling, "Because I cheated and you're not allowed to tell anyone- doctor patient confidentiality." He didn't look surprised- he already made this assumption.
"You're right, I'm not at liberty to tell anyone, but they're going to ask you to re-test."
"I'll take the test again. It's a shame I'm so emotionally disturbed now- I'm sure I won't do as well. And I have records from four shrink to prove how fucked up I am."
"How did you cheat and why wouldn't you miss a few questions to keep from getting noticed."
I was amused by his change in tone- he actually sounded like a normal person. He also sounded honestly curious how I pulled off this stunt.
"Money is how I cheated- lots of it and some friends in low places. And maybe I wanted to be noticed? Doesn't everyone want their moment in the spotlight- even in your profession I sure you can re-late? Look at Dr. Phil."
Now I had just become an attention seeking, spoiled brat. Possibly a pathological liar?
"Interesting." He shook his head and wrote it all down in that notebook of ingredients for a bestseller to cure crazy kids- and make millions in the process.
I didn't want to smash his life's work or anything, but he had a long way to go before he was Dr. Phil.
"Can we finish a little early? I've got my first practice for the trivia bowl in twenty minutes." I leaned back and put my hands over my eyes.
"Fine, I'll see you Thursday afternoon."
I nodded and grabbed my bag and key and walked out into the cold November air. I hated cold and Chicago had more cold days than anything else. Honestly the weather here was so fucking unpredictable.
In San Jose, where I spent most of my life, until a few months ago, you get between sixty and eighty degrees almost year round. Today it's twenty-two degrees. Yesterday afternoon it was sixty-five. What the hell!
I sat in my car pulling out my hundredth draft of the letter I may never finish and made yet another attempt.
Dear Hannah,
I know I'm probably the last person you ever want to open a piece of mail from. I'll understand completely if you tear this to shreds the moment you receive it.
"Damn!" I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times. I'd never get it right. I tore up the letter, throwing the pieces on to the floor.
Who was I kidding, I hardly knew this girl and besides it would never be enough.
But I had to try, didn't I? I put the car in gear and headed back to school for trivia bowl practice, AKA – social suicide. It's exactly where I needed to be right now, I didn't deserve anything better.
Click here to read the most recent query.
He's only learned one thing from this experience. One lesson to carry him forward in his desolate life- getting off easy is the worst punishment possible.
He can't sit in silence for longer than a minute. His eyes close and he sees everything again. No one knows about the entire bottle of vodka he drank and tried to wash down with thirty Vicodin.
He was too much of a coward to do it, but everyone knows cowards get off easy. Now he can't go a week without being engulfed in the less than comforting words of a mental health professional.
It won't help. Nothing will help because nothing will change what he did.
"Have you made any progress yet?"
Shrink number four attempted to pull me from another session of mentally writing my memoir- it was just one of many creative methods to make it through the hour sentence.
"Progress?" I played dumb letting the minutes pass without an ounce of effort. My eyes scanned the rows of bookshelves. Countless hours here and I had them all memorized.
Right between 'Healing Post Traumatic Stress' and 'Signs Your Child Is Socially Challenged', he sighed heavily, his wordless way of telling me I was being a pain in the ass. Don't pity him- he's getting a big fat check every hour we spent together- three hundred dollars to be exact.
His eyes zipped to the page of notes in front of him and when he looked up at me again, it was return of the concerned-and-helpful-therapist.
"Your uncle says you've joined the jazz band, and made the team for the school trivia bowl?"
I threw a couple pieces of candy in my mouth and chewed slowly, leaving him in that uncomfortable silence, watching him squirm in his chair. It was so fucking funny- about the only entertainment I got lately.
"Yep, I'm aiming for extreme popularity. Can you tell?" I tossed one of the candies in the air and caught it in my mouth. His face relaxed forming the look I knew all too well – he was trying to get intimate again. Discuss the dark side of Dan- pour out our hearts and souls until we're weeping uncontrollably in each other's arms.
"Dan."
Oh here it comes, the tight-ass-therapist is going to tell me he loves me and I'm not alone. If I'm lucky he'll hold my hand. They're all so predictable.
I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost- if he wasn't so freakin' annoying. I groaned and rolled my eyes.
"Dan, you've been at your new school for two months now. Haven't you made any friends?"
No, thank God!
"A few," I lied.
He narrowed his eyes at me. He knew I was full of shit. But then why even ask?
"What about girls?"
"You're kidding right?" How could he even bring that up?
He ignored my sarcasm, "You're a smart, good looking guy. There must be someone you've thought about asking out?"
I shook my head in disbelief, "It's a curse I wish I didn't have." I immediately regretted letting the words slip out. Now he looked confused which meant I had to explain myself further.
Nah, I'll just fuck with him a little.
Luckily I knew exactly how much I could screw with his head before I would be sent on to shrink number five and maybe eventually declared insane. Which might be true- who the hell knows?
"When you say things like that, I think you want to talk, but you never do. What did you mean by that – why do you think being smart or good looks are a curse? I don't know any seventeen-year-old boy who would think that."
"I'm just thinking of nearly every vampire book or movie- the sadistic creature is always some super-stud able to lure the beautiful girl into a grave yard late at night. And if you throw in a little brains with the face- now you've got a pretty-boy who can quote Shakespeare."
"But how is that a curse for the vampire? It's the girl lured into the graveyard who's dealt the bad hand."
"Exactly." I narrowed my eyes, looking dark and mysterious.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat while I worked hard not to laugh- it was too damn easy! I sent him in a different direction every time- picking a symptom from a psychological disorder and hinting at it.
Thursday, I'm planning a sexual identity crisis- maybe a dream about the guy who washes our PE uniforms in the locker room. It would be perfect, 'Dr. Stevens what does this mean? I'm so confused!'
I needed to think about what act would best follow that one? Hallucinations about an alien abduction? Might be too over the top.
"Are you saying you're dangerous?" He was trying to sound calm, but he wasn't.
He was worried he missed something important- slipped in his diagnosis. In a couple days he'll be feeling sorry for my struggle to come-out-of-the-closet.
"I was disproving your theory. If you're only talking of me specifically, you shouldn't generalize your questions to include the entire population of Seventeen-year-old boys."
I knew exactly which buttons to push- give him little snippets of information or just a half second glance in to my mind and then I slam the door in his face. He was frustrated now. So was I. But who gives a damn if I'm frustrated as long as I behave?
Sometimes I felt guilty for screwing with him so much. But it was the only time I did anything rebellious or acting out of impulse, like I used to. It was like seeing an old friend after a summer apart. But I had no desire to move on to shrink number five.
"Look, Dr. Stevens, I know what you're trying to do, it's the same plan that all three shrinks tried on me in California. I'm not ready for any of that – I don't think I'll ever be ready, so lay-off. I do everything I'm supposed to. I'm the model teen. Any parent would love to have me."
Any parent but my own.
He raised his eyebrows probably guessing what I was thinking – damn shrinks! Just when you think they're complete idiots they go and read your mind.
"Have you talked to your parents lately?"
"They sent a check and a credit card last week."
"Well, that's good they're communicating with you." He frowned like he was disappointed.
Sometimes I wondered if I was the subject for a future bestseller. I could totally see him on Oprah crying and telling the world how he saved me from myself. Maybe he's disappointed because I'm not progressing like I should- probably has a 'ladder of healing' I need to climb for his achievements?
If I'm not healed and perfect in a few months he won't have shit to write about. It was a pointless attempt on his part- obviously he was too much of an idiot to see that. It wasn't my job to tell him.
"Your parents sent me your SAT scores- have you seen them?"
I hadn't seen them but I didn't need to. I shook my head. He glanced down at his notes again.
"You got five perfect scores on the subject tests – German, French, Spanish, Physics, and Biology. How does someone your age speak three languages proficiently enough to get a perfect score?"
I couldn't help smiling, "Because I cheated and you're not allowed to tell anyone- doctor patient confidentiality." He didn't look surprised- he already made this assumption.
"You're right, I'm not at liberty to tell anyone, but they're going to ask you to re-test."
"I'll take the test again. It's a shame I'm so emotionally disturbed now- I'm sure I won't do as well. And I have records from four shrink to prove how fucked up I am."
"How did you cheat and why wouldn't you miss a few questions to keep from getting noticed."
I was amused by his change in tone- he actually sounded like a normal person. He also sounded honestly curious how I pulled off this stunt.
"Money is how I cheated- lots of it and some friends in low places. And maybe I wanted to be noticed? Doesn't everyone want their moment in the spotlight- even in your profession I sure you can re-late? Look at Dr. Phil."
Now I had just become an attention seeking, spoiled brat. Possibly a pathological liar?
"Interesting." He shook his head and wrote it all down in that notebook of ingredients for a bestseller to cure crazy kids- and make millions in the process.
I didn't want to smash his life's work or anything, but he had a long way to go before he was Dr. Phil.
"Can we finish a little early? I've got my first practice for the trivia bowl in twenty minutes." I leaned back and put my hands over my eyes.
"Fine, I'll see you Thursday afternoon."
I nodded and grabbed my bag and key and walked out into the cold November air. I hated cold and Chicago had more cold days than anything else. Honestly the weather here was so fucking unpredictable.
In San Jose, where I spent most of my life, until a few months ago, you get between sixty and eighty degrees almost year round. Today it's twenty-two degrees. Yesterday afternoon it was sixty-five. What the hell!
I sat in my car pulling out my hundredth draft of the letter I may never finish and made yet another attempt.
Dear Hannah,
I know I'm probably the last person you ever want to open a piece of mail from. I'll understand completely if you tear this to shreds the moment you receive it.
"Damn!" I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times. I'd never get it right. I tore up the letter, throwing the pieces on to the floor.
Who was I kidding, I hardly knew this girl and besides it would never be enough.
But I had to try, didn't I? I put the car in gear and headed back to school for trivia bowl practice, AKA – social suicide. It's exactly where I needed to be right now, I didn't deserve anything better.
QUERY- STORIES ENDING
While every journey must come to an end, very few end- or begin for that matter- in a psych ward. My literary novel, STORIES ENDING, does both. I wrote STORIES ENDING because, after having a manic experience in my early twenties, I really wanted to really spell out manic thought process to show that it is not an instantaneous transformation, but instead reflects internal and external pressures leading up to the experience.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. Earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness. All she knows was that she wants to escape- from both the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that’s hung over her since her fiancé dumped her two months before in a crowded coffee shop. After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene and winds up on the doorstep of a mansion. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of her own reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable potential to heal. I am proposing my book to several agents, but I still appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
On September 11th 2001, while the rest of the world mourns a tragedy, twenty one year old Livie Sivadier is admitted to a psych ward. Earlier that spring, she has no idea that she is heading down a path to madness. All she knows was that she wants to escape- from both the confines of her home town, Irvine, and the depression that’s hung over her since her fiancé dumped her two months before in a crowded coffee shop. After an argument with her controlling parents, Livie travels up the coast of California to seek out her estranged sister Darlene and winds up on the doorstep of a mansion. While living at the hippie, communal “Lake House”, Darlene and her creative friends inspire Livie to pursue her lifelong dream of writing, but the dream turns nightmare when the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Eventually, she comes to believe that her own protagonist is real and that the precarious balance of her own reality will crumble if she does not do something drastic.
Complete at 90,000 words, STORIES ENDING explores the dark potential of the human mind, but also its remarkable potential to heal. I am proposing my book to several agents, but I still appreciate very much the time you have taken to read this letter and I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
Sep 29, 2009
Introductions- A Comment Worth Sharing (not a query)
This came through as a comment gj left on a query. I'm re-posting it here because it was really intended for the readership at large and I think there are many good points. - Rick
I'm doing this as a separate comment, because it isn't particularly addressed to this author, but to the world at large:
I've been seeing the "let me introduce you" line for the past year or so, which makes me wonder if some expert somewhere has suggested it as a nice way to start the query, something different from the standard, "I am seeking representation for ...." line.
Now, I'm not an agent, so I could be entirely wrong about this, but the "let me introduce you" line just sets my nerves on edge.
Two reasons. First -- you're going to do it, whether I want you to or not, so it's sort of repeating the query itself, which is the SHOWING version of TELLING that you're going to introduce the story. Simply saying you're seeking representation is, in theory, redundant, but it doesn't make the agent (the person receiving the letter) complicit in your action, it doesn't seek permission for you to seek representation.
That's not the big issue for me, though. I think it's that "I'm seeking representation ...." becomes invisible after you've seen it a few hundred/thousand times. All you need to pay attention to in that sentence is the title, genre and word count. It's a little like "said" as a dialogue tag: it does its job, and does it invisibly, so unless the author is doing something really wrong with it, you don't even notice it. For a person reading dozens, perhaps hundreds, of these in a week, every little bit of simplification helps.
OTOH, when you start with something different, the individual words suddenly become visible. The reader has to work at comprehending the whole sentence, not just get to what the reader cares about (title, genre, word count).
There's a time and a place for creativity and thought-provoking phrases. In fact, one school of thought suggests just jumping straight into the story and skipping the "I'm seeking ..." line, which you can reserve until the end. But if you're going to start with the title/genre/etc., that opening sentence is not a good place to be creative.
I think.
Again, I'm not an agent, just someone who's read a lot of queries in the past few years, and can imagine what it's like to get a hundred of them a week. Wow them with your story, not the mundane parts of the query.
In my opinion, the best ways to begin the query (after a professional Dear Mr./Ms AgentSurname), is a) your hook and description of your story, or b) "I chose to query you because..." with a brief and relevant personal note that demonstrates your diligence. The next paragraph should be your hook and description of your story. - Rick
I'm doing this as a separate comment, because it isn't particularly addressed to this author, but to the world at large:
I've been seeing the "let me introduce you" line for the past year or so, which makes me wonder if some expert somewhere has suggested it as a nice way to start the query, something different from the standard, "I am seeking representation for ...." line.
Now, I'm not an agent, so I could be entirely wrong about this, but the "let me introduce you" line just sets my nerves on edge.
Two reasons. First -- you're going to do it, whether I want you to or not, so it's sort of repeating the query itself, which is the SHOWING version of TELLING that you're going to introduce the story. Simply saying you're seeking representation is, in theory, redundant, but it doesn't make the agent (the person receiving the letter) complicit in your action, it doesn't seek permission for you to seek representation.
That's not the big issue for me, though. I think it's that "I'm seeking representation ...." becomes invisible after you've seen it a few hundred/thousand times. All you need to pay attention to in that sentence is the title, genre and word count. It's a little like "said" as a dialogue tag: it does its job, and does it invisibly, so unless the author is doing something really wrong with it, you don't even notice it. For a person reading dozens, perhaps hundreds, of these in a week, every little bit of simplification helps.
OTOH, when you start with something different, the individual words suddenly become visible. The reader has to work at comprehending the whole sentence, not just get to what the reader cares about (title, genre, word count).
There's a time and a place for creativity and thought-provoking phrases. In fact, one school of thought suggests just jumping straight into the story and skipping the "I'm seeking ..." line, which you can reserve until the end. But if you're going to start with the title/genre/etc., that opening sentence is not a good place to be creative.
I think.
Again, I'm not an agent, just someone who's read a lot of queries in the past few years, and can imagine what it's like to get a hundred of them a week. Wow them with your story, not the mundane parts of the query.
In my opinion, the best ways to begin the query (after a professional Dear Mr./Ms AgentSurname), is a) your hook and description of your story, or b) "I chose to query you because..." with a brief and relevant personal note that demonstrates your diligence. The next paragraph should be your hook and description of your story. - Rick
QUERY: ELEMENTAL GATEWAYS
Dear [Agent],
I'd like to introduce you to my 87,600 word paranormal romance, ELEMENTAL GATEWAYS.
Cousins Tara, Celia and Mari are accomplished witches, and guardians of the Gateways to the Gods. Their birthright is jeopardized when a three-hundred-year-old prophecy gives them three weeks to protect the Gates from a demon bent on revenge. If they fail, control of the Gates and all the power within them will bend to the desires of the demon prince, allowing him access to the realm of the Gods.
Zac, Ethan and Daniel are three men who share more than good times and beer. The prophecy calls to each of them in turn to aide and bind the guardian closest to his heart to complete the circle of protection with the strongest bond of all: love.
Together, the six find their way with very little to go on except the hints given in the prophecy. They wind their way through mind invasions, living visions and physical manifestations - each progressively worse than the last - to find the ultimate weapon exists in their hearts. They are challenged to make a choice, reach for what they did not expect, and make the ultimate sacrifice to save all they know.
I am a current member of Romance Writers of America, RWA-PRO, and the local chapter of Greater Detroit RWA. I am also currently working on another paranormal romance titled Coming Home.
Thank you for your consideration. May I send you the full manuscript?
Sincerely,
[insert my info here]
I'd like to introduce you to my 87,600 word paranormal romance, ELEMENTAL GATEWAYS.
Cousins Tara, Celia and Mari are accomplished witches, and guardians of the Gateways to the Gods. Their birthright is jeopardized when a three-hundred-year-old prophecy gives them three weeks to protect the Gates from a demon bent on revenge. If they fail, control of the Gates and all the power within them will bend to the desires of the demon prince, allowing him access to the realm of the Gods.
Zac, Ethan and Daniel are three men who share more than good times and beer. The prophecy calls to each of them in turn to aide and bind the guardian closest to his heart to complete the circle of protection with the strongest bond of all: love.
Together, the six find their way with very little to go on except the hints given in the prophecy. They wind their way through mind invasions, living visions and physical manifestations - each progressively worse than the last - to find the ultimate weapon exists in their hearts. They are challenged to make a choice, reach for what they did not expect, and make the ultimate sacrifice to save all they know.
I am a current member of Romance Writers of America, RWA-PRO, and the local chapter of Greater Detroit RWA. I am also currently working on another paranormal romance titled Coming Home.
Thank you for your consideration. May I send you the full manuscript?
Sincerely,
[insert my info here]
Sep 26, 2009
VANISHING IRON -FIRST 3 PAGES
Click here to read the query.
Pure evil is staring back at me from my full length floor mirror. I may even be afraid of myself. My eyes glow a very bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside had burnt the curved periphery. I look like I have not had a “bite” in weeks. My skin, which is normally pale, is almost iridescent now. The jet black pixie haircut is arranged in little spikes that spell trouble. The menacing grin is complete with two sharp fangs over my scarlet red full lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city’s people of Atlanta, Georgia.
The town won’t be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead. In addition to the wig, glitter, and contacts, my costume is complete with a red tank with three holes sliced across the front, a black leather floor length trench coat with three waist-high silver buckles, a black leather mini skirt, and black leather high heel boots that cover my knees but leave much of my thigh to be seen. Dare, I say it… I look hot.
This will be my second year to attend the huge convention/party that is Con. Last year, I went as plain old me, and in a crowd of freaks, the normal person is the weirdo. The crowd is always heavily dosed with glorious freaks dressed up as their favorite character or someone from their favorite genre. To call DragonCon a convention would be an insult. It is a place of worship to all geeks, freaks, and nerds, and a source of entertainment to anyone else who dares to enter. This year, we plan to submerse ourselves in this magical wonderland.
Last year, I had not found my “calling,” so my attendance was just to enjoy the show. I, a Con virgin, walked among the pirates, wookies, zombies, and even got to pet a real live functioning R2-D2. It took me almost thirty minutes to realize that the man beside me was operating it with a remote control as I carried on a conversation with the shiny robot while it beeped back at me. I stalked off stupidly.
A few months after the festivities, I picked up a vampire novel which I inhaled. I followed it with every type of dark fantasy tale that I could find. I still don’t consider myself a geek or a fanatic but I have definitely found my area of interest. But if you looked at me in this moment, you would think that I have lost my mind and drink blood on a regular basis.
I am in the midst of trying to add a little more dark shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, when the doorbell rings. It must be Christian, my best friend who is a true fanatic. He is the reason I even started attending these types of things and unlike me, he is a fan of it all. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.
I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. No one is really scared, we are just that silly. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, pants that actually look like they had been buried, and suspenders. His normally perfect hair is dirty and a total mess at the top of his head. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my normal, calm, clean-cut best buddy.
“Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing.” He sounds surprised. “I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off.” I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday me is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.
“Well, hello Pot... I must be the kettle,” I snicker, opening the door for him to enter.
“Hey, listen to this,” I say, letting out a very non-intimidating version of a snarl. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Um…. Keep practicing, you sound like a drowning kitten.”
I look at him with my pouty lip showing. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.
Pure evil is staring back at me from my full length floor mirror. I may even be afraid of myself. My eyes glow a very bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside had burnt the curved periphery. I look like I have not had a “bite” in weeks. My skin, which is normally pale, is almost iridescent now. The jet black pixie haircut is arranged in little spikes that spell trouble. The menacing grin is complete with two sharp fangs over my scarlet red full lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city’s people of Atlanta, Georgia.
The town won’t be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead. In addition to the wig, glitter, and contacts, my costume is complete with a red tank with three holes sliced across the front, a black leather floor length trench coat with three waist-high silver buckles, a black leather mini skirt, and black leather high heel boots that cover my knees but leave much of my thigh to be seen. Dare, I say it… I look hot.
This will be my second year to attend the huge convention/party that is Con. Last year, I went as plain old me, and in a crowd of freaks, the normal person is the weirdo. The crowd is always heavily dosed with glorious freaks dressed up as their favorite character or someone from their favorite genre. To call DragonCon a convention would be an insult. It is a place of worship to all geeks, freaks, and nerds, and a source of entertainment to anyone else who dares to enter. This year, we plan to submerse ourselves in this magical wonderland.
Last year, I had not found my “calling,” so my attendance was just to enjoy the show. I, a Con virgin, walked among the pirates, wookies, zombies, and even got to pet a real live functioning R2-D2. It took me almost thirty minutes to realize that the man beside me was operating it with a remote control as I carried on a conversation with the shiny robot while it beeped back at me. I stalked off stupidly.
A few months after the festivities, I picked up a vampire novel which I inhaled. I followed it with every type of dark fantasy tale that I could find. I still don’t consider myself a geek or a fanatic but I have definitely found my area of interest. But if you looked at me in this moment, you would think that I have lost my mind and drink blood on a regular basis.
I am in the midst of trying to add a little more dark shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, when the doorbell rings. It must be Christian, my best friend who is a true fanatic. He is the reason I even started attending these types of things and unlike me, he is a fan of it all. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.
I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. No one is really scared, we are just that silly. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, pants that actually look like they had been buried, and suspenders. His normally perfect hair is dirty and a total mess at the top of his head. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my normal, calm, clean-cut best buddy.
“Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing.” He sounds surprised. “I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off.” I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday me is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.
“Well, hello Pot... I must be the kettle,” I snicker, opening the door for him to enter.
“Hey, listen to this,” I say, letting out a very non-intimidating version of a snarl. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Um…. Keep practicing, you sound like a drowning kitten.”
I look at him with my pouty lip showing. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.
QUERY - VANISHING IRON
Click here to read the first 3 pages.
Dear (agent name),
Felicity Johnson and her friends have made plans to submerge themselves in DragonCon, the convention in Atlanta that celebrates everything sci-fi and fantasy. When Felicity steps outside of her comfort zone and disguises herself as a sexy vampire, she attracts two men that will change her world as she knows it forever: Blake, the gorgeous attorney that first turns her head but quickly steals her heart, and Gabriel, the undisclosed vampire that wants her all to himself, one way or another.
When her best friend, Christian, doesn’t show up at their meeting spot, panic fills her down to her soul. She begins to desperately search for him, but instead finds another friend’s dead body. Her world spins out of control, and the one person she can depend on is the one person she can’t find. Christian has always been there for her and she must now save him, though she doesn’t have a clue how or from what.
In the weeks that follow, Blake and his highly connected friends try to help her find her long lost friend and struggle to keep Felicity breathing. Blake is forced to reveal to Felicity the existence of vampires, a secret that his family has made a pact to protect. Blake and Felicity’s relationship blossoms and the steam continues to rise as she falls deeper and deeper for this man who is working so hard to keep her safe, but little does she know that he has a deep, dark secret of his own.
VANISHING IRON, a suspenseful urban fantasy novel told with humor and romance. It is complete at 80,000 words. Set in modern day Atlanta, it is a story of passion, betrayal, and perceptions that exist on the edge of reality. It’s difficult at times to know whose side to be on. VANISHING IRON is the first in an open-ended series.
A third of my novel takes place at DragonCon, a real live event where thirty-thousand science fiction and fantasy fans descend upon the high-rise hotels of downtown Atlanta. It is a four-day convention where the participants are enabled to live out their fantasies. My novel plays with the idea that maybe some of those fantasies are real. I would be very interested in using these types of conventions as a platform to help market the book. As I am sure you are aware, conventions are becoming more and more mainstream thanks to the increasing popularity of young adult fantasy fiction, video games, and comic/superhero movies.
I am a member of Sisters in Crime and Atlanta Writer’s Club.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
(insert name here)
Dear (agent name),
Felicity Johnson and her friends have made plans to submerge themselves in DragonCon, the convention in Atlanta that celebrates everything sci-fi and fantasy. When Felicity steps outside of her comfort zone and disguises herself as a sexy vampire, she attracts two men that will change her world as she knows it forever: Blake, the gorgeous attorney that first turns her head but quickly steals her heart, and Gabriel, the undisclosed vampire that wants her all to himself, one way or another.
When her best friend, Christian, doesn’t show up at their meeting spot, panic fills her down to her soul. She begins to desperately search for him, but instead finds another friend’s dead body. Her world spins out of control, and the one person she can depend on is the one person she can’t find. Christian has always been there for her and she must now save him, though she doesn’t have a clue how or from what.
In the weeks that follow, Blake and his highly connected friends try to help her find her long lost friend and struggle to keep Felicity breathing. Blake is forced to reveal to Felicity the existence of vampires, a secret that his family has made a pact to protect. Blake and Felicity’s relationship blossoms and the steam continues to rise as she falls deeper and deeper for this man who is working so hard to keep her safe, but little does she know that he has a deep, dark secret of his own.
VANISHING IRON, a suspenseful urban fantasy novel told with humor and romance. It is complete at 80,000 words. Set in modern day Atlanta, it is a story of passion, betrayal, and perceptions that exist on the edge of reality. It’s difficult at times to know whose side to be on. VANISHING IRON is the first in an open-ended series.
A third of my novel takes place at DragonCon, a real live event where thirty-thousand science fiction and fantasy fans descend upon the high-rise hotels of downtown Atlanta. It is a four-day convention where the participants are enabled to live out their fantasies. My novel plays with the idea that maybe some of those fantasies are real. I would be very interested in using these types of conventions as a platform to help market the book. As I am sure you are aware, conventions are becoming more and more mainstream thanks to the increasing popularity of young adult fantasy fiction, video games, and comic/superhero movies.
I am a member of Sisters in Crime and Atlanta Writer’s Club.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
(insert name here)
Sep 24, 2009
Query for memoir-THE VOICE OF BEAST
Dear [agent's name inserted here],
Beast, a metaphorical character create to speak on behalf of my pain, is birthed the evening Esther, a gifted Christian counselor, asks, "What does the pain look like?" Her bent for asking unusual questions opens doors long shut on my abusive childhood and invites me to know my pain. Admitting I need help, that self-harm is a broken crutch I use to cope, lifts the fog on
my pain because ignoring my past is finally more painful than the perceived risks of facing it. I begin sending Esther regular installments of the Beast's world within my heart and embrace his character as an unlikely ally who leads me to discover the Little Girl within in me, memories of abuse and the courage to confront my father, and forge genuine relationships with
those around me, beginning with myself.
THE VOICE OF BEAST is a 85, 000 word memoir told through both Beast's eyes and my own as I awaken to pain and then surrender it into God's hands; my ashes for His beauty. This book is for those affected by mental illness, particularly those who battle with self-harm or depression and have their own Œbeasts¹ and Œignored little girls¹ living inside them. It offers insider's perceptions to anyone who has a relationship or support and counseling role with abuse survivors or mental health suffers. It reaches out to anyone who has ever had cause to hurt, or ever ached to ask God the difficult questions surrounding abuse and its effects. The foreword is
written by [insert name], BOccThy (UQ), MCouns (CHC), counselor, guest speaker and university lecturer.
I contribute regularly to Footprints Magazine (Australia) and wrote on the topic of Self harm in my article Beast: A Story of Self Harm for their winter 2009 issue. I have also been published in Home Life Magazine (USA) and Parenting Express (Australia).
I am seeking agent representation and would appreciate your consideration. Thank you for your superhuman effort to connect with and support writers via your blog. I appreciate that you represent the works of fine authors like [insert name of author] and [insert name of author], whose soon to be released book promises to expose tough questions about Christianity and her
search for authentic answers.
Included with this email, as requested, are the first ten pages of my memoir.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Regards,
[insert my name]
(please note that this query is targeted to a specific agent and follows her
guidelines for what to include, thus the mention of target audience for
book)
Beast, a metaphorical character create to speak on behalf of my pain, is birthed the evening Esther, a gifted Christian counselor, asks, "What does the pain look like?" Her bent for asking unusual questions opens doors long shut on my abusive childhood and invites me to know my pain. Admitting I need help, that self-harm is a broken crutch I use to cope, lifts the fog on
my pain because ignoring my past is finally more painful than the perceived risks of facing it. I begin sending Esther regular installments of the Beast's world within my heart and embrace his character as an unlikely ally who leads me to discover the Little Girl within in me, memories of abuse and the courage to confront my father, and forge genuine relationships with
those around me, beginning with myself.
THE VOICE OF BEAST is a 85, 000 word memoir told through both Beast's eyes and my own as I awaken to pain and then surrender it into God's hands; my ashes for His beauty. This book is for those affected by mental illness, particularly those who battle with self-harm or depression and have their own Œbeasts¹ and Œignored little girls¹ living inside them. It offers insider's perceptions to anyone who has a relationship or support and counseling role with abuse survivors or mental health suffers. It reaches out to anyone who has ever had cause to hurt, or ever ached to ask God the difficult questions surrounding abuse and its effects. The foreword is
written by [insert name], BOccThy (UQ), MCouns (CHC), counselor, guest speaker and university lecturer.
I contribute regularly to Footprints Magazine (Australia) and wrote on the topic of Self harm in my article Beast: A Story of Self Harm for their winter 2009 issue. I have also been published in Home Life Magazine (USA) and Parenting Express (Australia).
I am seeking agent representation and would appreciate your consideration. Thank you for your superhuman effort to connect with and support writers via your blog. I appreciate that you represent the works of fine authors like [insert name of author] and [insert name of author], whose soon to be released book promises to expose tough questions about Christianity and her
search for authentic answers.
Included with this email, as requested, are the first ten pages of my memoir.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Regards,
[insert my name]
(please note that this query is targeted to a specific agent and follows her
guidelines for what to include, thus the mention of target audience for
book)
Query - Save Us - Revision 2
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Hey guys, I made a few more changes based on some comments from the Evil Editor. Some of the people felt I needed to flesh out the plot a little, and make the names more authentic. I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks-
Dear Agent:
Alexios has had a busy few months: falling in love, dying, and leading a rebellion—in that order.
Alexios is a young, orphaned fisherman living in ancient Phoenicia during the time of Christ. He and his love Korinna drown in a storm, and without a way to atone for their sins, they appear in Hell. Separated from Korinna and enslaved in Hell's mines, Alexios sinks into despair, until one day his pain leads him to fight back against his cruel demon captors. Seeing a demon defeated by a human for the first time, the rest of the slaves rally around Alexios as the conflict snowballs into an unintended rebellion.
He soon meets Duriel, an angel sent on a covert mission to aid him, who informs Alexios that this struggle is meant by God to distract the devil from the ramifications of Christ's death—salvation for all mankind. If he realized this, the devil might try to stop the Crucifixion rather than encourage it. Faced with this new mandate, the desire to find Korinna, and the threat of a growing demon army, Alexios undertakes a task that transforms him as much as it changes the fate of the slaves in Hell. When Jesus' path takes him to the cross, the war in Hell culminates in a clash between the great powers in the universe—with Alexios trapped in the middle.
SAVE US is 75,000 words, and is my first novel.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Click here to read the first revision.
Hey guys, I made a few more changes based on some comments from the Evil Editor. Some of the people felt I needed to flesh out the plot a little, and make the names more authentic. I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks-
Dear Agent:
Alexios has had a busy few months: falling in love, dying, and leading a rebellion—in that order.
Alexios is a young, orphaned fisherman living in ancient Phoenicia during the time of Christ. He and his love Korinna drown in a storm, and without a way to atone for their sins, they appear in Hell. Separated from Korinna and enslaved in Hell's mines, Alexios sinks into despair, until one day his pain leads him to fight back against his cruel demon captors. Seeing a demon defeated by a human for the first time, the rest of the slaves rally around Alexios as the conflict snowballs into an unintended rebellion.
He soon meets Duriel, an angel sent on a covert mission to aid him, who informs Alexios that this struggle is meant by God to distract the devil from the ramifications of Christ's death—salvation for all mankind. If he realized this, the devil might try to stop the Crucifixion rather than encourage it. Faced with this new mandate, the desire to find Korinna, and the threat of a growing demon army, Alexios undertakes a task that transforms him as much as it changes the fate of the slaves in Hell. When Jesus' path takes him to the cross, the war in Hell culminates in a clash between the great powers in the universe—with Alexios trapped in the middle.
SAVE US is 75,000 words, and is my first novel.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Sample pages- AM I WORTH IT? - young adult
Chapter 1 – "Best Seller in the Making"
I had a song for every mood, for every moment of my life. I could use and artists's or songwriters words and piece them into my day like a puzzle or a map. What's my soug right now? Rescue Me!
"Have you made any connections yet," he asked me, leaning over his desk and pushing his over-priced black rimmed glasses up on his nose- they had to be fake. I took a deep breath letting it out slowly, searching for an ounce of patience. I really wasn't in the mood for his shit today. I reached forward and opened the glass jar on his desk and pulled out a handful of candy, popping one of the little pellets of pure sugar in my mouth.
"Connections?" I asked playing dumb, scanning the rows of bookshelves. I'd spent so many hours here, I had them practically memorized. Right between 'Healing Post Traumatic Stress' and 'Signs Your Child Is Socially Challenged', he sighed heavily, his subtle way of telling me I was being a pain in the ass, yet again. But it's not like he wasn't getting a big fat check every hour we spent together. His eyes zipped to the page of notes in front of him and when he looked up at me again – it was 'return of the concerned and helpful therapist'.
"Your uncle says you've joined the jazz band, and made the team for the school trivia bowl?" He asked narrowing his eyes at me. I threw a couple more pieces of candy in my mouth and chewed slowly. I loved leaving him in that uncomfortable silence, watching him squirm in his chair. It was so fucking funny- about the only entertainment I got these days.
"Yep, I'm aiming for extreme popularity. Can you tell?" I said tossing one of the candies in the air and catching it in my mouth. His face relaxed into an expression I knew all too well – he was trying to get intimate again. Discuss the dark side of Dan, pour out our hearts and souls until we're weeping uncontrollably in each other's arms. It was so touching I thought I might vomit on his spotless white carpet.
"Dan," oh here it comes, the tight ass therapist is going to tell me he loves me and I'm not alone. If I'm lucky he'll hold my hand. They're all so predictable. I could've saved him a hell of a lot of money on that stupid piece of paper hanging on the wall. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost, if he wasn't so freakin' annoying. I groaned and rolled my eyes.
"Dan," he said again, "you've been at your new school for two months now. Haven't you made any friends?" No, thank God!
"A few," I lied. He narrowed his eyes at me. He was smart enough to at least know I was full of shit. But then why even ask?
"What about girls?" He asked ignoring my lie.
"You're kidding right?" I said exasperated he would even bring that up, "Is this some kind of test?" He ignored my sarcasm.
"You're a smart, good looking guy. There must be someone you've thought about asking out?" I shook my head in disbelief.
"It's a curse I wish I didn't have," I muttered then immediately regretted letting the words slip out. He now looked honestly concerned.
"When you say things like that, I think you want to talk, but you never do. What did you mean by that – why do you think being smart or good looks are a curse? I don't know any seventeen-year-old boy who would wish that."
"You just don't get it," I said, no one did, "I can guarantee both intelligence and being physically attractive to the opposite sex can be a curse." This was what I did best- give him little snippets of information or just a half second glance in to my mind and then I slam the door in his face. He was frustrated now. So was I. But who gives a damn if I'm frustrated as long as I behave? It's not like I didn't deserve some kind of punishment.
"Look, Dr. Stevens," I said hoping to calm him down a little. I hated to admit this, but the time I spent with him was the only time I did anything out of impulse or acted like I used to – though it was for good reason, it still felt nice having a glimpse of some of that normal teenage rebellion. Like seeing an old friend after a summer apart, "I know what you're trying to do, it's the same plan that all three shrinks tried on me in California. I'm not ready for any of that – I don't think I'll ever be ready, so lay-off. I do everything I'm supposed to. I'm the model teen. Any parent would love to have me." Any parent but my own. He raised his eyebrows probably guessing what I was thinking – damn shrinks! Just when you think they're complete idiots they go and read your mind.
"Have you talked to your parents lately?" He asked
"They sent a check, a credit card and a note asking me if I was working on my college applications," I said mechanically.
"Well, that's good they're communicating with you," he said, though he frowned like he was disappointed – maybe he thought they should do more? Interesting. I assumed he was all about the money. He probably has a 'ladder of healing' I need to climb for his achievements – maybe a book deal? If I'm not healed and perfect in a few months he won't have shit to write about. Whatever. This was so pointless.
"Can we finish a little early? I've got my first practice for the trivia bowl in twenty minutes," I said leaning back and putting my hands over my eyes. He looked a little sad, which surprised me, but I didn't have the energy to analyze his behavior, besides I didn't care.
"Fine," he said pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes, "I'll see you Thursday afternoon." I nodded and grabbed my bag and keys and pulled the book I was reading in the waiting room out from underneath my chair.
"What's that you're reading?" He asked me before I could leave. I flashed the cover in front of him. "War and Peace," he said raising his eyebrows. I smiled not being able to help myself.
"Do you honestly think I could go from popular jock to geek without having something of substance between my ears?" I asked laughing a little at the irony. I used to hide books from my friends, not wanting them to see me reading classics like Tolstoy.
"So I've heard," he said shaking his head and writing it all down in that notebook of ingredients for a bestseller to cure crazy kids- and make millions in the process. I didn't want to smash his life's work or anything, but he had a long way to go before he was Dr. Phil. I walked out into the cold November air. I hated cold and Chicago had more cold days than anything else.
Honestly the weather here was so fucking unpredictable. In San Jose, where I spent most of my life, until a few months ago, you get between sixty and eighty degrees most days. Today it was twenty-two, yesterday it was sixty-five.
I sat in my car pulling out my hundredth draft of the letter I may never finish and made yet another attempt.
Dear Hannah,
I know I'm probably the last person you ever want to open a piece of mail from. I'll understand completely if you tear this to shreds the moment you receive it. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of you – think of that night. I wake up seeing your face, horrified and it hurts so much, I think I'll never breathe again. I'll never forgive myself for what I did, but it doesn't compare to your suffering. I'm so sorry –
"Stupid idiot!" I said banging my head against the steering wheel a few times. I tore up the letter, throwing the pieces on to the floor. Who was I kidding, I hardly knew this girl and besides it would never be enough. But I had to try, didn't I?
I put the car in gear and headed back to school for trivia bowl practice, AKA – social suicide. If it was my choice I'd go to class and nothing more, but when I thought of my Uncle Steve worrying about me being alone and, well. . . miserable, I had to show some sign of life. He had done so much for me- sometimes I wished he was ashamed of me like parents. It would make my descision much easier.
Right now, my life balanced somewhere between purgatory and Hell. It's exactly where I needed to be, I didn't deserve anything better.
I had a song for every mood, for every moment of my life. I could use and artists's or songwriters words and piece them into my day like a puzzle or a map. What's my soug right now? Rescue Me!
"Have you made any connections yet," he asked me, leaning over his desk and pushing his over-priced black rimmed glasses up on his nose- they had to be fake. I took a deep breath letting it out slowly, searching for an ounce of patience. I really wasn't in the mood for his shit today. I reached forward and opened the glass jar on his desk and pulled out a handful of candy, popping one of the little pellets of pure sugar in my mouth.
"Connections?" I asked playing dumb, scanning the rows of bookshelves. I'd spent so many hours here, I had them practically memorized. Right between 'Healing Post Traumatic Stress' and 'Signs Your Child Is Socially Challenged', he sighed heavily, his subtle way of telling me I was being a pain in the ass, yet again. But it's not like he wasn't getting a big fat check every hour we spent together. His eyes zipped to the page of notes in front of him and when he looked up at me again – it was 'return of the concerned and helpful therapist'.
"Your uncle says you've joined the jazz band, and made the team for the school trivia bowl?" He asked narrowing his eyes at me. I threw a couple more pieces of candy in my mouth and chewed slowly. I loved leaving him in that uncomfortable silence, watching him squirm in his chair. It was so fucking funny- about the only entertainment I got these days.
"Yep, I'm aiming for extreme popularity. Can you tell?" I said tossing one of the candies in the air and catching it in my mouth. His face relaxed into an expression I knew all too well – he was trying to get intimate again. Discuss the dark side of Dan, pour out our hearts and souls until we're weeping uncontrollably in each other's arms. It was so touching I thought I might vomit on his spotless white carpet.
"Dan," oh here it comes, the tight ass therapist is going to tell me he loves me and I'm not alone. If I'm lucky he'll hold my hand. They're all so predictable. I could've saved him a hell of a lot of money on that stupid piece of paper hanging on the wall. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost, if he wasn't so freakin' annoying. I groaned and rolled my eyes.
"Dan," he said again, "you've been at your new school for two months now. Haven't you made any friends?" No, thank God!
"A few," I lied. He narrowed his eyes at me. He was smart enough to at least know I was full of shit. But then why even ask?
"What about girls?" He asked ignoring my lie.
"You're kidding right?" I said exasperated he would even bring that up, "Is this some kind of test?" He ignored my sarcasm.
"You're a smart, good looking guy. There must be someone you've thought about asking out?" I shook my head in disbelief.
"It's a curse I wish I didn't have," I muttered then immediately regretted letting the words slip out. He now looked honestly concerned.
"When you say things like that, I think you want to talk, but you never do. What did you mean by that – why do you think being smart or good looks are a curse? I don't know any seventeen-year-old boy who would wish that."
"You just don't get it," I said, no one did, "I can guarantee both intelligence and being physically attractive to the opposite sex can be a curse." This was what I did best- give him little snippets of information or just a half second glance in to my mind and then I slam the door in his face. He was frustrated now. So was I. But who gives a damn if I'm frustrated as long as I behave? It's not like I didn't deserve some kind of punishment.
"Look, Dr. Stevens," I said hoping to calm him down a little. I hated to admit this, but the time I spent with him was the only time I did anything out of impulse or acted like I used to – though it was for good reason, it still felt nice having a glimpse of some of that normal teenage rebellion. Like seeing an old friend after a summer apart, "I know what you're trying to do, it's the same plan that all three shrinks tried on me in California. I'm not ready for any of that – I don't think I'll ever be ready, so lay-off. I do everything I'm supposed to. I'm the model teen. Any parent would love to have me." Any parent but my own. He raised his eyebrows probably guessing what I was thinking – damn shrinks! Just when you think they're complete idiots they go and read your mind.
"Have you talked to your parents lately?" He asked
"They sent a check, a credit card and a note asking me if I was working on my college applications," I said mechanically.
"Well, that's good they're communicating with you," he said, though he frowned like he was disappointed – maybe he thought they should do more? Interesting. I assumed he was all about the money. He probably has a 'ladder of healing' I need to climb for his achievements – maybe a book deal? If I'm not healed and perfect in a few months he won't have shit to write about. Whatever. This was so pointless.
"Can we finish a little early? I've got my first practice for the trivia bowl in twenty minutes," I said leaning back and putting my hands over my eyes. He looked a little sad, which surprised me, but I didn't have the energy to analyze his behavior, besides I didn't care.
"Fine," he said pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes, "I'll see you Thursday afternoon." I nodded and grabbed my bag and keys and pulled the book I was reading in the waiting room out from underneath my chair.
"What's that you're reading?" He asked me before I could leave. I flashed the cover in front of him. "War and Peace," he said raising his eyebrows. I smiled not being able to help myself.
"Do you honestly think I could go from popular jock to geek without having something of substance between my ears?" I asked laughing a little at the irony. I used to hide books from my friends, not wanting them to see me reading classics like Tolstoy.
"So I've heard," he said shaking his head and writing it all down in that notebook of ingredients for a bestseller to cure crazy kids- and make millions in the process. I didn't want to smash his life's work or anything, but he had a long way to go before he was Dr. Phil. I walked out into the cold November air. I hated cold and Chicago had more cold days than anything else.
Honestly the weather here was so fucking unpredictable. In San Jose, where I spent most of my life, until a few months ago, you get between sixty and eighty degrees most days. Today it was twenty-two, yesterday it was sixty-five.
I sat in my car pulling out my hundredth draft of the letter I may never finish and made yet another attempt.
Dear Hannah,
I know I'm probably the last person you ever want to open a piece of mail from. I'll understand completely if you tear this to shreds the moment you receive it. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of you – think of that night. I wake up seeing your face, horrified and it hurts so much, I think I'll never breathe again. I'll never forgive myself for what I did, but it doesn't compare to your suffering. I'm so sorry –
"Stupid idiot!" I said banging my head against the steering wheel a few times. I tore up the letter, throwing the pieces on to the floor. Who was I kidding, I hardly knew this girl and besides it would never be enough. But I had to try, didn't I?
I put the car in gear and headed back to school for trivia bowl practice, AKA – social suicide. If it was my choice I'd go to class and nothing more, but when I thought of my Uncle Steve worrying about me being alone and, well. . . miserable, I had to show some sign of life. He had done so much for me- sometimes I wished he was ashamed of me like parents. It would make my descision much easier.
Right now, my life balanced somewhere between purgatory and Hell. It's exactly where I needed to be, I didn't deserve anything better.
Query- AM I WORTH IT? - young adult- attempt #2
Click here to read the original query.
**Thanks for all your great feedback on the first attempt! I knew I would need those first impressions to see if it needed to be toned down a little. word count is 330, is that too much???
Seventeen-year-old Dan has never been punished for what he did to Hannah last spring while drunk and high at a party. He barely knew Hannah and now her life is ruined and no one will listen to Dan, not the judge or the four shrinks he's seen since that night.They all say the same thing, "It's not your fault." It's up to him to create his own miserable existence – to make sure he's punished, but he's too much of a coward to do what he should.
Instead, he leaves behind his comfortable California life, his high-profile parents, and every ounce of joy, to move to the north suburbs of Chicago, before his senior year. Dan has a brilliant mind and a gift for music. He also has a carefully crafted plan to remain in his unhappy existence – number one on his list: commit social suicide by going from cute, popular jock to most valuable member of the Trivia bowl Team. Only now, for the first time he isn't hiding his good side- he's finding it.
His plan is failing. He's surrounded with people who care for him, maybe even love him. And he can't help thinking about Claire – beautiful, kind, funny and looking at him in a way he doesn't deserve. When she leans in to kiss him, he sees Hannah's face. His mind swims with the memory of that night and he can't breathe.
Dan's slowly walking a plank and buying time in purgatory until the decision is made - either forgive himself or drown. He's knows what he deserves, but everything is off-balance now. He may have someone amazing like Claire trying to pull him from his miserable life sentence, but he can't stop asking, "Am I worth it?"
AM I WORTH IT is a 60,000 word young adult novel telling the story of a boy's ability to emerge from a sea of guilt and come out a better man.
**Thanks for all your great feedback on the first attempt! I knew I would need those first impressions to see if it needed to be toned down a little. word count is 330, is that too much???
Seventeen-year-old Dan has never been punished for what he did to Hannah last spring while drunk and high at a party. He barely knew Hannah and now her life is ruined and no one will listen to Dan, not the judge or the four shrinks he's seen since that night.They all say the same thing, "It's not your fault." It's up to him to create his own miserable existence – to make sure he's punished, but he's too much of a coward to do what he should.
Instead, he leaves behind his comfortable California life, his high-profile parents, and every ounce of joy, to move to the north suburbs of Chicago, before his senior year. Dan has a brilliant mind and a gift for music. He also has a carefully crafted plan to remain in his unhappy existence – number one on his list: commit social suicide by going from cute, popular jock to most valuable member of the Trivia bowl Team. Only now, for the first time he isn't hiding his good side- he's finding it.
His plan is failing. He's surrounded with people who care for him, maybe even love him. And he can't help thinking about Claire – beautiful, kind, funny and looking at him in a way he doesn't deserve. When she leans in to kiss him, he sees Hannah's face. His mind swims with the memory of that night and he can't breathe.
Dan's slowly walking a plank and buying time in purgatory until the decision is made - either forgive himself or drown. He's knows what he deserves, but everything is off-balance now. He may have someone amazing like Claire trying to pull him from his miserable life sentence, but he can't stop asking, "Am I worth it?"
AM I WORTH IT is a 60,000 word young adult novel telling the story of a boy's ability to emerge from a sea of guilt and come out a better man.
Query - Llona Reese: By the Light of the Moon, young adult
Dear Agent,
I’m seeking representation for my 94,000 word young adult, urban fantasy, LLONA REESE: BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON, about a young girl who just wants to live a long life without the constant fear of being murdered for her unique gift.
LLONA REESE is not your typical seventeen-year-old high school girl. She is an Aura, a female who contains the ancient and powerful Light. Where other teen age girls have to deal with changing hormones and growing boobs, Llona has to figure out how to control Light’s power… and fast.
Strange and frightening things begin happening and she suspects a Vicen has discovered her true identity, despite her extreme efforts to protect herself. Vicens are strong, evil beings who kill Auras for the Light in their blood, which in turn gives them great power. With the help of her first real friend, MAY, who she met under unusual circumstances, and CHRISTIAN, the mysterious boy who knows more than he’s telling, Llona decides not to run. She does, after all, deserve one normal year of school, doesn’t she? By choosing to stay and fight, she risks the lives of everyone she loves and ultimately changes her life forever.
LLONA REESE: BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON is the first in a series of three, but could stand on its own. It will appeal to R.L. Stine fans and any teenager who has felt out of place. Upon your request, I am prepared to send the complete manuscript. Thank you for taking the time to consider representing my work. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
(personal info)
I’m seeking representation for my 94,000 word young adult, urban fantasy, LLONA REESE: BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON, about a young girl who just wants to live a long life without the constant fear of being murdered for her unique gift.
LLONA REESE is not your typical seventeen-year-old high school girl. She is an Aura, a female who contains the ancient and powerful Light. Where other teen age girls have to deal with changing hormones and growing boobs, Llona has to figure out how to control Light’s power… and fast.
Strange and frightening things begin happening and she suspects a Vicen has discovered her true identity, despite her extreme efforts to protect herself. Vicens are strong, evil beings who kill Auras for the Light in their blood, which in turn gives them great power. With the help of her first real friend, MAY, who she met under unusual circumstances, and CHRISTIAN, the mysterious boy who knows more than he’s telling, Llona decides not to run. She does, after all, deserve one normal year of school, doesn’t she? By choosing to stay and fight, she risks the lives of everyone she loves and ultimately changes her life forever.
LLONA REESE: BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON is the first in a series of three, but could stand on its own. It will appeal to R.L. Stine fans and any teenager who has felt out of place. Upon your request, I am prepared to send the complete manuscript. Thank you for taking the time to consider representing my work. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
(personal info)
Sep 22, 2009
Successful Query
I have an agent. Holy smokes, did I say that? I think I did. It must be real.
We're working to get RUDY TOOT-TOOT in shape for submission to a publisher. If you search for Rudy Toot-Toot on this blog you can find the queries, but they aren't what was important, to be honest with you. The important parts were the characters and the writing. It didn't happen overnight. [NOTE: It happened over an hour in the afternoon. You can move fast when the manuscript is only 4,000 words.]
Some history, because this is what's important:
I've been reading agent and editor blogs for about 18 months (I'm a parent, so I speak in months up to 3 years. Do the math.) I've tried to participate by commenting frequently, to show a professional attitude and foster discussion about the craft of writing and the business of publishing. And also be an occasional smart-ass. But I was careful to stay on topic and not hijack a thread (I probably just got on twelve NSA lists for using the word "hijack." You just made three for reading it.)
I've queried and been rejected many times for other works. I've had an agent review a partial, but declined the full with helpful feedback. To be honest with you, it wasn't ready. As hard a pill as that was to swallow, all that work on my first novel had to be re-done. WIP. But the re-write is better. A lot better. Good enough? Time will tell.
I also had a picture book manuscript, but most agents don't represent picture books. I found a couple that do and queried but never got a reply. Eventually I came across news of a children's publishing veteran joining a literary agency, and I reached out to her through the email address on her blog, indicating that I was familiar with the books she works with (i.e. picture books and children's books). I also noted that I read her preferred submission methods (which did not include querying), and asked if she would was open to a query for my picture book. She said for picture books she prefers the whole manuscript, but recommended I wait until her official start date at a new agency about 3 weeks later.
I had the patience to wait until her second day at the agency, mostly to make sure her email account would be set up. It took a couple weeks before she responded with very good feedback, but ultimately saying it wasn't enough and encouraging more from the story. She ended with "please stay in touch."
So I got to writing. After another three weeks the 500-word picture book grew into a 4,000 word chapter book, and a quick sit-down at dinner grew to a full day of doing chores at the family Bean Market.
I re-queried by replying to her last email with the new query, and I attached a copy of the manuscript again. This is good protocol, it helps a busy agent remember who you are, and they don't have to dig for a prior email. But alas, I received an out of office reply that said she would still check messages when possible.
One month passed, and each day I wanted to email her and ask,"Did you get it? What'd you think?"
But I didn't. I waited a full month and then I decided to follow-up via email. I very politely mentioned that I re-queried with a new MS a month ago and got an out of office reply, so I just wanted to make sure it didn't fall through the cracks. I did this by forwarding the prior query (which had the entire originating thread) and I re-attached the manuscript.
It turns out the other email did fall through the cracks, and she read the re-submission right away. She got back to me within the hour (4,000 words = 16 pages) and said she would like to help get it in shape for a publisher, and the rest of that day was spent discussing the story and what it needs. This morning I woke up early to get writing before my day job, and my alarm's set for an early rise again tomorrow.
And the rest is history (in the making)...
NOTE: I have not given up on my other two works in progress, but they are on the back burner for a short while. Must keep writing. For now, this is a great step on my path to publication.
We're working to get RUDY TOOT-TOOT in shape for submission to a publisher. If you search for Rudy Toot-Toot on this blog you can find the queries, but they aren't what was important, to be honest with you. The important parts were the characters and the writing. It didn't happen overnight. [NOTE: It happened over an hour in the afternoon. You can move fast when the manuscript is only 4,000 words.]
Some history, because this is what's important:
I've been reading agent and editor blogs for about 18 months (I'm a parent, so I speak in months up to 3 years. Do the math.) I've tried to participate by commenting frequently, to show a professional attitude and foster discussion about the craft of writing and the business of publishing. And also be an occasional smart-ass. But I was careful to stay on topic and not hijack a thread (I probably just got on twelve NSA lists for using the word "hijack." You just made three for reading it.)
I've queried and been rejected many times for other works. I've had an agent review a partial, but declined the full with helpful feedback. To be honest with you, it wasn't ready. As hard a pill as that was to swallow, all that work on my first novel had to be re-done. WIP. But the re-write is better. A lot better. Good enough? Time will tell.
I also had a picture book manuscript, but most agents don't represent picture books. I found a couple that do and queried but never got a reply. Eventually I came across news of a children's publishing veteran joining a literary agency, and I reached out to her through the email address on her blog, indicating that I was familiar with the books she works with (i.e. picture books and children's books). I also noted that I read her preferred submission methods (which did not include querying), and asked if she would was open to a query for my picture book. She said for picture books she prefers the whole manuscript, but recommended I wait until her official start date at a new agency about 3 weeks later.
I had the patience to wait until her second day at the agency, mostly to make sure her email account would be set up. It took a couple weeks before she responded with very good feedback, but ultimately saying it wasn't enough and encouraging more from the story. She ended with "please stay in touch."
So I got to writing. After another three weeks the 500-word picture book grew into a 4,000 word chapter book, and a quick sit-down at dinner grew to a full day of doing chores at the family Bean Market.
I re-queried by replying to her last email with the new query, and I attached a copy of the manuscript again. This is good protocol, it helps a busy agent remember who you are, and they don't have to dig for a prior email. But alas, I received an out of office reply that said she would still check messages when possible.
One month passed, and each day I wanted to email her and ask,"Did you get it? What'd you think?"
But I didn't. I waited a full month and then I decided to follow-up via email. I very politely mentioned that I re-queried with a new MS a month ago and got an out of office reply, so I just wanted to make sure it didn't fall through the cracks. I did this by forwarding the prior query (which had the entire originating thread) and I re-attached the manuscript.
It turns out the other email did fall through the cracks, and she read the re-submission right away. She got back to me within the hour (4,000 words = 16 pages) and said she would like to help get it in shape for a publisher, and the rest of that day was spent discussing the story and what it needs. This morning I woke up early to get writing before my day job, and my alarm's set for an early rise again tomorrow.
And the rest is history (in the making)...
NOTE: I have not given up on my other two works in progress, but they are on the back burner for a short while. Must keep writing. For now, this is a great step on my path to publication.
Sep 21, 2009
QUERY: THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN (1st revision)
Click here to read the original query.
When eighteen-year-old Toby Beckett chases his dog into Washington, D.C.’s Rock Creek Park, he discovers a Nikon with digital photos of a UFO crash and a giant woman. Skeptical and thrilled, he heads to a Union Station coffee bar to show the photos to Burke Kerrigan, a former AP photographer, who just laughs at them. Toby falls for Burke’s beautiful sister Kate when she joins their table. Suddenly they spot the giant in the crowd around the subway. Leaping up, they trail her across the city until she reveals herself to be inhuman and disappears inside Buchanan House, an upscale condominium next to Rock Creek Park. Burke argues that the giant is a carnival freak who faked the photos, but when they hike into the woods, they find the UFO behind a damaged camouflage force field. Disaster strikes when Burke steps in a light filled grid and can’t get out.
THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN is a romantic, 86,000 word science fiction/fantasy novel about people as well as aliens. Toby, an amiable slacker who has never put himself on the line before, finds himself with impossible choices. After he discovers the alien is dangerous, he somehow has to find the words to warn his sister and her husband, who are about to move into Buchanan House. He finds himself falling in love with Kate and tries to help her rescue her brother, but she calls him a coward because he doesn’t want to risk their lives. While the alien adapts to the city with frightening consequences, Toby discovers who left the Nikon in the woods and finally stumbles upon the UFO’s unique purpose.
As for myself, I was born in Washington, D.C. and lived in the Cleveland Park neighborhood where the novel takes place. Right now I am working on a sequel. [Personalized agent information and enclosures].
Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely,
Author
When eighteen-year-old Toby Beckett chases his dog into Washington, D.C.’s Rock Creek Park, he discovers a Nikon with digital photos of a UFO crash and a giant woman. Skeptical and thrilled, he heads to a Union Station coffee bar to show the photos to Burke Kerrigan, a former AP photographer, who just laughs at them. Toby falls for Burke’s beautiful sister Kate when she joins their table. Suddenly they spot the giant in the crowd around the subway. Leaping up, they trail her across the city until she reveals herself to be inhuman and disappears inside Buchanan House, an upscale condominium next to Rock Creek Park. Burke argues that the giant is a carnival freak who faked the photos, but when they hike into the woods, they find the UFO behind a damaged camouflage force field. Disaster strikes when Burke steps in a light filled grid and can’t get out.
THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN is a romantic, 86,000 word science fiction/fantasy novel about people as well as aliens. Toby, an amiable slacker who has never put himself on the line before, finds himself with impossible choices. After he discovers the alien is dangerous, he somehow has to find the words to warn his sister and her husband, who are about to move into Buchanan House. He finds himself falling in love with Kate and tries to help her rescue her brother, but she calls him a coward because he doesn’t want to risk their lives. While the alien adapts to the city with frightening consequences, Toby discovers who left the Nikon in the woods and finally stumbles upon the UFO’s unique purpose.
As for myself, I was born in Washington, D.C. and lived in the Cleveland Park neighborhood where the novel takes place. Right now I am working on a sequel. [Personalized agent information and enclosures].
Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely,
Author
Short Story Writing Contest: "Rain Stories"
NOTE: This came through the submissions queue. I am not affiliated with the BookRix site. Technically I'm not affiliated with The Literary Lab either, but I comment there almost every day so I posted the Genre Wars contest link out of kinship. End of disclaimer.
- September 15th 2009 to October 15th 2009 -
Summer is about to end? Autumn is knocking at the door? Stormy weather and rain predicted? It is time to read a book or even write one. Take advantage of the unpleasant rainy weather and enter the latest BookRix Short Story Writing Contest for free: Tell us your rain story, turn your wordsmith powers into positive cashflow and fame. Write a story that has anything to do with rain, or Mr. Rain, or a dog named Rain, whatever.
Key Facts:
* Anyone registered at our BookRix.com website can join the contest (except citizens of Germany, Austria and Switzerland).
* Authors and readers can enter the competition for free and win cash money.
* Enter a book about rain that you have already written and published or write a new rain story.
Prizes for authors:
First Prize: $1000
Second Prize: $500
Third Prize: $300
Prizes for readers:
10 Amazon vouchers each worth $20 will be raffled for free among all readers taking part in the voting process.
* No entry fee is required
http://www.bookrix.com/precontest.html?lang=en&show=BX_1252680162
Good luck to all!
- September 15th 2009 to October 15th 2009 -
Summer is about to end? Autumn is knocking at the door? Stormy weather and rain predicted? It is time to read a book or even write one. Take advantage of the unpleasant rainy weather and enter the latest BookRix Short Story Writing Contest for free: Tell us your rain story, turn your wordsmith powers into positive cashflow and fame. Write a story that has anything to do with rain, or Mr. Rain, or a dog named Rain, whatever.
Key Facts:
* Anyone registered at our BookRix.com website can join the contest (except citizens of Germany, Austria and Switzerland).
* Authors and readers can enter the competition for free and win cash money.
* Enter a book about rain that you have already written and published or write a new rain story.
Prizes for authors:
First Prize: $1000
Second Prize: $500
Third Prize: $300
Prizes for readers:
10 Amazon vouchers each worth $20 will be raffled for free among all readers taking part in the voting process.
* No entry fee is required
http://www.bookrix.com/precontest.html?lang=en&show=BX_1252680162
Good luck to all!
Sep 20, 2009
Query - AM I WORTH IT? - young adult
Seventeen-year-old Dan has never been punished for what he did to Hannah last spring while drunk and high at a party. He barely knew Hannah and now her life is ruined and no one will listen to Dan, not the judge or the four shrinks he's seen since that night. It's up to him to create his own miserable existence – to make sure he's punished, but he's too much of a coward to do what he should.
Instead, he leaves behind his comfortable California life, his high profile parents, and every ounce of joy, to move to the North Suburbs of Chicago, before his senior year. Dan has a brilliant mind and a gift for music. He also has a carefully crafted plan to remain in his unhappy existence – number one on his list: commit social suicide by going from cute, popular, Jock to most valuable member of the Trivia bowl Team. Only now, for the first time he isn't hiding his good side, he's finding it.
His plan is failing. He's surrounded with people who care for him, maybe even love him. And he can't help thinking about Claire – beautiful, kind, funny and looking at him in a way he doesn't deserve. When she leans in to kiss him, he sees Hannah's face, terrified and streaked with tears and hears her voice screaming for him to stop, and he can't breathe. His greatest fear is he'll hurt someone else, and he's not getting close enough to find out.
Dan's slowly walking a plank and buying time in purgatory until the decision is made - either forgive himself or drown. He's knows what he deserves, but everything is off-balance now. He may have someone amazing like Claire trying to pull him from his miserable life sentence, but he can't stop asking, "Am I worth it?"
AM I WORTH IT is a 60,000 word young adult novel telling the story of a boy's ability to emerge from a sea of guilt and come out a better man.
Instead, he leaves behind his comfortable California life, his high profile parents, and every ounce of joy, to move to the North Suburbs of Chicago, before his senior year. Dan has a brilliant mind and a gift for music. He also has a carefully crafted plan to remain in his unhappy existence – number one on his list: commit social suicide by going from cute, popular, Jock to most valuable member of the Trivia bowl Team. Only now, for the first time he isn't hiding his good side, he's finding it.
His plan is failing. He's surrounded with people who care for him, maybe even love him. And he can't help thinking about Claire – beautiful, kind, funny and looking at him in a way he doesn't deserve. When she leans in to kiss him, he sees Hannah's face, terrified and streaked with tears and hears her voice screaming for him to stop, and he can't breathe. His greatest fear is he'll hurt someone else, and he's not getting close enough to find out.
Dan's slowly walking a plank and buying time in purgatory until the decision is made - either forgive himself or drown. He's knows what he deserves, but everything is off-balance now. He may have someone amazing like Claire trying to pull him from his miserable life sentence, but he can't stop asking, "Am I worth it?"
AM I WORTH IT is a 60,000 word young adult novel telling the story of a boy's ability to emerge from a sea of guilt and come out a better man.
QUERY: THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN
When eighteen-year-old Toby Beckett chases his dog into Washington, D.C.’s Rock Creek Park, he discovers a Nikon with digital photos of a UFO crash and a giant woman. Both skeptical and thrilled, he heads to a Union Station coffee bar to show the photos to Burke Kerrigan, a former AP photographer, who just laughs at them. Toby falls for Burke’s beautiful sister Kate when she joins their table. Suddenly they spot the giant in the subway crowd. Leaping up, they trail her across the city until she reveals herself to be inhuman and disappears inside Buchanan House, an elegant condominium near the woods where Toby found the Nikon. Burke argues that the giant is a carnival freak who faked the photos to make money, but when they hike into Rock Creek Park, they find the UFO behind a damaged camouflage force field.
THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN is a romantic, 85,800 word science fiction/fantasy novel about three couples who cross paths with a mysterious UFO that crashes in Rock Creek Park. Toby, falling for his friend Kate, discovers the UFO with her, but when her brother Burke gets trapped inside the saucer, no one believes them. Toby’s sister Lisa Mitchell and her husband Ian, constantly bickering with each other, move into Buchanan House and find they have a strange neighbor. Monroe Broussard, a friend of Toby’s who is struggling to return to law school after a hurricane kills his family, keeps seeing a door in the sky, but doesn’t know how to explain his vision to his fiancée. While the alien adapts to the city with frightening consequences, one person stumbles upon the UFO’s unique purpose.
As for myself, I was born in Washington, D.C. and lived in the area where the novel takes place. Right now I’m writing a sequel. A copyeditor has checked THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN (_________name and credentials of copyeditor). I’m enclosing a SASE, synopsis and the first (__________per agent's submission guidelines) pages, which are disposable copy.
(Personalized paragraph about why I am contacting this agent). Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely,
Author
THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN is a romantic, 85,800 word science fiction/fantasy novel about three couples who cross paths with a mysterious UFO that crashes in Rock Creek Park. Toby, falling for his friend Kate, discovers the UFO with her, but when her brother Burke gets trapped inside the saucer, no one believes them. Toby’s sister Lisa Mitchell and her husband Ian, constantly bickering with each other, move into Buchanan House and find they have a strange neighbor. Monroe Broussard, a friend of Toby’s who is struggling to return to law school after a hurricane kills his family, keeps seeing a door in the sky, but doesn’t know how to explain his vision to his fiancée. While the alien adapts to the city with frightening consequences, one person stumbles upon the UFO’s unique purpose.
As for myself, I was born in Washington, D.C. and lived in the area where the novel takes place. Right now I’m writing a sequel. A copyeditor has checked THE ACCIDENTAL ALIEN (_________name and credentials of copyeditor). I’m enclosing a SASE, synopsis and the first (__________per agent's submission guidelines) pages, which are disposable copy.
(Personalized paragraph about why I am contacting this agent). Thank you for considering my submission.
Sincerely,
Author
Sep 19, 2009
Question about sample pages
Rick,
What's your take on language content for our sample pages posted on query slush pile. Should I **** them or something?
Thanks,
Julie
ANSWER: That's a good f%*$ing question.
I don't believe there are bad words, just inappropriate times and places to use them. Submit your content as-is, I think we have a mature readership here. If it gets to a point where a submission is too adult-oriented that I cannot keep the site open for everyone, I may respectfully decline to post a submission. If the submitter's contact info is in his/her profile, I will reach out to explain why.
I am tempted to say, "Don't worry, I doubt that I will ever be so offended as to without a post." However, I know that doing so would be inviting the more inventive of you to a seeming dual of ideals, and I'm pretty sure somebody else would win. Not because of my own personal tolerance, but because I am restricted by the environs of public decorum.
What's your take on language content for our sample pages posted on query slush pile. Should I **** them or something?
Thanks,
Julie
ANSWER: That's a good f%*$ing question.
I don't believe there are bad words, just inappropriate times and places to use them. Submit your content as-is, I think we have a mature readership here. If it gets to a point where a submission is too adult-oriented that I cannot keep the site open for everyone, I may respectfully decline to post a submission. If the submitter's contact info is in his/her profile, I will reach out to explain why.
I am tempted to say, "Don't worry, I doubt that I will ever be so offended as to without a post." However, I know that doing so would be inviting the more inventive of you to a seeming dual of ideals, and I'm pretty sure somebody else would win. Not because of my own personal tolerance, but because I am restricted by the environs of public decorum.
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