NOTE:I AM AN ASPIRING WRITER AND I FIND THIS REALLY INTERESTING, HARMLESS AND HELPFUL TO PARTICIPATE IN, SO I WOULD ADMIRE ANY FEEDBACK FROM OTHER WRITERS.
Dear Agent,
After visiting your site I think that my novel fits well into what you are looking for. A Rose and an Amaranth is an 115,000 word Young Adult complete manuscript and a first in a planned series with the sequels in outline. What makes my novel unique is the creativity it is has to the original vampire myth and the history about their existence, and how their world functions. It is about a vampire who finds himself unworthy of a human girl to the extent of wanting to be human for her again-which is possible- yet he does not realize her yearn to be like him.
A concoction of love and death do intermix and there is no age restriction to drink of the cup, especially for these two. The interactions are at a Catholic school which is ironic for a vampire to be at, the prayers are no way close to innocence. Rosario is a very hopeful girl waiting on the “climax” of her life to arrive. The only reason she is adamantly alive is she does not have the courage to commit suicide, but who said suicide is the only death that you can try, there is chancing on a hauntingly intoxicating vampire that she can provoke to get 'The Kiss' from, especially when blood is addictively irresistible. But this new brood, Daniel Heath Forsyth, is damningly obsessed with finding his father, underlying this is the stake at which Rosario's life lies for he chooses her out of the girls in school to be his company. Blood, lust, love are an intricate in this novel that create an inner conflict in the character, with diary entries(by the vampire) and notes about the epidemic history of their existence the reader is able to whelm in this world and learn about the rulers and type of organizations it has.
Daniel Heath Forsyth finds it possible to turn into a human due to a virus circulating in his world, and he feels he will now become worthy of her if he allows the infection to succumb him, only thing is three vampires have already died from it and there is a high risk that he may too. Everyone in his world is going for vaccination, but the only sickness maddening him is his attraction to Rosario, it seems someone is unstable from the drink. Sadly for our star-crossed lovers Rosario and his family come to learn that she is a latent vampire and is linked to someone to whom, she is obliged to marry. And in their world infidelity is not taken lightly. She and Daniel have to go their different ways, and as she waits for her awakening to be triggered by this person she is to meet, she wonders just what may come of her life and through this road she learns through suffrage of values of family and love and fighting for what you want.
This is my first novel, and I am currently 2nd year Architecture. I have studied Literature through my Secondary School years, and through an English Language coarse students of this genre were interested in it.
Thank you for your time and consideration and I would be happy to send you my complete manuscript at your request.
Jun 22, 2010
Query- Winter Roses Never Die (fifth revision)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Click here to read the fourth revision.
Well, blog regulars, I think this time - with your much appreciated help - I've nailed it. Thanks to everyone and especially Rick.
Dear Agent,
Jennie works opposite the abandoned Catholic cemetery at the Sycamore Public Library and first notices Charos while taking a shortcut home through the sprawling grounds. The darkly beautiful man seated in a wheelchair beside the grave covered in ruby red roses is rather hard to miss - as are the roses. While the grounds are overgrown with weeds and self-sown flowers, the roses are the jewels of the cemetery. Hidden behind ivy-covered bluestone walls, this deserted place appears so timeless and wildly beautiful she speculates that fairies could come and go here unnoticed by human kind. As the mysterious man is often beside the rosy grave site, she finally plucks up courage to introduce herself, but Charos shows little interest. However one 'man' always has time for her. During her daily - and nightly - treks, she stops to speak to the life-like statue of the Christ and sometimes receives guiding and uplifting 'inspirationals'.
Despite his initial coolness, Charos seems to warm when she shows interest in the many roses flourishing in mid-winter. He tells her they will never die only sleep through summer and return in winter 'when she is needed the most'. As they spend more time together, Jennie discovers that Charos is a force of nature, irresistable and dangerous, and soons falls under the spell of his fey charm. Although he remains an unpredictable mystery, Jennie feels he's the one person who understands her imaginative beliefs and sees her real worth.
Come late spring the winter roses and Charos disappear leaving her in despair. So begins Jennie's quest to discover the truth and to bring him back into her life. Only the magical winter roses will enable her to understand Charo's surreal world. And only the 'Man' Jennie needs the most can arm her with the wisdom and confidence she needs to win the love of the man who needs her the most and restore his soul so he can live and love again.
Winter Roses Never Die is a surreal ride into a world of paranormal relationships, mythical creatures and mystical Christianity. The story is complete at 95,000 words.
Thank you for your time and look forward to hearing from you.
Wendy Peterson
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Click here to read the fourth revision.
Well, blog regulars, I think this time - with your much appreciated help - I've nailed it. Thanks to everyone and especially Rick.
Dear Agent,
Jennie works opposite the abandoned Catholic cemetery at the Sycamore Public Library and first notices Charos while taking a shortcut home through the sprawling grounds. The darkly beautiful man seated in a wheelchair beside the grave covered in ruby red roses is rather hard to miss - as are the roses. While the grounds are overgrown with weeds and self-sown flowers, the roses are the jewels of the cemetery. Hidden behind ivy-covered bluestone walls, this deserted place appears so timeless and wildly beautiful she speculates that fairies could come and go here unnoticed by human kind. As the mysterious man is often beside the rosy grave site, she finally plucks up courage to introduce herself, but Charos shows little interest. However one 'man' always has time for her. During her daily - and nightly - treks, she stops to speak to the life-like statue of the Christ and sometimes receives guiding and uplifting 'inspirationals'.
Despite his initial coolness, Charos seems to warm when she shows interest in the many roses flourishing in mid-winter. He tells her they will never die only sleep through summer and return in winter 'when she is needed the most'. As they spend more time together, Jennie discovers that Charos is a force of nature, irresistable and dangerous, and soons falls under the spell of his fey charm. Although he remains an unpredictable mystery, Jennie feels he's the one person who understands her imaginative beliefs and sees her real worth.
Come late spring the winter roses and Charos disappear leaving her in despair. So begins Jennie's quest to discover the truth and to bring him back into her life. Only the magical winter roses will enable her to understand Charo's surreal world. And only the 'Man' Jennie needs the most can arm her with the wisdom and confidence she needs to win the love of the man who needs her the most and restore his soul so he can live and love again.
Winter Roses Never Die is a surreal ride into a world of paranormal relationships, mythical creatures and mystical Christianity. The story is complete at 95,000 words.
Thank you for your time and look forward to hearing from you.
Wendy Peterson
Jun 21, 2010
Query- Cardinal in a Cage of Bone
Amongst the last to pursue a "vanity degree" before the current recession, Laura Locksley matriculates into the zany Modern Arts University, where hedonism and instability splatter the students like paint on a Jackson Pollock canvas. She explores music, intoxication, sex, inspiration, and artifice; young and confused in a time when The Happiest Place on Earth has 360ยบ cameras, New York businessmen commit suicide at the office, and surgically-enhanced faces drink from the Fountain of Youth.
Despite her sunglasses, ipod, vodka-filled flask, elaborate make up and clothing (buffers against humanity), Laura becomes infatuated with disaffected boys, endures family conflict, and meets an array of undergrads in grungy basement parties and on the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia. Cardinal in a Cage of Bone captures the magic of the internal life of an artist, overstimulation and subsequent boredom, the inability to handle angst-kissed passions without the aid of a glowing touchscreen. As reality looms and the ghosts of lost companions linger like smoke from their now-extinguished cigarettes, the kids accept their diplomas and think, With so much progress, why do we feel like failures?
I am a 2008 graduate of _______ in Philadelphia with a BA in Music Composition. While studying creative writing, I completed two short story collections and tutored for the writing department.
Cardinal in a Cage of Bone is a completed, 81,000 word novel in the literary fiction genre. Please let me know if you would be interested in reading sample chapters. Thank you for your time and consideration.
All the best,
____________________
Despite her sunglasses, ipod, vodka-filled flask, elaborate make up and clothing (buffers against humanity), Laura becomes infatuated with disaffected boys, endures family conflict, and meets an array of undergrads in grungy basement parties and on the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia. Cardinal in a Cage of Bone captures the magic of the internal life of an artist, overstimulation and subsequent boredom, the inability to handle angst-kissed passions without the aid of a glowing touchscreen. As reality looms and the ghosts of lost companions linger like smoke from their now-extinguished cigarettes, the kids accept their diplomas and think, With so much progress, why do we feel like failures?
I am a 2008 graduate of _______ in Philadelphia with a BA in Music Composition. While studying creative writing, I completed two short story collections and tutored for the writing department.
Cardinal in a Cage of Bone is a completed, 81,000 word novel in the literary fiction genre. Please let me know if you would be interested in reading sample chapters. Thank you for your time and consideration.
All the best,
____________________
Jun 19, 2010
Query- Crucible of Silver (revision 3)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Silver squirrel has tried everything and failed. “God!” he cries out. “I want to live! ”
Silver’s faced predators, bitter cold and embitterment inside, and all because the squirrel leaders burned down his home. Does he have to forgive them now?
He’s come a long way from insignificant beginnings under a stump. He was timid and immature. Now, he’s just ruined, but perhaps he’s learned how to love. He loved Sandy Brown, that’s for sure. He has grown. Maybe it was a refining fire that got him here.
An idea begins to form, a plan, not just to save himself, but all of them. Old Jacob used to say he had a special destiny. This might be it. He’ll face the hawk who’s taken so many squirrels, but if it works, he’ll have this one treasure, Sandy by his side.
Crucible of Silver is a coming of age story completed at 70,000 words.
I have been published in several trade publications including Keyframe Magazine. I studied screen writing, and have completed three novels. I worked in film (Star Trek, Spiderman 2) and animation (Roughnecks, Dan Dare, Mystic Knights), and published software and documentation for the animation industry for a number of years before finishing my books.
The book has been professionally copy edited. There are two completed sequels, Silver Squirrel in Uneasy Pieces, and Silver Squirrel and The Court of Animals, forming a trilogy. The series has been in the works for 16 years, while I spent time in the wilderness. There are allusions to the Bible, similar to the Narnia books, but its not religious in nature. It’s intended the be good clean fun. The Newbery winning Mrs. Frizby and the Rats of NIMH was a huge influence as well, existing in a very similar universe.
According to your submission guidelines, I have included a synopsis and the first chapter of the manuscript. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Silver squirrel has tried everything and failed. “God!” he cries out. “I want to live! ”
Silver’s faced predators, bitter cold and embitterment inside, and all because the squirrel leaders burned down his home. Does he have to forgive them now?
He’s come a long way from insignificant beginnings under a stump. He was timid and immature. Now, he’s just ruined, but perhaps he’s learned how to love. He loved Sandy Brown, that’s for sure. He has grown. Maybe it was a refining fire that got him here.
An idea begins to form, a plan, not just to save himself, but all of them. Old Jacob used to say he had a special destiny. This might be it. He’ll face the hawk who’s taken so many squirrels, but if it works, he’ll have this one treasure, Sandy by his side.
Crucible of Silver is a coming of age story completed at 70,000 words.
I have been published in several trade publications including Keyframe Magazine. I studied screen writing, and have completed three novels. I worked in film (Star Trek, Spiderman 2) and animation (Roughnecks, Dan Dare, Mystic Knights), and published software and documentation for the animation industry for a number of years before finishing my books.
The book has been professionally copy edited. There are two completed sequels, Silver Squirrel in Uneasy Pieces, and Silver Squirrel and The Court of Animals, forming a trilogy. The series has been in the works for 16 years, while I spent time in the wilderness. There are allusions to the Bible, similar to the Narnia books, but its not religious in nature. It’s intended the be good clean fun. The Newbery winning Mrs. Frizby and the Rats of NIMH was a huge influence as well, existing in a very similar universe.
According to your submission guidelines, I have included a synopsis and the first chapter of the manuscript. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Jun 16, 2010
Query- Crucible of Silver (revision 2)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Thank you all for your comments. I am still trying to find the right take on this story, what's important, and what isn't and battling the line between too little and too much.
Silver squirrel has come to his end. “God!” he cries out. “I want to live! I said I was willing to face death, but you’ve shown me to be a coward. I want to be proud, but you make me ashamed. I’m angry, but you would make me forgive. I tried to live by faith, but now I fear I will die.”
Silver’s facing predators, bitter cold and embitterment inside, and all because the squirrel leaders burned down his home due to some forgotten blight. Now, all he can do, is forgive them.
He’s come a long way from his humble beginnings under a stump. He was timid and immature. Now, he’s just ruined, but he’s learned how to forgive and how to love. It was a refining fire, of sorts, that got him here. If somehow he survives, perhaps he’ll yet be ready for a special kind of destiny.
Crucible of Silver is a coming of age story for older m/g and up, completed at 70,000 words.
Click here to read the first revision.
Thank you all for your comments. I am still trying to find the right take on this story, what's important, and what isn't and battling the line between too little and too much.
Silver squirrel has come to his end. “God!” he cries out. “I want to live! I said I was willing to face death, but you’ve shown me to be a coward. I want to be proud, but you make me ashamed. I’m angry, but you would make me forgive. I tried to live by faith, but now I fear I will die.”
Silver’s facing predators, bitter cold and embitterment inside, and all because the squirrel leaders burned down his home due to some forgotten blight. Now, all he can do, is forgive them.
He’s come a long way from his humble beginnings under a stump. He was timid and immature. Now, he’s just ruined, but he’s learned how to forgive and how to love. It was a refining fire, of sorts, that got him here. If somehow he survives, perhaps he’ll yet be ready for a special kind of destiny.
Crucible of Silver is a coming of age story for older m/g and up, completed at 70,000 words.
QUERY - SPYRE REVISION 1
Click here to read the original query.
Thanks for the feedback, everyone. I wish I'd found this site 4 months ago.
Some of you said that you'd like me to add more to the synopsis part of the query. I feel that "less is more" when it comes to a query's synopsis. That way, it garners more interest from prospective agents. I thought that going into more detail would be reserved for a full-paged synopsis. So I'm a little conflicted on that part of the query. However, I've added another paragraph (it's in italics) to see how that works.
I'm certainly open to more constructive criticism since I've sent out multiple versions of this query to over 50 agents and have received 27 rejections and only 1 request to see more pages. Thanks again for you help and let me know what you think:
There was no way for Alex Laxa to know that asking out a girl could land him in so much trouble. When Alex, a shy and uninspired waylei dealer, chases after a beautiful doctor to ask her out, he had no idea that he'd be thrust on a harrowing journey across the Volero System that could ultimately decide the fate of billions.
Alex finds himself a witness to two men assaulting the doctor and instinctively rushes in to help. Moments later, both men lie dead while he and his new companion, Lara Warren, have become fugitives. They discover that Lara stumbled upon the name of a project called Shepherd while researching her father's past. It's a name so secret that her employer, The Company, tries to mind-wipe both of them for learning of its existence. Now they must run for their lives, clueless as to why the very knowledge of this project would be worth killing them for.
Alex learns that Shepherd is a covert initiative to acquire the planet Spyre by annihilating its inhabitants. Only a select few are aware that this world holds the key to controlling the Volero System. Now he and his friends must save the Spyreans and prevent The Company from gaining indomitable power. SPYRE, a science fiction adventure, is complete at over 88,000 words.
Thank you for your time and patience in reading about my work. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Thanks for the feedback, everyone. I wish I'd found this site 4 months ago.
Some of you said that you'd like me to add more to the synopsis part of the query. I feel that "less is more" when it comes to a query's synopsis. That way, it garners more interest from prospective agents. I thought that going into more detail would be reserved for a full-paged synopsis. So I'm a little conflicted on that part of the query. However, I've added another paragraph (it's in italics) to see how that works.
I'm certainly open to more constructive criticism since I've sent out multiple versions of this query to over 50 agents and have received 27 rejections and only 1 request to see more pages. Thanks again for you help and let me know what you think:
There was no way for Alex Laxa to know that asking out a girl could land him in so much trouble. When Alex, a shy and uninspired waylei dealer, chases after a beautiful doctor to ask her out, he had no idea that he'd be thrust on a harrowing journey across the Volero System that could ultimately decide the fate of billions.
Alex finds himself a witness to two men assaulting the doctor and instinctively rushes in to help. Moments later, both men lie dead while he and his new companion, Lara Warren, have become fugitives. They discover that Lara stumbled upon the name of a project called Shepherd while researching her father's past. It's a name so secret that her employer, The Company, tries to mind-wipe both of them for learning of its existence. Now they must run for their lives, clueless as to why the very knowledge of this project would be worth killing them for.
Alex learns that Shepherd is a covert initiative to acquire the planet Spyre by annihilating its inhabitants. Only a select few are aware that this world holds the key to controlling the Volero System. Now he and his friends must save the Spyreans and prevent The Company from gaining indomitable power. SPYRE, a science fiction adventure, is complete at over 88,000 words.
Thank you for your time and patience in reading about my work. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Jun 15, 2010
Query for a children's book/picture book
Dear Mr. Rutherford,
What would you do if you were visiting a zoo on an empty stomach and saw a giant banana? If you were Mr. Butchin you would take it home and make banana bread. This is the story of the Misadventures of Mr. Butchin. Mr. Butchin is a loveable cartoon man who travels the fifty states and other countries in his subsequent books. His travels involve real photos of landmarks and local places within each state. In his first book, Mr. Butchin starts off in Wisconsin. He visits a local zoo and learns a valuable lesson about sharing. The first story is completed and an outline of subsequent books has already been done. Mr. Butchin’s books are aimed for toddlers and preschoolers and have a word count of approximately 600 to 800 words. Comparative books that share a vision of culture, language, and knowledge specifically geared towards toddlers and young children were hard to find. Some such as Dora explore the language aspect. Within the research, I found that books either focused on language or realistic photos, but not both.
I live in Madison, Wisconsin and do in-home childcare using my degree in Early Childhood Education and my Master’s in Education to bring fun to learning experiences. I’ve been working directly with children and reading everyday to them for nine years. My co-author Casey Day has worked at two daycare facilities for over 15 years as a music teacher and assistant teacher.
Some possible endorsements for the book would be the University of Wisconsin-Madison, with whom I work closely. Also, libraries in Wisconsin and bookstores may allow a book signing to help endorse the book. Due to the educational value, I feel confident that one or more places will endorse this book.
My marketing plan is flexible but strong. I wrote a book that will add to the education of all young children. My mission is, by using realistic pictures and common phrases heard within a location, and simplistic text, children will have knowledge of each of the fifty states and twenty other countries once the series is complete. I will contact the intended market by using internet, print, and traveling to locations. I hope to use a low cost/high turnover approach to pricing. This plan will be modified to fit demand and cost. The specifics can be decided later.
Thank you for taking the time to review my materials.
What would you do if you were visiting a zoo on an empty stomach and saw a giant banana? If you were Mr. Butchin you would take it home and make banana bread. This is the story of the Misadventures of Mr. Butchin. Mr. Butchin is a loveable cartoon man who travels the fifty states and other countries in his subsequent books. His travels involve real photos of landmarks and local places within each state. In his first book, Mr. Butchin starts off in Wisconsin. He visits a local zoo and learns a valuable lesson about sharing. The first story is completed and an outline of subsequent books has already been done. Mr. Butchin’s books are aimed for toddlers and preschoolers and have a word count of approximately 600 to 800 words. Comparative books that share a vision of culture, language, and knowledge specifically geared towards toddlers and young children were hard to find. Some such as Dora explore the language aspect. Within the research, I found that books either focused on language or realistic photos, but not both.
I live in Madison, Wisconsin and do in-home childcare using my degree in Early Childhood Education and my Master’s in Education to bring fun to learning experiences. I’ve been working directly with children and reading everyday to them for nine years. My co-author Casey Day has worked at two daycare facilities for over 15 years as a music teacher and assistant teacher.
Some possible endorsements for the book would be the University of Wisconsin-Madison, with whom I work closely. Also, libraries in Wisconsin and bookstores may allow a book signing to help endorse the book. Due to the educational value, I feel confident that one or more places will endorse this book.
My marketing plan is flexible but strong. I wrote a book that will add to the education of all young children. My mission is, by using realistic pictures and common phrases heard within a location, and simplistic text, children will have knowledge of each of the fifty states and twenty other countries once the series is complete. I will contact the intended market by using internet, print, and traveling to locations. I hope to use a low cost/high turnover approach to pricing. This plan will be modified to fit demand and cost. The specifics can be decided later.
Thank you for taking the time to review my materials.
Jun 14, 2010
QUERY- SPYRE
How could Alex Laxa have known that trying to ask out a pretty girl could land him in so much trouble? When Alex, a shy and uninspired waylei dealer pondering his unfulfilling job and uncertain future, has a chance encounter with a beautiful, young doctor and chases after her in a rare effort to ask her out, he had no idea that he'd be thrust on a harrowing journey across the Volero System that could ultimately decide the fate of billions.
Alex finds himself a witness to two men assaulting the beautiful doctor and instinctively rushes in to help. Moments later, both men lay dead while he and his new companion, Lara Warren, have become fugitives. Together they discover that in Lara's curious research of her father's past on the planet Spyre, she stumbled upon the name of a project called Shepherd. It's a name so secret that her employer, The Company, tries to mind-wipe both of them for learning of its existence, killing Lara's father in the process. Now they must run for their lives, clueless as to why the very knowledge of this project would be worth killing them for. SPYRE, a science fiction adventure, is complete at over 88,000 words.
I've always admired the way a good story not only sparks one's imagination and opens the door to a world of limitless possibilities, but allows the audience to experience the emotions of its characters. It's my dream to write a novel that does precisely that.
Thank you for your time and patience in reading about my work. May I send you the complete manuscript? I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Alex finds himself a witness to two men assaulting the beautiful doctor and instinctively rushes in to help. Moments later, both men lay dead while he and his new companion, Lara Warren, have become fugitives. Together they discover that in Lara's curious research of her father's past on the planet Spyre, she stumbled upon the name of a project called Shepherd. It's a name so secret that her employer, The Company, tries to mind-wipe both of them for learning of its existence, killing Lara's father in the process. Now they must run for their lives, clueless as to why the very knowledge of this project would be worth killing them for. SPYRE, a science fiction adventure, is complete at over 88,000 words.
I've always admired the way a good story not only sparks one's imagination and opens the door to a world of limitless possibilities, but allows the audience to experience the emotions of its characters. It's my dream to write a novel that does precisely that.
Thank you for your time and patience in reading about my work. May I send you the complete manuscript? I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Query- Crucible of Silver (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
Some animals seem to have a much harder time of life. These few special animals aren't unintelligent or unlucky. They endure these trails and tribulations as if in a crucible, making them fit for a special kind of destiny. Silver Squirrel is one such animal.
Crucible of Silver is a coming of age story for older m/g and up, completed at 73,000 words.
As a fire burns a forest, and flame sets mountains ablaze, Silver Squirrel learns to survive his first year in a world that is in chaos around him.
Fear of the cataclysmic chestnut blight leads squirrel leaders to destroy their own forest, leaving Silver homeless. Repercussions of the fire – starvation, predation and more – bring the animals to ruin.
Through it all, Silver tries to find friendship with crows, a relationship with a female squirrel, and a sense of who he is. Everything always seems to be against him – the community, a hawk, and even spring fever, but these problems cause him to learn and grow.
Silver dreams of a day when he can be at a piece with a mate by his side, far from the heartaches of daily life, but Silver is at last caught by the hawk, and all seems lost. Her plan will pit him against his own kind to redeem the most fearsome predator the skies have known. Still, his experience with the birds may help him survive this most terrible trial yet.
I have been published in several trade publications including Keyframe Magazine. I studied screen writing, and have completed three novels. I worked in film (Star Trek, Spiderman 2) and animation (Roughnecks, Dan Dare, Mystic Knights), and published software and documentation for the animation industry for a number of years before finishing my books.
The book has been professionally story edited along with the two completed sequels, Silver Squirrel in Uneasy Pieces, and Silver Squirrel and The Court of Animals. There are occasional allusions to the Bible, similar to the Narnia books, but its not preachy. It’s intended the be good clean fun. The Newbery winning Mrs. Frizby and the Rats of NIMH was a huge influence as well.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Some animals seem to have a much harder time of life. These few special animals aren't unintelligent or unlucky. They endure these trails and tribulations as if in a crucible, making them fit for a special kind of destiny. Silver Squirrel is one such animal.
Crucible of Silver is a coming of age story for older m/g and up, completed at 73,000 words.
As a fire burns a forest, and flame sets mountains ablaze, Silver Squirrel learns to survive his first year in a world that is in chaos around him.
Fear of the cataclysmic chestnut blight leads squirrel leaders to destroy their own forest, leaving Silver homeless. Repercussions of the fire – starvation, predation and more – bring the animals to ruin.
Through it all, Silver tries to find friendship with crows, a relationship with a female squirrel, and a sense of who he is. Everything always seems to be against him – the community, a hawk, and even spring fever, but these problems cause him to learn and grow.
Silver dreams of a day when he can be at a piece with a mate by his side, far from the heartaches of daily life, but Silver is at last caught by the hawk, and all seems lost. Her plan will pit him against his own kind to redeem the most fearsome predator the skies have known. Still, his experience with the birds may help him survive this most terrible trial yet.
I have been published in several trade publications including Keyframe Magazine. I studied screen writing, and have completed three novels. I worked in film (Star Trek, Spiderman 2) and animation (Roughnecks, Dan Dare, Mystic Knights), and published software and documentation for the animation industry for a number of years before finishing my books.
The book has been professionally story edited along with the two completed sequels, Silver Squirrel in Uneasy Pieces, and Silver Squirrel and The Court of Animals. There are occasional allusions to the Bible, similar to the Narnia books, but its not preachy. It’s intended the be good clean fun. The Newbery winning Mrs. Frizby and the Rats of NIMH was a huge influence as well.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
QUERY - Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
When the soft body of seventeen-year-old Colsen Deming morphs overnight into a twenty-something sleek and muscled Nephilim, a new world unveils Colsen never knew existed.
A life of blending into the background of his small high school is no longer an option. During Colsen's first day back after his transformation, girls pine for him and guys throw menacing looks his way, tempting him to fight with sneers of jealousy and whispers of steroid abuse. Colsen becomes angry by the sudden attention. As his anger strengthens, vivid images of hurting the people around him become increasingly powerful.
After school, Colsen encounters fellow Nephilim Nerissa who helps him come to terms with his new form and extreme temperament, offering him insight into his murky past. He learns his father is a fallen angel disgraced by God for impregnating his human mother. And now his father wants Colsen by his side while he defies God, killing humans and Nephilim alike.
When Colsen's foster brother is kidnapped by his father to lure Colsen away from the protection of Nerissa's family, he is faced with the ultimate decision. Does Colsen save his only brother from death, taking his rightful place by his father's side? Or does he sit idly by while Nerissa and her family risk their lives to rescue Colsen's brother without him?
Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence is a 73,000-word young adult fantasy novel. I would be happy to forward the complete manuscript upon request, and would like to mention this is a simultaneous query. Thank for your time and consideration.
Cordially,
Click here to read the first revision.
When the soft body of seventeen-year-old Colsen Deming morphs overnight into a twenty-something sleek and muscled Nephilim, a new world unveils Colsen never knew existed.
A life of blending into the background of his small high school is no longer an option. During Colsen's first day back after his transformation, girls pine for him and guys throw menacing looks his way, tempting him to fight with sneers of jealousy and whispers of steroid abuse. Colsen becomes angry by the sudden attention. As his anger strengthens, vivid images of hurting the people around him become increasingly powerful.
After school, Colsen encounters fellow Nephilim Nerissa who helps him come to terms with his new form and extreme temperament, offering him insight into his murky past. He learns his father is a fallen angel disgraced by God for impregnating his human mother. And now his father wants Colsen by his side while he defies God, killing humans and Nephilim alike.
When Colsen's foster brother is kidnapped by his father to lure Colsen away from the protection of Nerissa's family, he is faced with the ultimate decision. Does Colsen save his only brother from death, taking his rightful place by his father's side? Or does he sit idly by while Nerissa and her family risk their lives to rescue Colsen's brother without him?
Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence is a 73,000-word young adult fantasy novel. I would be happy to forward the complete manuscript upon request, and would like to mention this is a simultaneous query. Thank for your time and consideration.
Cordially,
Jun 10, 2010
Query- Winter Roses Never Die (fourth revision)
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Dear Agent,
At thirty-four, Jennie is something of an anomaly. She loves what some might consider a bit incongruous: Jesus AND fairies. Her co-workers in the public library, Sylvia and Helen, can see she's different but can't decide which side of the divide this difference is. The Librarian, Sylvia, leans more to the positive and appreciates Jennie's thoughtfulness and integrity. Meanwhile, Helen, the more outspoken of the two, finds Jennie's whimsical, spiritual nature more hard to take. When Jennie announces she has heard disembodied singing and music while talking shortcuts through the abandoned cemetery and also met an angelic looking man seated beside a wintry, rose-covered grave, her library co-workers suspect it's the strange side of the divide for her. And when Helen fails to find any roses or any man - angelic or otherwise - in the cemetery, these suspicions are confirmed.
The growing enmity at work because of her outlandish claims and her 'inspirationals' which she believes are from the Divine, and also the disappearance of the man she has come to know as Charos, lead her to despair. Despite his thorny nature, he was the one person who showed understanding and made her feel special. Only the magical winter roses which never die hold the key to Charos' mirky, surreal past; and only her inspirationals provide her with the key to real love - understanding and compassion - which can break the curse of his death-like existence. Both the roses and her inspirationals enable her to realise that while many have come to take blood away for their own benefit, only one came to share it for the benefit of others. The culmination of knowledge imparted to Jennie through her inspired thoughts enables her to tap into the same spiritual power source as that contained in the Holy Blood of scripture and legend.
Winter Roses Never Die combines inspirational and mystic Christianity and paranormal romance in a contemporary but similar manner to Merlin and Nimue and the Holy Grail aspects of the Arthurian Legends. The work is complete at 95,000 words.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Dear Agent,
At thirty-four, Jennie is something of an anomaly. She loves what some might consider a bit incongruous: Jesus AND fairies. Her co-workers in the public library, Sylvia and Helen, can see she's different but can't decide which side of the divide this difference is. The Librarian, Sylvia, leans more to the positive and appreciates Jennie's thoughtfulness and integrity. Meanwhile, Helen, the more outspoken of the two, finds Jennie's whimsical, spiritual nature more hard to take. When Jennie announces she has heard disembodied singing and music while talking shortcuts through the abandoned cemetery and also met an angelic looking man seated beside a wintry, rose-covered grave, her library co-workers suspect it's the strange side of the divide for her. And when Helen fails to find any roses or any man - angelic or otherwise - in the cemetery, these suspicions are confirmed.
The growing enmity at work because of her outlandish claims and her 'inspirationals' which she believes are from the Divine, and also the disappearance of the man she has come to know as Charos, lead her to despair. Despite his thorny nature, he was the one person who showed understanding and made her feel special. Only the magical winter roses which never die hold the key to Charos' mirky, surreal past; and only her inspirationals provide her with the key to real love - understanding and compassion - which can break the curse of his death-like existence. Both the roses and her inspirationals enable her to realise that while many have come to take blood away for their own benefit, only one came to share it for the benefit of others. The culmination of knowledge imparted to Jennie through her inspired thoughts enables her to tap into the same spiritual power source as that contained in the Holy Blood of scripture and legend.
Winter Roses Never Die combines inspirational and mystic Christianity and paranormal romance in a contemporary but similar manner to Merlin and Nimue and the Holy Grail aspects of the Arthurian Legends. The work is complete at 95,000 words.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
QUERY - Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
Seventeen-year-old Colsen Deming has a problem. He won't be able to shield his younger foster brother, Alex, from the drunken attacks of their foster mother when she kicks him out of her house on his eighteenth birthday.
Colsen wants to ensure Alex's safety and broaches the subject of his departure with him while walking home. He upsets the boy and ends up chasing after him into an abandoned alley. As he retrieves Alex, Colsen is attacked by two men and his body morphs into a Nephilim to protect them.
Terrified from murdering the two men, the disappearance of their corpses and the transformation of his body, he returns to the scene of the crime for answers. Once there Colsen encounters fellow Nephilim Nerissa who helps him come to terms with his new form and offers insight into his murky past.
Colsen learns his father is a fallen angel disgraced by God for impregnating his human mother. And now his father wants Colsen by his side while he defies God, killing humans and Nephilim alike.
When Alex is kidnapped by Colsen's father to lure Colsen away from the protection of Nerissa's family, he is faced with the ultimate decision. Does Colsen save the only brother he has ever known from death, taking his rightful place by his father's side? Or does he sit idly by while Nerissa and her family risk their lives to rescue Alex without him?
Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence is a 73,000-word young adult fantasy novel. I would be happy to forward the complete manuscript upon request, and would like to mention this is a simultaneous query. Thank for your time and consideration.
Cordially,
Seventeen-year-old Colsen Deming has a problem. He won't be able to shield his younger foster brother, Alex, from the drunken attacks of their foster mother when she kicks him out of her house on his eighteenth birthday.
Colsen wants to ensure Alex's safety and broaches the subject of his departure with him while walking home. He upsets the boy and ends up chasing after him into an abandoned alley. As he retrieves Alex, Colsen is attacked by two men and his body morphs into a Nephilim to protect them.
Terrified from murdering the two men, the disappearance of their corpses and the transformation of his body, he returns to the scene of the crime for answers. Once there Colsen encounters fellow Nephilim Nerissa who helps him come to terms with his new form and offers insight into his murky past.
Colsen learns his father is a fallen angel disgraced by God for impregnating his human mother. And now his father wants Colsen by his side while he defies God, killing humans and Nephilim alike.
When Alex is kidnapped by Colsen's father to lure Colsen away from the protection of Nerissa's family, he is faced with the ultimate decision. Does Colsen save the only brother he has ever known from death, taking his rightful place by his father's side? Or does he sit idly by while Nerissa and her family risk their lives to rescue Alex without him?
Colsen Deming and the Nephilim Existence is a 73,000-word young adult fantasy novel. I would be happy to forward the complete manuscript upon request, and would like to mention this is a simultaneous query. Thank for your time and consideration.
Cordially,
QUERY- REMEMBERING YOU -- women's fiction
Dear Ms. Agent,
Ten years is a long time to live in a self-imposed exile and when Genna’s longing for the familiar turn into nightmares about her future, she realizes it’s time to go home.
Once there, the past comes back to haunt her in the form of her ex-fiancรฉ and his dead wife. Genna’s unresolved feelings for him and what he did a decade ago only twist her heart and lead her down a perilous path. He wants her back and Genna wonders if it’s only for her money.
Coming home has also brought her aunt’s Alzheimer’s to light, something the family refuses to face. Her cousin is falling apart under the strain of a too perfect marriage and her best friend is ignoring her. Genna also finds herself encumbered with an inheritance that threatens to destroy her relationship with her uncle.
What’s a girl to do?
Genna needs to makes some tough decisions regarding her future; does she give up the job of a lifetime and come home to work for peanuts or does she go back and live the same lonely life she’s had for the last decade? And will trying to get over her broken heart lead her to find comfort in the arms of a man she once despised? With the help of the only person who has ever put her first, Genna makes the decisions that will change her life forever.
I am seeking representation for REMEMBERING YOU, a completed work of women’s fiction at 87,000 words. (I have also added a sentence as to why I chose them as the agent.)
Thank you for your consideration.
Robin
Ten years is a long time to live in a self-imposed exile and when Genna’s longing for the familiar turn into nightmares about her future, she realizes it’s time to go home.
Once there, the past comes back to haunt her in the form of her ex-fiancรฉ and his dead wife. Genna’s unresolved feelings for him and what he did a decade ago only twist her heart and lead her down a perilous path. He wants her back and Genna wonders if it’s only for her money.
Coming home has also brought her aunt’s Alzheimer’s to light, something the family refuses to face. Her cousin is falling apart under the strain of a too perfect marriage and her best friend is ignoring her. Genna also finds herself encumbered with an inheritance that threatens to destroy her relationship with her uncle.
What’s a girl to do?
Genna needs to makes some tough decisions regarding her future; does she give up the job of a lifetime and come home to work for peanuts or does she go back and live the same lonely life she’s had for the last decade? And will trying to get over her broken heart lead her to find comfort in the arms of a man she once despised? With the help of the only person who has ever put her first, Genna makes the decisions that will change her life forever.
I am seeking representation for REMEMBERING YOU, a completed work of women’s fiction at 87,000 words. (I have also added a sentence as to why I chose them as the agent.)
Thank you for your consideration.
Robin
QUERY- LIFE and BETH latest version.
I've been sending this out there and getting requests, but I keep tweaking it. Now I'm wondering if this last tweak is working.
Seventeen-year-old rocker Beth Collins plays a killer lead guitar, but that's not what's nabbed her a scholarship to the exclusive Hamilton Academy.
It's Beth's other killer talent—the one for causing death.
Beth is a Deathcrafter and Hamilton is no ordinary school. It's a school for the differently Talented—in other words, freaks like Beth.
At Hamilton, Beth learns to cope with loss, attempts to reclaim her dormant muse and falls in in love with a uniquely gifted blind boy. But behind the school's nurturing faรงade lurks danger. Forced to kill her new boyfriend or risk the loss of everyone else she loves, Beth must come to terms with her own deadly skills—all while facing down a powerful and other-worldly headmistress.
Seventeen-year-old rocker Beth Collins plays a killer lead guitar, but that's not what's nabbed her a scholarship to the exclusive Hamilton Academy.
It's Beth's other killer talent—the one for causing death.
Beth is a Deathcrafter and Hamilton is no ordinary school. It's a school for the differently Talented—in other words, freaks like Beth.
At Hamilton, Beth learns to cope with loss, attempts to reclaim her dormant muse and falls in in love with a uniquely gifted blind boy. But behind the school's nurturing faรงade lurks danger. Forced to kill her new boyfriend or risk the loss of everyone else she loves, Beth must come to terms with her own deadly skills—all while facing down a powerful and other-worldly headmistress.
Jun 9, 2010
Query- Bait (revised)
Click here to read the original query.
Nothing was more important to Aubrey than gaining her freedom, but the one man who could give it to her was the last man on Earth she could trust.
Aubrey Donovan was a successful horse trainer until wrongfully convicted of the vicious slaying of her sister, Savannah. Three years behind bars has left her with a seething hatred for the justice system and anyone associated with it.
Special Agent Levi Bishop is head of the FBI task force charged with catching a serial killer dubbed Sandman by the press. After a year of chasing shadows, the bodies of Sandman's victims are still turning up but Levi is no closer to catching him. A break in the case leads Levi to Aubrey, and he realizes immediately that not only was she wrongfully convicted, she was likely Sandman’s intended victim the night her sister was murdered. Racing against the clock and running out of options, Levi hates using Aubrey as bait, but knows it’s the only way to bring Sandman to justice.
That’s the premise of my recently completed 90,000 word novel, Bait. This gritty suspense tale, reminiscent of Tami Hoag and Sandra Brown, explores murder, distrust and impossible attraction in a small Louisiana town. My writing credits include a published poem and edit of One Man Crime Wave, by Kasha Mona. I would be happy to send you sample chapters or a completed manuscript upon request. Thank you for taking the time to consider my work.
Nothing was more important to Aubrey than gaining her freedom, but the one man who could give it to her was the last man on Earth she could trust.
Aubrey Donovan was a successful horse trainer until wrongfully convicted of the vicious slaying of her sister, Savannah. Three years behind bars has left her with a seething hatred for the justice system and anyone associated with it.
Special Agent Levi Bishop is head of the FBI task force charged with catching a serial killer dubbed Sandman by the press. After a year of chasing shadows, the bodies of Sandman's victims are still turning up but Levi is no closer to catching him. A break in the case leads Levi to Aubrey, and he realizes immediately that not only was she wrongfully convicted, she was likely Sandman’s intended victim the night her sister was murdered. Racing against the clock and running out of options, Levi hates using Aubrey as bait, but knows it’s the only way to bring Sandman to justice.
That’s the premise of my recently completed 90,000 word novel, Bait. This gritty suspense tale, reminiscent of Tami Hoag and Sandra Brown, explores murder, distrust and impossible attraction in a small Louisiana town. My writing credits include a published poem and edit of One Man Crime Wave, by Kasha Mona. I would be happy to send you sample chapters or a completed manuscript upon request. Thank you for taking the time to consider my work.
Jun 8, 2010
Query- Winter Roses Never Die
Click here to read the original query.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Dear Agent,
At 34 years old, Jennie is something of an anomaly. She loves what some might consider incongruous: Jesus AND fairies. She's not religious or mentally challenged, but she is a little of what she seeks in the wonderful and strange. Her shy, spiritual, over-imaginative, child-like persona makes her appear eccentric, masking her kind nature and strong integrity. Her co-workers in the public library, Sylvia and Helen, can see she's different but can't decide which side of the wonderful and strange scale she's on. When Jennie announces she's heard disembodied singing and music while talking shortcuts through the abandoned cemetery and also met a gorgeous man seated beside a wintry, rose-covered grave, her library co-workers suspect it is the the strange end of the scale for her. And when Helen fails to find any roses or any man, gorgeous or otherwise, in the cemetery where Jennie claimed they're always to be found, these suspicions are confirmed.
The growing enmity at work because of her outlandish claims and her 'inspirationals' which she believes are from the Divine, and also the disappearance from the cemetery of the man she has come to know as Charos, bring Jennie into despair. Despite his thorny nature, Charos had shown more understanding for her spiritual, imaginative nature than anyone else, and Jennie had begun to believe he was the Prince Charming she had always dreamt of meeting. Gradually, her inspirationals lead her into a more positive understanding of people and life, and the optimism and courage these inspirationals give enable her to win the admiration of Sylvia and Helen and even the elusive and potentially dangerous Charos. Her unfailing love and support enables him to see her worth and helps free him from his cursed existence. But only the winter roses which never die hold the key to Charos' surreal past and inspire her to fully understand the reasons for his misdeeds and how he now suffers because of them. She also realises that even though there have been many to take blood away, there has only ever been One who came to give it, and whose words - like the magical roses - will never die.
Winter Roses Never Die is a paranormal romance of approximately 95,000 words which also combines elements of inspirational Christianity.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Click here to read the first revision.
Click here to read the second revision.
Click here to read the third revision.
Dear Agent,
At 34 years old, Jennie is something of an anomaly. She loves what some might consider incongruous: Jesus AND fairies. She's not religious or mentally challenged, but she is a little of what she seeks in the wonderful and strange. Her shy, spiritual, over-imaginative, child-like persona makes her appear eccentric, masking her kind nature and strong integrity. Her co-workers in the public library, Sylvia and Helen, can see she's different but can't decide which side of the wonderful and strange scale she's on. When Jennie announces she's heard disembodied singing and music while talking shortcuts through the abandoned cemetery and also met a gorgeous man seated beside a wintry, rose-covered grave, her library co-workers suspect it is the the strange end of the scale for her. And when Helen fails to find any roses or any man, gorgeous or otherwise, in the cemetery where Jennie claimed they're always to be found, these suspicions are confirmed.
The growing enmity at work because of her outlandish claims and her 'inspirationals' which she believes are from the Divine, and also the disappearance from the cemetery of the man she has come to know as Charos, bring Jennie into despair. Despite his thorny nature, Charos had shown more understanding for her spiritual, imaginative nature than anyone else, and Jennie had begun to believe he was the Prince Charming she had always dreamt of meeting. Gradually, her inspirationals lead her into a more positive understanding of people and life, and the optimism and courage these inspirationals give enable her to win the admiration of Sylvia and Helen and even the elusive and potentially dangerous Charos. Her unfailing love and support enables him to see her worth and helps free him from his cursed existence. But only the winter roses which never die hold the key to Charos' surreal past and inspire her to fully understand the reasons for his misdeeds and how he now suffers because of them. She also realises that even though there have been many to take blood away, there has only ever been One who came to give it, and whose words - like the magical roses - will never die.
Winter Roses Never Die is a paranormal romance of approximately 95,000 words which also combines elements of inspirational Christianity.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Jun 7, 2010
Query-A Troll Wife's Tale
Dear agent (snip name)
I took stock of my injuries. I hadn't even been on the job a month and I had 14 bruises, a concussion, multiple cuts and abrasions, a broken bone, and now, a gunshot wound. Being a tooth fairy shouldn't be this hard.
So opens my 95,000 word urban fantasy novel, A Troll Wife's Tale.
When Troll Wife first becomes a tooth fairy, all she can see are the good things. She has a steady job. She's making friends. Best of all are the tooth fairy wings and flying.
After a few days, she starts to see the problems. She's racking up an impressive number of on the job injuries. Her friends only accept her because they can't tell she's a troll while she's wearing the wings. The wings take away her troll ability to smell a person's character and emotions.
She notices that going even a day without wearing the wings makes her irritable. Are the wings addictive? If so, why?
It seems that tooth fairies also have enemies. Oubliette, the most efficient soldier in the human/fae war hundreds of years ago, hasn't given up fighting the war against the humans.
Tooth fairies keep the peace pact with humans and Oubliette wants to end that pact. Oubliette seems determined to convince Troll Wife of the dangers of humans. If Oubliette is right, is the peace pact actually destroying all the fae?
When a homeless boy that Troll Wife has befriended loses his first tooth, Troll Wife has to make sure he keeps the pact before Oubliette catches up to him.
(snip reason I'm submitting to this agent)
I took stock of my injuries. I hadn't even been on the job a month and I had 14 bruises, a concussion, multiple cuts and abrasions, a broken bone, and now, a gunshot wound. Being a tooth fairy shouldn't be this hard.
So opens my 95,000 word urban fantasy novel, A Troll Wife's Tale.
When Troll Wife first becomes a tooth fairy, all she can see are the good things. She has a steady job. She's making friends. Best of all are the tooth fairy wings and flying.
After a few days, she starts to see the problems. She's racking up an impressive number of on the job injuries. Her friends only accept her because they can't tell she's a troll while she's wearing the wings. The wings take away her troll ability to smell a person's character and emotions.
She notices that going even a day without wearing the wings makes her irritable. Are the wings addictive? If so, why?
It seems that tooth fairies also have enemies. Oubliette, the most efficient soldier in the human/fae war hundreds of years ago, hasn't given up fighting the war against the humans.
Tooth fairies keep the peace pact with humans and Oubliette wants to end that pact. Oubliette seems determined to convince Troll Wife of the dangers of humans. If Oubliette is right, is the peace pact actually destroying all the fae?
When a homeless boy that Troll Wife has befriended loses his first tooth, Troll Wife has to make sure he keeps the pact before Oubliette catches up to him.
(snip reason I'm submitting to this agent)
Jun 6, 2010
Query - Bait
Nothing was more important to Aubrey than gaining her freedom, but the one man who could give it to her was the last man on Earth she could trust.
That’s the premise of my recently completed 90,000 word novel, Bait. This gritty suspense tale, reminiscent of Tami Hoag and Sandra Brown, explores murder, distrust and impossible attraction in a small Louisiana town.
Aubrey Donovan was a successful horse trainer until one tragic night took everything away from her. Wrongfully convicted of the vicious slaying of her sister Savannah, she's spent the last three years behind bars nurturing a seething hatred for the justice system and anyone associated with it.
Special Agent Levi Bishop is head of the FBI task force charged with catching a serial killer dubbed Sandman by the press. After a year of chasing shadows, the bodies of Sandman's victims are still turning up but Levi is no closer to catching him. A break in the case leads Levi to Aubrey and he realizes immediately that he's found the key to finally stopping this madman. Racing against the clock and running out of options, Levi is reluctant to use Aubrey as bait but knows it's the only way to bring Sandman to justice.
Joining forces, Levi and Aubrey fight attraction, then for their lives when everything goes according to Levi's plan and Sandman finally comes.
A Stanford University graduate with a degree in Psychology, I've researched extensively, spending time in Louisiana and visiting the actual prison that the heroine of the story is sentenced to. My writing credits include a published poem and edit of One Man Crime Wave, by Kasha Mona. I’m currently employed as a Senior Project / Account Manager. I would be happy to send you sample chapters or a completed manuscript upon request. Thank you for taking the time to consider my work.
That’s the premise of my recently completed 90,000 word novel, Bait. This gritty suspense tale, reminiscent of Tami Hoag and Sandra Brown, explores murder, distrust and impossible attraction in a small Louisiana town.
Aubrey Donovan was a successful horse trainer until one tragic night took everything away from her. Wrongfully convicted of the vicious slaying of her sister Savannah, she's spent the last three years behind bars nurturing a seething hatred for the justice system and anyone associated with it.
Special Agent Levi Bishop is head of the FBI task force charged with catching a serial killer dubbed Sandman by the press. After a year of chasing shadows, the bodies of Sandman's victims are still turning up but Levi is no closer to catching him. A break in the case leads Levi to Aubrey and he realizes immediately that he's found the key to finally stopping this madman. Racing against the clock and running out of options, Levi is reluctant to use Aubrey as bait but knows it's the only way to bring Sandman to justice.
Joining forces, Levi and Aubrey fight attraction, then for their lives when everything goes according to Levi's plan and Sandman finally comes.
A Stanford University graduate with a degree in Psychology, I've researched extensively, spending time in Louisiana and visiting the actual prison that the heroine of the story is sentenced to. My writing credits include a published poem and edit of One Man Crime Wave, by Kasha Mona. I’m currently employed as a Senior Project / Account Manager. I would be happy to send you sample chapters or a completed manuscript upon request. Thank you for taking the time to consider my work.
Query: House Dreams
I am writing to introduce my novel, House Dreams, for your consideration.
House Dreams is a work of women’s fiction about mothers and daughters, and about the sometimes destructive power of the imagination.
The main character, Lillian, is a home health aide who has built her career around choosing assignments that allow her to live briefly in the houses of people much wealthier than herself. Her devotion is lavished on the houses she can pretend are hers for the duration of her stay, while her care for her patients is chilly and efficient.
As the novel opens, Lillian arrives at a new house, inhabited by a demanding, bed-ridden elderly woman, Ellen Whitmore. But this house is different: from the moment she arrives, Lillian finds the house and everything in it strangely familiar. As the days go by, she is drawn deeper into her fantasy of possessing the house.
The arrival of Ellen’s daughter and teenage granddaughter is an unwelcome interruption for Lillian. Ellen and her daughter, Carlotta, have been estranged since Carlotta’s marriage, and Ellen has never met her granddaughter, Maggie. Carlotta’s relationship with Ellen remains remote but Maggie is entranced by her grandmother’s stories of her youth. Maggie also tries to befriend Lillian, although Lillian is irritated by Maggie’s mannerisms, intrusiveness and aura of privilege.
Life for the four women settles into a routine of fragile alliances until a sudden crisis in Ellen’s health forces Lillian to realize that the imaginary home and family she has built for herself are necessarily impermanent: Ellen is failing, and Carlotta and Maggie will be leaving in time for Maggie to start school in the fall. Lillian will have to return to her life of brief sojourns in other people’s houses.
Carlotta and Ellen have several confrontations about Carlotta’s marriage and about Carlotta’s unhappy childhood. As her relationship with Carlotta deteriorates, Ellen starts to hint that she may leave the house to Lillian. Ellen is hoping for Lillian’s attention and loyalty, but that temptation, and her passion for the house, lead Lillian down a very different, and dangerous, path.
House Dreams is my first novel. Portions of my first book, a short story collection, have appeared in Kalliope and PMS, and in the anthology Prompted. I have had other short fiction published on line. I am currently at work on my second novel.
House Dreams is a work of women’s fiction about mothers and daughters, and about the sometimes destructive power of the imagination.
The main character, Lillian, is a home health aide who has built her career around choosing assignments that allow her to live briefly in the houses of people much wealthier than herself. Her devotion is lavished on the houses she can pretend are hers for the duration of her stay, while her care for her patients is chilly and efficient.
As the novel opens, Lillian arrives at a new house, inhabited by a demanding, bed-ridden elderly woman, Ellen Whitmore. But this house is different: from the moment she arrives, Lillian finds the house and everything in it strangely familiar. As the days go by, she is drawn deeper into her fantasy of possessing the house.
The arrival of Ellen’s daughter and teenage granddaughter is an unwelcome interruption for Lillian. Ellen and her daughter, Carlotta, have been estranged since Carlotta’s marriage, and Ellen has never met her granddaughter, Maggie. Carlotta’s relationship with Ellen remains remote but Maggie is entranced by her grandmother’s stories of her youth. Maggie also tries to befriend Lillian, although Lillian is irritated by Maggie’s mannerisms, intrusiveness and aura of privilege.
Life for the four women settles into a routine of fragile alliances until a sudden crisis in Ellen’s health forces Lillian to realize that the imaginary home and family she has built for herself are necessarily impermanent: Ellen is failing, and Carlotta and Maggie will be leaving in time for Maggie to start school in the fall. Lillian will have to return to her life of brief sojourns in other people’s houses.
Carlotta and Ellen have several confrontations about Carlotta’s marriage and about Carlotta’s unhappy childhood. As her relationship with Carlotta deteriorates, Ellen starts to hint that she may leave the house to Lillian. Ellen is hoping for Lillian’s attention and loyalty, but that temptation, and her passion for the house, lead Lillian down a very different, and dangerous, path.
House Dreams is my first novel. Portions of my first book, a short story collection, have appeared in Kalliope and PMS, and in the anthology Prompted. I have had other short fiction published on line. I am currently at work on my second novel.
Query - Silver Squirrel and the Crucible of Silver
Silver Squirrel realized that the hawk was planning something terrible for him, ever since she attacked his friend Morning, the crow, and left her in his care.
This relationship he had with the crows got him in a lot of trouble, with the community, with his girlfriend, and now with the hawk.
His plan to save the community was a good one, but somehow it all went wrong. Now lives are shattered, and here he is, caught in the hawk's talons. Why didn't she kill him? Silver could only wonder.
"Our leg bones lock into place. That's how we sleep while perched," the hawk said. "I could die of old age and rot, and you still won't escape my grip."
The hawk is a smart one, but Silver's experience with the birds might help, if he can only put together the pieces of the puzzle before it's too late.
Silver Squirrel and the Crucible of Silver is a coming of age novel completed at 75,000 words. Two additional Silver Squirrel novels are also completed.
I have been published in several trade publications including Keyframe Magazine. I studied screen writing, and have completed three novels. I worked in special effects for film (Star Trek, Spiderman 2) and published software and documentation for the animation industry for a number of years.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
This relationship he had with the crows got him in a lot of trouble, with the community, with his girlfriend, and now with the hawk.
His plan to save the community was a good one, but somehow it all went wrong. Now lives are shattered, and here he is, caught in the hawk's talons. Why didn't she kill him? Silver could only wonder.
"Our leg bones lock into place. That's how we sleep while perched," the hawk said. "I could die of old age and rot, and you still won't escape my grip."
The hawk is a smart one, but Silver's experience with the birds might help, if he can only put together the pieces of the puzzle before it's too late.
Silver Squirrel and the Crucible of Silver is a coming of age novel completed at 75,000 words. Two additional Silver Squirrel novels are also completed.
I have been published in several trade publications including Keyframe Magazine. I studied screen writing, and have completed three novels. I worked in special effects for film (Star Trek, Spiderman 2) and published software and documentation for the animation industry for a number of years.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Query - A Tale of Youth and Sorrow (revised!)
Click here to read the original query.
Dear X:
I visited AGENCY NAME's website and noticed that you are interested in YA and fantasy projects. A Tale of Youth and Sorrow, my 53,400-word novel, might interest you.
Traumatized by the death of her mother two years prior, twelve-year-old Potioneer Minette Bublee would like nothing more than the approval of her guardian, the master thief, Ilona Njis. Then one day, Minette saves the life of a victim of a brutal beating, one who utters to her one name in warning: Belphelial. It is a name that spurs Ilona to explode with unprecedented viciousness, shattering Minette’s faith in their friendship, and hurtling the thief down a path of self-destruction. In a race to save Ilona from herself, Minette unwittingly draws the attention of arcane forces, permitting her a glimpse into her world’s tumultuous history through the eyes of a tortured young Priestess – Ilona, in a former life. Minette will not only confront the ancient demon, Belphelial, himself, but come face to face with an even greater evil; the sole reason for Ilona’s demise. With the horrors of their past threatening to tear them apart, both friends will voyage through time to unlock the secrets of a power greater than any magic, the only power that can save them: love.
Five of my short stories were published in Malate Literary Folio (De La Salle University, Philippines) between 1997 and 2002, one of which won second place in my university's 1999 Literary Awards. A member of Writing.com, I received the 2007 WDC Wonderfuls Award for outstanding writing.
I would be glad to send you my complete manuscript for your review. Thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Sincerely yours,
Michael Cunanan Logarta
Dear X:
I visited AGENCY NAME's website and noticed that you are interested in YA and fantasy projects. A Tale of Youth and Sorrow, my 53,400-word novel, might interest you.
Traumatized by the death of her mother two years prior, twelve-year-old Potioneer Minette Bublee would like nothing more than the approval of her guardian, the master thief, Ilona Njis. Then one day, Minette saves the life of a victim of a brutal beating, one who utters to her one name in warning: Belphelial. It is a name that spurs Ilona to explode with unprecedented viciousness, shattering Minette’s faith in their friendship, and hurtling the thief down a path of self-destruction. In a race to save Ilona from herself, Minette unwittingly draws the attention of arcane forces, permitting her a glimpse into her world’s tumultuous history through the eyes of a tortured young Priestess – Ilona, in a former life. Minette will not only confront the ancient demon, Belphelial, himself, but come face to face with an even greater evil; the sole reason for Ilona’s demise. With the horrors of their past threatening to tear them apart, both friends will voyage through time to unlock the secrets of a power greater than any magic, the only power that can save them: love.
Five of my short stories were published in Malate Literary Folio (De La Salle University, Philippines) between 1997 and 2002, one of which won second place in my university's 1999 Literary Awards. A member of Writing.com, I received the 2007 WDC Wonderfuls Award for outstanding writing.
I would be glad to send you my complete manuscript for your review. Thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Sincerely yours,
Michael Cunanan Logarta
Jun 5, 2010
Query- The Spinner's Wheel (revised)
Click here to read the original query and sample pages.
Dear Agent,
When Valerius Anaxandros time travels from his home on the Planet Elledra to Earth he faces espionage, intrigue and surprise attacks. As Elledra’s chosen Time Rider it’s just part of his job description.
The Watchers, a group of men and women on Earth who think that time travel is an abomination, are always willing to help him into the next life, but Valerius’s most recent encounter is not with one of the Watchers, but with a scarred face man who knows what he is.
Valerius’s problems don’t end there. His niece, fifteen year old Sara Gallager, a genetically gifted time traveler, needs to be relocated from her home in the United States to Elledra to be trained. Valerius finds himself overseeing her training while dealing with Crassius Atrapes, the man he met earlier, who turns out to be a rogue time traveler from 40B.C. who wants to wrest control of Rome from Julius Caesar and rule as Emperor.
When Crassius goes back in time to recruit two of Earths great warriors, Hannibal of Carthage from 207 B.C and Cassivellaunus of Britannia from 50 B.C, Valerius must act to preserve the true history of Earth which he is sworn to protect.
If he doesn’t succeed, Earth as we know it will be changed forever.
The Spinner’s Wheel, is a Fantasy/Science Fiction novel complete at 75,000 words.
Thanks for taking the time to consider my submission.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K.D.Vassall
Dear Agent,
When Valerius Anaxandros time travels from his home on the Planet Elledra to Earth he faces espionage, intrigue and surprise attacks. As Elledra’s chosen Time Rider it’s just part of his job description.
The Watchers, a group of men and women on Earth who think that time travel is an abomination, are always willing to help him into the next life, but Valerius’s most recent encounter is not with one of the Watchers, but with a scarred face man who knows what he is.
Valerius’s problems don’t end there. His niece, fifteen year old Sara Gallager, a genetically gifted time traveler, needs to be relocated from her home in the United States to Elledra to be trained. Valerius finds himself overseeing her training while dealing with Crassius Atrapes, the man he met earlier, who turns out to be a rogue time traveler from 40B.C. who wants to wrest control of Rome from Julius Caesar and rule as Emperor.
When Crassius goes back in time to recruit two of Earths great warriors, Hannibal of Carthage from 207 B.C and Cassivellaunus of Britannia from 50 B.C, Valerius must act to preserve the true history of Earth which he is sworn to protect.
If he doesn’t succeed, Earth as we know it will be changed forever.
The Spinner’s Wheel, is a Fantasy/Science Fiction novel complete at 75,000 words.
Thanks for taking the time to consider my submission.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K.D.Vassall
Jun 1, 2010
Contest Alert!
And not the kind of no-prize experiments I put on here at the Slushpile. Agent extraordinaire Nathan Bransford is hosting a contest with very cool prizes. If you can write the most compelling chase and/or action and/or suspense sequence (in 500 words or less), you can win!
Check out this post for details...
Check out this post for details...
Query Me This...Discussion Thread
Thanks to everyone who submitted a query and sample pages for our QUERY ME THIS experiment. Some comments are starting to come through, I hope they keep coming during the week. I'm going to hold off on posting new queries until Saturday, June 5 (feel free to submit them, though).
Remember, all queries and sample pages were requested to follow this prompt:
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
Many thanks to the writers who so quickly put together entries. There are several that would make very interesting books, hopefully you will continue with the stories.
Here are quick links to the 10 entries. Each entry post has been updated with a link back to this discussion thread. Please provide specific feedback for an entry on its post, and use the comments on this post for a general discussion on the experiment as a whole:
- Age of Steel and Stone
- Blood Lines
- In Darker Times
- Lions and Tigers and Bears
- On Her Majesty's Special Service
- Star of Aurora
- The Incantata
- The Next Attack
- The Spy I Loved
- Third Daughter
Here are my main questions regarding the experiment. Please ask your own in the comments, and let's get the discussion rolling:
- Some entries followed the prompt more closely than others, but even given the common plot elements, all entries are unique. Each writer's voice and imagination brings life to the story. Are you afraid of other people stealing your ideas, or does this help demonstrate that it's all about the execution?
- There are a few comments along the lines of "If I were an agent, I would request this..." What does it say about writing queries vs. novels when some people can craft a great query without a novel to back it up?
- As a follow-up to the previous question, even though several entries showed a promising opening, what are the chances the writer can screw it all up in the next 59,000 words? There's a long way to go for any of these stories to be publishable, however promising they may seem...
Remember, all queries and sample pages were requested to follow this prompt:
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
Many thanks to the writers who so quickly put together entries. There are several that would make very interesting books, hopefully you will continue with the stories.
Here are quick links to the 10 entries. Each entry post has been updated with a link back to this discussion thread. Please provide specific feedback for an entry on its post, and use the comments on this post for a general discussion on the experiment as a whole:
- Age of Steel and Stone
- Blood Lines
- In Darker Times
- Lions and Tigers and Bears
- On Her Majesty's Special Service
- Star of Aurora
- The Incantata
- The Next Attack
- The Spy I Loved
- Third Daughter
Here are my main questions regarding the experiment. Please ask your own in the comments, and let's get the discussion rolling:
- Some entries followed the prompt more closely than others, but even given the common plot elements, all entries are unique. Each writer's voice and imagination brings life to the story. Are you afraid of other people stealing your ideas, or does this help demonstrate that it's all about the execution?
- There are a few comments along the lines of "If I were an agent, I would request this..." What does it say about writing queries vs. novels when some people can craft a great query without a novel to back it up?
- As a follow-up to the previous question, even though several entries showed a promising opening, what are the chances the writer can screw it all up in the next 59,000 words? There's a long way to go for any of these stories to be publishable, however promising they may seem...
May 31, 2010
Query Me This...THIRD DAUGHTER
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Agent Awesome,
I am querying you because you represent young adult novels and have expressed interest in Steampunk on your blog.
As the third daughter of the queen, seventeen-year-old Aniri is consigned to a life of elegant teas, diplomatic dinners, and an arranged marriage when she comes of age. She consoles herself by peering through her aetherscope and sneaking visits to Sasha, a charming courtesan from the rival queendom of Samir.
Rumors of a powerful flying machine push Aniri’s country toward war with the barbarians to the north. When a barbarian prince proposes a peace-brokering marriage to Aniri, duty requires her to turn her back on Sasha, a boy she has no right to love. But when Sasha reveals that the weapon is a ruse, intended to distract her country while the Samirians invade, Aniri fears she may be marrying into a trap that will bring war, not peace.
As mysterious accidents threaten her life, Aniri dodges her would-be assassin and searches for the truth about the secret weapon. But when she discovers Sasha is lovers with the Samirian ambassador, Aniri must decide who she can trust and whether refusing her arranged marriage will trigger the very war she is trying to prevent.
THIRD DAUGHTER is a 95,000 word young adult novel filled with political intrigue, steampunk weaponry, and courtesans trained in the arts of love, etiquette, and deception.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Regards,
Susan Kaye Quinn
{Contact Info}
THIRD DAUGHTER
The cloudless night whispered sweet promises to Aniri. She pressed the soft leather eye cups to her face and peered through her night glasses. A gentle breeze rustled the forested hunting grounds below, and lights flickered in the distant embassy windows. But otherwise the night was as still as the stone rooftop beneath her feet.
The clear skies gave her the perfect excuse to be at her observatory, gazing through her aetherscope, should she be caught. Chances were slim that anyone would visit her private retreat, and she shouldn't be missed from her room. But before she ventured any further, she had to be sure.
She slowly turned the brass knobs on each eyepiece. The new barrel coating had eliminated the ghostly echoes of light that had been haunting the glasses. She could just discern the broken edges of the river and a beaten stone bridge in the distance. A moving black shape slipped into view and then disappeared into the shadows under the bridge.
Time to go.
Aniri set the night glasses on the edge of the balcony and checked below for stragglers from the Queen's dinner party. No one should be outside unescorted at this hour, but there was no sense being caught by someone who broke protocol with a nighttime stroll. Opening the leather satchel at her feet, she uncoiled the sheet she had twisted into a rope and checked the knots. It would cause quite a stir if she plummeted to her death while climbing down the palace wall.
She looped the rope around the massive stone lion that guarded the parapet and lowered herself down, hand over hand, as her silk slippers pawed uselessly against the mossy wall. She dropped the final two feet to the landing below and scampered down the labyrinthine of steps of the complex. If she hadn't taken up residence in the diplomacy wing of the palace, she would never have slipped away so easily into the encroaching forest. Then again, she wouldn't need to.
She leapt over the manicured hedgerows as if she had fled the palace grounds a hundred times before. Her unbound dark hair flapped behind her, and the cool night breeze fluttered her black silk nightclothes against her skin like a thousand butterfly wings. Aniri wondered why she had not tried this sooner.
She slowed her pace and picked through the darkened brambles catching at her legs. Had she worn any normal attire—starched cotton with layers upon layers of silk—she would have stuck to the needled branches like a royal pincushion. She smiled and slipped through the forest like a phantom, black on black, silent and stealthy. When she broke out of the forest, her slippered feet stumbled on the wet rocks bordering the river. She made a mental note to find more secure footwear, should there be a second time.
Her eyes darted to the footbridge ahead, an ancient sentinel over the constantly new chatter of the river. She hesitated when she saw no sign of movement. Had she been mistaken? Was she too late? But then Sasha stepped out from the shadows, showing his face to the moon as if he had nothing to hide.
She skittered over the pebbled and sandy creekside and flew into his arms.
"Aniri," he said, but she was uninterested in wasting precious moments with words. They couldn't convey the heart-pounding rush she felt whenever she saw his bronzed cheeks or dark, humor-filled eyes. She shut him up with her lips, pressed fiercely to his. She knew he was well trained in all forms of entertainment, but the artistry of his lips moving slow yet urgent against hers made her forget her own name.
He was still dressed in his diplomat's attire, tightly wrapped in silk and starch. Her hands glided over the smooth shoulders of his jacket, and its gold buttons turned silver in the moonlight when she broke their kiss.
His smile sent a shiver through her as his eyes and hands lingered on her.
"You look . . . enticing this evening."
She flushed and smoothed her loose nightshirt. He had never seen her in her nightclothes before and probably never would again. "I could hardly retire to my room dressed for tea."
"I suppose." His smile grew. "I didn't know if you would come. Sneaking out of the palace grounds has to be a dangerous business."
"No more than sending a note through the hand maiden. What if she read it?"
His smile crooked at the corner. "I'm sure that she did. But what could she make of a poem declaring your beauty in the moonlight? I imagine she thought it quite romantic."
"Your little message could have easily been understood. You took a risk." She tried to put admonishment in her voice, but it came out weak. She had no heart for it tonight.
"A moment with you, even stolen, is worth the risk." He pulled her close again, and his hand brushed back her hair as the wild strands tangled with the evening breeze. "Did you think it romantic?" His voice teased her.
Words swelled up in her throat, and she had to swallow them back down. She put a small, empty space between them. "Romance is for fools and naive little girls."
He frowned and let his hand fall to his side. She cleared her throat and forced the words out before she lost her nerve. "I have news. I am to be married."
His eyebrows shot up. "What?" Anger pushed on the corners of his eyes. She knew this day would come. She could never marry a courtesan, no matter how entrancing, but she had hoped they could pretend a little longer. And that she would marry someone better than a dirt-grubbing Jangali. "Prince Malik has made an offer of peace. For my hand."
He sucked in a quick breath. "No!"
"I know. It's a horror almost beyond imagining."
"But . . . but you're not of age." He seemed to be casting about for reasons to keep her, which made her words even more difficult to say.
"I will be eighteen soon enough. This day was inevitable, Sasha."
His eyebrows pulled into a dark line of concern. "But . . . . please tell me this is not your wish."
"Of course not! How can you ask that?” she said. “Do you think I want to marry a barbarian? It's these cursed troubles in the north, and the rumors of that new Jungali flying machine. This is the only way to bring peace."
His eyes went wide, and he grabbed her shoulders. "Aniri, listen to me. You must refuse him."
"Sasha, my love." She winced at the strength of his grip. "It's my duty."
"Please . . ."
"Your Highness?" The gruff voice came from behind her, and she jerked out of Sasha's grasp in surprise. She recognized the owner only when she whirled to see his scarred and angular face.
"Queens breath!" she exclaimed. "Janak don't startle me like that."
"It is my job, m'lady."
"Your job is to protect me, not frighten me halfway to my grave."
His hardened face was impassive except for the small lift of one eyebrow. "Sometimes one requires the other, your Most Royal Highness."
She glared at him and turned back to Sasha, who had retreated a pace from her, restoring a proper distance between them.
"My lady." Sasha gave her a small bow, all proper etiquette returning, as though they had not just been caught in each other’s arms. "If it pleases you, I would have a word in private."
She sighed and longed to have his hands on her again, even in that rough embrace. His fear of losing her reassured her that maybe she was not alone in loving him beyond reason.
She threw a daggered look to Janak. "Wait for me. Over there." She gestured with a single raised eyebrow of her own that he should stand apart by the bridge. He inclined his head and took several steps backwards, his eyes glued to Sasha’s properly attentive form. She closed the distance between them with a step and dropped her voice to a whisper.
"Don't worry about Janak."
"I worry about you, Aniri." Sasha’s hushed voice stayed between them. "I must speak to you," he glanced at the glaring figure of Janak, "alone."
"We are alone.” Janak could surely overhear them, but he could be trusted.
“Not here,” he said. “I'll explain later, but you must refuse Malik's offer. Will you be at the Queen's Tea tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Can you meet me," he glanced at Janak again, "in the place we once discussed?" When they first met, they argued the merits of the Queen’s favorite tea garden.
"Yes." What he could possibly have to say, that he couldn't tell her in front of Janak? He stepped back from her again.
"Very well," he said. "I bid you a gentle night, m'lady." He bowed deeply in farewell and turned to slip away into the darkness. She watched after him, the shadows swallowing him and her last chance of a carefree life before duty called. When she had composed her face, she turned and marched with slippered feet to Janak.
"You'll not speak of this." She brushed past without favoring him with a look.
"Of course, Princess Aniri." He shadowed her back to the palace, as though he expected her to bolt for freedom and disappear into the dark after Sasha. She only wished that were possible.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Agent Awesome,
I am querying you because you represent young adult novels and have expressed interest in Steampunk on your blog.
As the third daughter of the queen, seventeen-year-old Aniri is consigned to a life of elegant teas, diplomatic dinners, and an arranged marriage when she comes of age. She consoles herself by peering through her aetherscope and sneaking visits to Sasha, a charming courtesan from the rival queendom of Samir.
Rumors of a powerful flying machine push Aniri’s country toward war with the barbarians to the north. When a barbarian prince proposes a peace-brokering marriage to Aniri, duty requires her to turn her back on Sasha, a boy she has no right to love. But when Sasha reveals that the weapon is a ruse, intended to distract her country while the Samirians invade, Aniri fears she may be marrying into a trap that will bring war, not peace.
As mysterious accidents threaten her life, Aniri dodges her would-be assassin and searches for the truth about the secret weapon. But when she discovers Sasha is lovers with the Samirian ambassador, Aniri must decide who she can trust and whether refusing her arranged marriage will trigger the very war she is trying to prevent.
THIRD DAUGHTER is a 95,000 word young adult novel filled with political intrigue, steampunk weaponry, and courtesans trained in the arts of love, etiquette, and deception.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Regards,
Susan Kaye Quinn
{Contact Info}
THIRD DAUGHTER
The cloudless night whispered sweet promises to Aniri. She pressed the soft leather eye cups to her face and peered through her night glasses. A gentle breeze rustled the forested hunting grounds below, and lights flickered in the distant embassy windows. But otherwise the night was as still as the stone rooftop beneath her feet.
The clear skies gave her the perfect excuse to be at her observatory, gazing through her aetherscope, should she be caught. Chances were slim that anyone would visit her private retreat, and she shouldn't be missed from her room. But before she ventured any further, she had to be sure.
She slowly turned the brass knobs on each eyepiece. The new barrel coating had eliminated the ghostly echoes of light that had been haunting the glasses. She could just discern the broken edges of the river and a beaten stone bridge in the distance. A moving black shape slipped into view and then disappeared into the shadows under the bridge.
Time to go.
Aniri set the night glasses on the edge of the balcony and checked below for stragglers from the Queen's dinner party. No one should be outside unescorted at this hour, but there was no sense being caught by someone who broke protocol with a nighttime stroll. Opening the leather satchel at her feet, she uncoiled the sheet she had twisted into a rope and checked the knots. It would cause quite a stir if she plummeted to her death while climbing down the palace wall.
She looped the rope around the massive stone lion that guarded the parapet and lowered herself down, hand over hand, as her silk slippers pawed uselessly against the mossy wall. She dropped the final two feet to the landing below and scampered down the labyrinthine of steps of the complex. If she hadn't taken up residence in the diplomacy wing of the palace, she would never have slipped away so easily into the encroaching forest. Then again, she wouldn't need to.
She leapt over the manicured hedgerows as if she had fled the palace grounds a hundred times before. Her unbound dark hair flapped behind her, and the cool night breeze fluttered her black silk nightclothes against her skin like a thousand butterfly wings. Aniri wondered why she had not tried this sooner.
She slowed her pace and picked through the darkened brambles catching at her legs. Had she worn any normal attire—starched cotton with layers upon layers of silk—she would have stuck to the needled branches like a royal pincushion. She smiled and slipped through the forest like a phantom, black on black, silent and stealthy. When she broke out of the forest, her slippered feet stumbled on the wet rocks bordering the river. She made a mental note to find more secure footwear, should there be a second time.
Her eyes darted to the footbridge ahead, an ancient sentinel over the constantly new chatter of the river. She hesitated when she saw no sign of movement. Had she been mistaken? Was she too late? But then Sasha stepped out from the shadows, showing his face to the moon as if he had nothing to hide.
She skittered over the pebbled and sandy creekside and flew into his arms.
"Aniri," he said, but she was uninterested in wasting precious moments with words. They couldn't convey the heart-pounding rush she felt whenever she saw his bronzed cheeks or dark, humor-filled eyes. She shut him up with her lips, pressed fiercely to his. She knew he was well trained in all forms of entertainment, but the artistry of his lips moving slow yet urgent against hers made her forget her own name.
He was still dressed in his diplomat's attire, tightly wrapped in silk and starch. Her hands glided over the smooth shoulders of his jacket, and its gold buttons turned silver in the moonlight when she broke their kiss.
His smile sent a shiver through her as his eyes and hands lingered on her.
"You look . . . enticing this evening."
She flushed and smoothed her loose nightshirt. He had never seen her in her nightclothes before and probably never would again. "I could hardly retire to my room dressed for tea."
"I suppose." His smile grew. "I didn't know if you would come. Sneaking out of the palace grounds has to be a dangerous business."
"No more than sending a note through the hand maiden. What if she read it?"
His smile crooked at the corner. "I'm sure that she did. But what could she make of a poem declaring your beauty in the moonlight? I imagine she thought it quite romantic."
"Your little message could have easily been understood. You took a risk." She tried to put admonishment in her voice, but it came out weak. She had no heart for it tonight.
"A moment with you, even stolen, is worth the risk." He pulled her close again, and his hand brushed back her hair as the wild strands tangled with the evening breeze. "Did you think it romantic?" His voice teased her.
Words swelled up in her throat, and she had to swallow them back down. She put a small, empty space between them. "Romance is for fools and naive little girls."
He frowned and let his hand fall to his side. She cleared her throat and forced the words out before she lost her nerve. "I have news. I am to be married."
His eyebrows shot up. "What?" Anger pushed on the corners of his eyes. She knew this day would come. She could never marry a courtesan, no matter how entrancing, but she had hoped they could pretend a little longer. And that she would marry someone better than a dirt-grubbing Jangali. "Prince Malik has made an offer of peace. For my hand."
He sucked in a quick breath. "No!"
"I know. It's a horror almost beyond imagining."
"But . . . but you're not of age." He seemed to be casting about for reasons to keep her, which made her words even more difficult to say.
"I will be eighteen soon enough. This day was inevitable, Sasha."
His eyebrows pulled into a dark line of concern. "But . . . . please tell me this is not your wish."
"Of course not! How can you ask that?” she said. “Do you think I want to marry a barbarian? It's these cursed troubles in the north, and the rumors of that new Jungali flying machine. This is the only way to bring peace."
His eyes went wide, and he grabbed her shoulders. "Aniri, listen to me. You must refuse him."
"Sasha, my love." She winced at the strength of his grip. "It's my duty."
"Please . . ."
"Your Highness?" The gruff voice came from behind her, and she jerked out of Sasha's grasp in surprise. She recognized the owner only when she whirled to see his scarred and angular face.
"Queens breath!" she exclaimed. "Janak don't startle me like that."
"It is my job, m'lady."
"Your job is to protect me, not frighten me halfway to my grave."
His hardened face was impassive except for the small lift of one eyebrow. "Sometimes one requires the other, your Most Royal Highness."
She glared at him and turned back to Sasha, who had retreated a pace from her, restoring a proper distance between them.
"My lady." Sasha gave her a small bow, all proper etiquette returning, as though they had not just been caught in each other’s arms. "If it pleases you, I would have a word in private."
She sighed and longed to have his hands on her again, even in that rough embrace. His fear of losing her reassured her that maybe she was not alone in loving him beyond reason.
She threw a daggered look to Janak. "Wait for me. Over there." She gestured with a single raised eyebrow of her own that he should stand apart by the bridge. He inclined his head and took several steps backwards, his eyes glued to Sasha’s properly attentive form. She closed the distance between them with a step and dropped her voice to a whisper.
"Don't worry about Janak."
"I worry about you, Aniri." Sasha’s hushed voice stayed between them. "I must speak to you," he glanced at the glaring figure of Janak, "alone."
"We are alone.” Janak could surely overhear them, but he could be trusted.
“Not here,” he said. “I'll explain later, but you must refuse Malik's offer. Will you be at the Queen's Tea tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Can you meet me," he glanced at Janak again, "in the place we once discussed?" When they first met, they argued the merits of the Queen’s favorite tea garden.
"Yes." What he could possibly have to say, that he couldn't tell her in front of Janak? He stepped back from her again.
"Very well," he said. "I bid you a gentle night, m'lady." He bowed deeply in farewell and turned to slip away into the darkness. She watched after him, the shadows swallowing him and her last chance of a carefree life before duty called. When she had composed her face, she turned and marched with slippered feet to Janak.
"You'll not speak of this." She brushed past without favoring him with a look.
"Of course, Princess Aniri." He shadowed her back to the palace, as though he expected her to bolt for freedom and disappear into the dark after Sasha. She only wished that were possible.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This... The Spy I Loved
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Mr. Agent,
I am seeking representation for my 75,000 word alternate history novel, The Spy I Loved. Set in the days just before World War II, it follows a lowly MI6 secretary who learns that her country is being lured into war with America in order to weaken it before the coming German invasion.
Playing Girl Friday to Britain's most clandestine secret agent isn't exactly the glamorous life Dilys Griffin hoped for. Most days, she spends more time locating cuff links than saving the world. But Dilys wouldn't trade her job for anything. After all, she's serving queen and country, as any Briton should. And there are those times when she's almost sure that Agent Maxwell Lloyd is looking at her with more than professional interest.
When Max disappears while on assignment, Dilys defies MI6 protocol to go after him. She follows him to India, where she learns he was killed. Heartbroken, Dilys recovers the last dead drop Max made before his death: photographs showing America mounting an invasion force to wrest India from the British Empire.
Pursued throughout the back alleys of Bangalore, Dilys will have to use every trick she ever learned from Max to complete his last mission and bring the photographs to light. But everything is not what it appears to be. The photographs are doctored. The invasion is a lie. And the spy Dilys loves is not only not dead--he's not even British!
The Spy I Loved could function as a standalone novel, or could anchor a series in which Dilys serves her government as a spy throughout the events of World War II. Previously I was a story writer for the popular online game City of Heroes, known for its intricate plot lines. I studied writing at Florida State University.
Thank you for your consideration,
Me
"Good evening, Mr. Lloyd. It is indeed an honor to finally make your acquaintance."
Dilys smiled and nodded to herself. The sound from Max's bug was coming in just fine. She could make out the nasal tones of the French ambassador's voice almost as clearly as if she was in the next room.
She wasn't, of course. While the ambassador and his entourage were wined and dined at the Everett Club with the better part of London's social elite, Dilys was halfway across town at MI6 headquarters, hunched over a notepad with a pair of ten pound headphones flattening her hair. It was about ten times more exciting than her usual office routine, which generally involved filing, dictation, and brewing about six hundred pots of tea. Still, she longed to be at the ball herself, wearing a blue satin dress, or maybe even a red one. Sipping champagne, and trading ever-so-careful repartee with dangerous men.
"The pleasure is all mine, ambassador." That was Max. Dilys found her smile deepening at the sound of his voice. Her pencil scratched lightly over the notepad in front of her. She had long ago perfected the art of dictation, and since the Akron Affair, the Director had decided to put her talents to good use. Akron wasn't the first time someone had tried to kill Max before he made it back to MI6 with his findings, but it was the first time someone had nearly succeeded. And so the bug had been developed. Concealed in Max's clothing, it transmitted a radio signal powerful enough for Dilys to pick up at MI6. Even if Max were killed in the line of duty, nothing that was said would be lost.
She had it down to a science now. Three pencils: the second in case the first one broke, and the third in case the second one wound up worn to a nub by the end of the evening. A comfortable chair. And absolutely no tea. She couldn't afford to miss a bit of vital intelligence because she had to pop off to the loo.
"Quelle est la durรฉe de votre sรฉjour?" Max asked. He had switched to French, a pretty compliment to the ambassador. Dilys had never liked French, with its over reliance on Q's and X's. But at least she could understand it.
"Duex semaines."
Dilys's pencil paused in mid-scribble. Did she hear that right? She read over the words she had just written. Duex semaines. Suddenly her heart was racing. Surely Max had noticed?
No, he hadn't. Max was going on pleasantly, as thought the French ambassador hadn't just revealed that he wasn't French at all.
Dilys leapt to her feet. The headphone cord snapped taught, and she jerked back into her seat. The men's small talk continued to rattle on in her ears, but Dilys was no longer transcribing. Her mind was churning over a single, burning question: how could she warn Max?
The radio signal on the bug was strictly one way. She could telephone the Everett Club, but she knew the staff would be running their feet off tonight; there was no guarantee someone would deliver her message. There was no help for it. She would have to go warn Max herself.
She looked down at her attire: a brown tweed skirt, a simple white blouse, and sensible shoes. There was no way she was getting into the Everett Club in sensible shoes.
Dilys took a deep breath and removed the headphones from her ears. There was only one place she knew where she could get all kitted out in less than an hour. She hated to have to go there. But it was a matter of life and death.
Exactly seven minutes later, Dilys stood on the stoop of her sister's house, ringing the bell. She had a stitch in her side from running most of the way.
A face Dilys didn't recognize swept aside the curtain covering the window beside the door. The face was male, and mustached, and sleepy-looking. It squinted at her.
"Who're you?" said the man inside her sister's house.
"I'm Mabel's sister."
The man's brows drew together. "Who's Mabel?"
At that moment her sister's face appeared behind the man. Mabel was wearing a red robe that had some sort of Oriental stitching on it in gold. She peered out over the man's shoulder, and when she saw Dilys her eyes lit up. "I'm Mabel, darling. Be a love and let my sister in?"
The man did as she asked, and Dilys discovered that he was wearing even fewer clothes than Mabel. Just a towel, fastened around his waist (and none too securely, it seemed). Dilys quickly averted her eyes, a trick that was difficult to pull off when the person in front of you seemed keen on introducing himself.
"Nice to meet you," he said. "Name's Bill Atherton. Any sister of Belle's is a friend of mine."
"Pleasure," said Dilys, staring hard at the ceiling.
The merry notes of her sister's laughter filled the room. "Come on inside, Dilly. Don't just stand there gaping at my ceiling as though the face of God was staring down at you. Bill, go get some clothes on. Can't you see you make my sister nervous?"
Dilys felt her cheeks redden at these words, but she was nonetheless grateful when Bill withdrew to Mabel's bedroom.
Mabel opened up her arms for a hug. "I'm going by Belle now. Much more fashionable, don't you think?" Mabel squeezed her hard and then went to the sidebar and began fixing herself a drink. "Silly Dilly, you've always got just the worst sense of timing! It's been far too long. Tell me, what are you doing here?"
Even in a threadbare robe, with her hair all a tangle and her calloused feet bare, Mabel seemed to pull all the light in the room to herself. Dilys felt shabby just standing near her, even though she had spent a good ten dollars on her skirt. She cleared her throat. "I need a dress," she said.
Mabel's eyes lit up. "Oh? Going out with someone special, are we?"
"Sort of," said Dilys. She pushed her hair back over her ears. "Actually, Mabel, I need it right away. It's a bit of an emergency."
Mabel took a sip from her glass and regarded Dilys thoughtfully over the rim. "An emergency? All right, if you say so. But this is beginning to sound a lot less like a hot date."
Mabel opened the door to her bedroom. "Out, Bill. Make us some omlettes. There's everything you need in the kitchen."
Bill, thankfully fully clad this time, obeyed without complaint. Mabel flung open her closet. "Now then, Dilly. What sort of dress did you have in mind?"
Dilys took in a breath. "The red satin," she said.
Mabel's eyebrows went up. "Oh? That one? Maybe I was wrong. This is a hot date after all." She pulled the dress off the rod. It was a gorgeous thing, sleeveless and scarlet, with rivers of glittering sequins emphasizing it's every curve. Mabel regarded it lovingly for a moment. Then she held it out to Dilys. "We'll have to pad the bust."
Dilys had already thought of that. As quickly as she could, she shucked her work clothes and slithered into the dress.
Then she looked at herself in the mirror.
"Oh." The fabric clung to her body like a well worn glove. Against the bright red, her skin looked as pale and delicate as a fresh laid egg. And her hair--her dull, black, boring hair seemed to have taken on new luster. It curled around her bare shoulders like a living thing.
"You look like a dream, Dilly. As long as you don't forget these." Mabel stuffed a handful of socks into Dilys's bosom. "Or these." She rooted around her closet and came up with a pair of crimson heels.
"Thanks, Mabel." Dilys slipped the shoes onto her feet. They pinched.
"Thank me by going out there and grabbing a man," Mabel said.
Yes, thought Dilys, that's exactly what I intend to do.
She arrived at the Everett Club slightly out of breath and scanned the ballroom for Max. There he was, still chatting amiably with the faux-French ambassador.
Seeing Max before he saw her was a new experience for Dilys. Usually he took her unawares, coming up behind her desk while she was deep in some routine office task and startling her. He liked to see her jump.
But this time she had the advantage. She took a moment to admire him.
It was worth it, she thought. The hard work, and the low pay, and the lack of recognition -- worth it, because she could be of help to him. Any woman would want to do that Only she could.
As though he felt her eyes on him, Max turned his head in her direction. Their eyes met. He scowled.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Mr. Agent,
I am seeking representation for my 75,000 word alternate history novel, The Spy I Loved. Set in the days just before World War II, it follows a lowly MI6 secretary who learns that her country is being lured into war with America in order to weaken it before the coming German invasion.
Playing Girl Friday to Britain's most clandestine secret agent isn't exactly the glamorous life Dilys Griffin hoped for. Most days, she spends more time locating cuff links than saving the world. But Dilys wouldn't trade her job for anything. After all, she's serving queen and country, as any Briton should. And there are those times when she's almost sure that Agent Maxwell Lloyd is looking at her with more than professional interest.
When Max disappears while on assignment, Dilys defies MI6 protocol to go after him. She follows him to India, where she learns he was killed. Heartbroken, Dilys recovers the last dead drop Max made before his death: photographs showing America mounting an invasion force to wrest India from the British Empire.
Pursued throughout the back alleys of Bangalore, Dilys will have to use every trick she ever learned from Max to complete his last mission and bring the photographs to light. But everything is not what it appears to be. The photographs are doctored. The invasion is a lie. And the spy Dilys loves is not only not dead--he's not even British!
The Spy I Loved could function as a standalone novel, or could anchor a series in which Dilys serves her government as a spy throughout the events of World War II. Previously I was a story writer for the popular online game City of Heroes, known for its intricate plot lines. I studied writing at Florida State University.
Thank you for your consideration,
Me
"Good evening, Mr. Lloyd. It is indeed an honor to finally make your acquaintance."
Dilys smiled and nodded to herself. The sound from Max's bug was coming in just fine. She could make out the nasal tones of the French ambassador's voice almost as clearly as if she was in the next room.
She wasn't, of course. While the ambassador and his entourage were wined and dined at the Everett Club with the better part of London's social elite, Dilys was halfway across town at MI6 headquarters, hunched over a notepad with a pair of ten pound headphones flattening her hair. It was about ten times more exciting than her usual office routine, which generally involved filing, dictation, and brewing about six hundred pots of tea. Still, she longed to be at the ball herself, wearing a blue satin dress, or maybe even a red one. Sipping champagne, and trading ever-so-careful repartee with dangerous men.
"The pleasure is all mine, ambassador." That was Max. Dilys found her smile deepening at the sound of his voice. Her pencil scratched lightly over the notepad in front of her. She had long ago perfected the art of dictation, and since the Akron Affair, the Director had decided to put her talents to good use. Akron wasn't the first time someone had tried to kill Max before he made it back to MI6 with his findings, but it was the first time someone had nearly succeeded. And so the bug had been developed. Concealed in Max's clothing, it transmitted a radio signal powerful enough for Dilys to pick up at MI6. Even if Max were killed in the line of duty, nothing that was said would be lost.
She had it down to a science now. Three pencils: the second in case the first one broke, and the third in case the second one wound up worn to a nub by the end of the evening. A comfortable chair. And absolutely no tea. She couldn't afford to miss a bit of vital intelligence because she had to pop off to the loo.
"Quelle est la durรฉe de votre sรฉjour?" Max asked. He had switched to French, a pretty compliment to the ambassador. Dilys had never liked French, with its over reliance on Q's and X's. But at least she could understand it.
"Duex semaines."
Dilys's pencil paused in mid-scribble. Did she hear that right? She read over the words she had just written. Duex semaines. Suddenly her heart was racing. Surely Max had noticed?
No, he hadn't. Max was going on pleasantly, as thought the French ambassador hadn't just revealed that he wasn't French at all.
Dilys leapt to her feet. The headphone cord snapped taught, and she jerked back into her seat. The men's small talk continued to rattle on in her ears, but Dilys was no longer transcribing. Her mind was churning over a single, burning question: how could she warn Max?
The radio signal on the bug was strictly one way. She could telephone the Everett Club, but she knew the staff would be running their feet off tonight; there was no guarantee someone would deliver her message. There was no help for it. She would have to go warn Max herself.
She looked down at her attire: a brown tweed skirt, a simple white blouse, and sensible shoes. There was no way she was getting into the Everett Club in sensible shoes.
Dilys took a deep breath and removed the headphones from her ears. There was only one place she knew where she could get all kitted out in less than an hour. She hated to have to go there. But it was a matter of life and death.
Exactly seven minutes later, Dilys stood on the stoop of her sister's house, ringing the bell. She had a stitch in her side from running most of the way.
A face Dilys didn't recognize swept aside the curtain covering the window beside the door. The face was male, and mustached, and sleepy-looking. It squinted at her.
"Who're you?" said the man inside her sister's house.
"I'm Mabel's sister."
The man's brows drew together. "Who's Mabel?"
At that moment her sister's face appeared behind the man. Mabel was wearing a red robe that had some sort of Oriental stitching on it in gold. She peered out over the man's shoulder, and when she saw Dilys her eyes lit up. "I'm Mabel, darling. Be a love and let my sister in?"
The man did as she asked, and Dilys discovered that he was wearing even fewer clothes than Mabel. Just a towel, fastened around his waist (and none too securely, it seemed). Dilys quickly averted her eyes, a trick that was difficult to pull off when the person in front of you seemed keen on introducing himself.
"Nice to meet you," he said. "Name's Bill Atherton. Any sister of Belle's is a friend of mine."
"Pleasure," said Dilys, staring hard at the ceiling.
The merry notes of her sister's laughter filled the room. "Come on inside, Dilly. Don't just stand there gaping at my ceiling as though the face of God was staring down at you. Bill, go get some clothes on. Can't you see you make my sister nervous?"
Dilys felt her cheeks redden at these words, but she was nonetheless grateful when Bill withdrew to Mabel's bedroom.
Mabel opened up her arms for a hug. "I'm going by Belle now. Much more fashionable, don't you think?" Mabel squeezed her hard and then went to the sidebar and began fixing herself a drink. "Silly Dilly, you've always got just the worst sense of timing! It's been far too long. Tell me, what are you doing here?"
Even in a threadbare robe, with her hair all a tangle and her calloused feet bare, Mabel seemed to pull all the light in the room to herself. Dilys felt shabby just standing near her, even though she had spent a good ten dollars on her skirt. She cleared her throat. "I need a dress," she said.
Mabel's eyes lit up. "Oh? Going out with someone special, are we?"
"Sort of," said Dilys. She pushed her hair back over her ears. "Actually, Mabel, I need it right away. It's a bit of an emergency."
Mabel took a sip from her glass and regarded Dilys thoughtfully over the rim. "An emergency? All right, if you say so. But this is beginning to sound a lot less like a hot date."
Mabel opened the door to her bedroom. "Out, Bill. Make us some omlettes. There's everything you need in the kitchen."
Bill, thankfully fully clad this time, obeyed without complaint. Mabel flung open her closet. "Now then, Dilly. What sort of dress did you have in mind?"
Dilys took in a breath. "The red satin," she said.
Mabel's eyebrows went up. "Oh? That one? Maybe I was wrong. This is a hot date after all." She pulled the dress off the rod. It was a gorgeous thing, sleeveless and scarlet, with rivers of glittering sequins emphasizing it's every curve. Mabel regarded it lovingly for a moment. Then she held it out to Dilys. "We'll have to pad the bust."
Dilys had already thought of that. As quickly as she could, she shucked her work clothes and slithered into the dress.
Then she looked at herself in the mirror.
"Oh." The fabric clung to her body like a well worn glove. Against the bright red, her skin looked as pale and delicate as a fresh laid egg. And her hair--her dull, black, boring hair seemed to have taken on new luster. It curled around her bare shoulders like a living thing.
"You look like a dream, Dilly. As long as you don't forget these." Mabel stuffed a handful of socks into Dilys's bosom. "Or these." She rooted around her closet and came up with a pair of crimson heels.
"Thanks, Mabel." Dilys slipped the shoes onto her feet. They pinched.
"Thank me by going out there and grabbing a man," Mabel said.
Yes, thought Dilys, that's exactly what I intend to do.
She arrived at the Everett Club slightly out of breath and scanned the ballroom for Max. There he was, still chatting amiably with the faux-French ambassador.
Seeing Max before he saw her was a new experience for Dilys. Usually he took her unawares, coming up behind her desk while she was deep in some routine office task and startling her. He liked to see her jump.
But this time she had the advantage. She took a moment to admire him.
It was worth it, she thought. The hard work, and the low pay, and the lack of recognition -- worth it, because she could be of help to him. Any woman would want to do that Only she could.
As though he felt her eyes on him, Max turned his head in her direction. Their eyes met. He scowled.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...THE NEXT ATTACK
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Agent:
Travis Walters just lost his part-time job at the 7-11. His stepfather refuses to put in a good word for him at the auto shop. And the Army recruiter, whose office is next to the food court at the mall, flatly tells him he is “not suitable” to enlist in the armed forces.
On his way to the unemployment office, Travis is knocked to the ground by a blast that rips through a federal court house. A dozen other attacks occur simultaneously throughout the United States. Humdallah, a previously unknown terrorist group, claims responsibility. The US mobilizes its forces in search of Humdallah terror cells throughout the Middle East.
Ashamed of his lack of heroism the day of the bombing, Travis looks for a way to prove his patriotism. He meets Daisy, pretty but surly, at a pro-war rally. Daisy introduces Travis to her brother, Maurice, who recruits Travis to join a covert group to defend against the next terrorist attack.
Travis finds his purpose. Maurice and his fellow vigilantes teach Travis the ins and outs of weaponry and explosives. Daisy begins to take a romantic interest in Travis. Travis catches the eye of the leaders of the group, who assign him a key role in a special mission to Washington, DC.
On the morning of his mission, Travis walks in on Daisy and Maurice making love among the firearms. That’s Travis’s first clue that maybe Daisy and Maurice are not who they say they are. He suspects that Humdallah and this covert group of ex-military aren’t what they claim to be either, and that the real threat to his country is closer than he ever imagined.
THE NEXT ATTACK is a five-page thriller. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Me
Travis was jaywalking when the bomb went off. The blast knocked him flat on his back, and an oncoming Ford F150 pickup nearly ran him over. Travis scrambled to the curb, in the direction of the unemployment office, where moments before he was turned away by a chirpy girl behind a cold, gray counter.
Something trickled down the back of Travis’s head. He took off his baseball cap. His hand was bloody. The sound of sirens floated through the air and filled the space around Travis. He looked up from his bloody hand.
Down Peachtree Street, Travis could see the smoke and debris. Men and women covered their heads with their arms and briefcases as they ran down the sidewalks and into the street. Gray ash covered everything -- the people, the cars, even the dogwood trees on each side of the road. A few customers from the Starbucks across the street stuck their heads out of the doorway of the shop, unsure if they should flee or stay put. Travis did not know what had just happened, but he knew it was big.
Then the second bomb went off.
He was looking right at the courthouse when it happened. A brilliant plume of orange fire leapt from the windows and doors of the building, the fire’s massive energy blowing out the brick and mortar onto the street. The brightness of the plume darkened as it grew into a black cloud. Fragments of glass, stone, and metal fell to the ground like horrible confetti. Travis did not see the wave of people rushing towards him, then past him. So he was surprised when he ended up flat on his back again.
The driver of the Ford jumped out of his truck. “Get on up, son,” he said, scooping up Travis from the sidewalk. “Get out of here before something else blows.”
“Huh?” Travis said. His ears were ringing. He didn’t remember hearing any explosions, but the sound must have been deafening. Travis blinked, and tried to rub away the burning from his eyes. He turned to follow the man from the truck. Two steps in, Travis lost him in the mass of people running down the street. Travis let the crush of people take him away, like a fallen branch whisked downstream by whitewater rapids.
A couple of blocks later, the crowd slowed. Travis craned his neck to see what was ahead of him in the road. Police already had set up a barricade, and Travis was on the wrong side of it. An officer on horseback directed the crowd through an opening in the barricade. Travis funneled through, and gasped for breath once he was on the other side.
“You okay?” someone asked him.
“What?” Travis shouted, his ears still ringing.
“You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. You look like you were there. You tell me what happened.”
Travis looked back towards the unemployment office and the courthouse. A column of dark smoke climbed towards the sky.
“Was it the terrorists?”
“What?”
“Was it a bomb? Was it the Muslims? Didn’t you see it?”
Travis didn’t have an answer, but it didn’t matter. An EMT carrying a mylar blanket approached him. “Come with me, sir,” the EMT said, wrapping Travis in the blanket and leading him to the sidewalk. About a dozen people sat on the concrete. They were all covered in varying amounts of ash and blood, and all wrapped in silver blankets. Shiny refugees rescued from some unthinkable fate.
The EMT sat Travis down beside a young woman wearing a dark green uniform. She gripped a cell phone in her right hand, her left arm motionless at her side. “Damnit, I can’t get through.” She looked at Travis. “Can you get through? On your phone?”
Travis remembered. His phone. He left it back in the car, along with his wallet. That’s why the girl behind the counter at the unemployment office turned him away. “Sorry, sir,” she had said. “You’ll need a photo ID to enter the building.” He was just going to run down the street to the parking garage and grab his wallet. It was only going to take a couple of minutes.
The woman in the green uniform -- her nametag said her name was Tasha -- continued to curse her phone. “How are my kids going to get home from school?”
“I can’t make any calls either. Worthless piece of garbage,” said a grungy kid with a pierced nose. “What do you think it was?” he asked no one in particular.
A man with tiny cuts all over his face and hands turned towards the kid. “Do you think it was a dirty bomb? Radioactive, or chemical?” The man started to shake. “I was running late for a trial. I was supposed to be there.” The man’s mouth was still open, but he ran out of words. Tasha slide across the concrete and put her good arm around him.
“Don’t you worry,” Tasha said. “Somebody’s looking after us today. You’re still here, aren’t you?” The man buried his face in Tasha’s shoulder and he started to cry.
“It’s not just Atlanta,” said a young man with a laptop and long, bloody gash running down his leg.
“God help us,” Tasha said.
“Cell phone systems are overloaded, but the Internet’s fine,” the young man continued. “They’re saying there were also explosions in LA, Phoenix, and Boston. Early reports of something happening in Houston, too. Nobody has taken responsibility yet.”
“Al Qaeda?” someone asked.
“Taliban?”
“Goddamned Democrats,” offered a man being bandaged by an EMT.
“If you’re gonna blame the Democrats,” said the guy with the laptop, “I’m blaming Glenn Beck.”
Travis watched a news crew work their way through the crowd. A reporter jumped among a pack of onlookers, waving his hand and trying to capture the attention of a group of police officers near the barricade. Travis held the mylar blanket over his face as the news camera panned in his direction.
An EMT crouched next to Travis. “Look this way,” he said. He shone a light in Travis’s eyes. “Can you tell me your name, sir?”
“Travis Walters.”
“What’s today?”
“Tuesday.”
“Who’s the President?”
“Jimmie Johnson.”
The EMT smiled. “I’m a Dale, Jr. fan myself. But other than questionable NASCAR taste, you seem alright.” The EMT slipped his pen light back in his shirt pocket and patted Travis’s shoulder . “If you pass out or vomit, head to the ER. Otherwise, you’ll be fine.” The EMT jumped to his feet and offered Travis a hand up.
Travis looked at the EMT’s hand. He didn’t take it. “What do I do now?” Travis asked.
“Go home.”
It took Travis hours to get home. The police shut down the MARTA trains because of security concerns, but the buses were still running. Travis asked around and got directions to a crowded bus stop, but wasn’t sure which route to take. He always drove his father’s old, green Monte Carlo -- a car that would have been a classic if Travis had any idea how to take care of it. Travis refused to ask his step-dad for any help, even though he worked at an auto shop since before he married Travis’s mom.
Travis waited at the bus stop for a solid hour before any buses showed up. Half a dozen overloaded buses hammered past the stop before Travis managed to squeeze his way onto an express bus going in the wrong direction. The bus driver eyed Travis as he squeezed onto the bus.
“Fare?” the bus driver called after him.
Travis stopped, and just shook his head. The driver waved him on. “Go ahead, kid.”
After two transfers and a mile walk from the bus stop, Travis was home. His mother stood in the doorway of their house. “Travis, where the hell were you?” When she opened the screen door and stepped onto the front steps, she started yelling -- a river of curses and blasphemies the likes of which Travis hadn’t heard since the night he told her Cheryl was pregnant. “Jesus H. Christ, what happened to you?” Travis was covered in a thin layer of gray dust, his shoulders slumped by fatigue, and he was toting the crumbled mylar blanket under his arm. Travis didn’t realize he was still in his silly, shiny wrapper until a little girl on the bus asked if he was Superman. He didn’t want to leave it behind on the bus for someone else to clean up.
“Oh dear Lord, what happened?” his mother said, her voice a good octave higher than usual.
“They blew up the courthouse.”
“I know that, Travis,” his mothered ushered him into the house. “Everybody knows that.” When Travis passed his mother she shrieked again. “God damn it, Travis! Why is there blood all down the back of your shirt?”
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Agent:
Travis Walters just lost his part-time job at the 7-11. His stepfather refuses to put in a good word for him at the auto shop. And the Army recruiter, whose office is next to the food court at the mall, flatly tells him he is “not suitable” to enlist in the armed forces.
On his way to the unemployment office, Travis is knocked to the ground by a blast that rips through a federal court house. A dozen other attacks occur simultaneously throughout the United States. Humdallah, a previously unknown terrorist group, claims responsibility. The US mobilizes its forces in search of Humdallah terror cells throughout the Middle East.
Ashamed of his lack of heroism the day of the bombing, Travis looks for a way to prove his patriotism. He meets Daisy, pretty but surly, at a pro-war rally. Daisy introduces Travis to her brother, Maurice, who recruits Travis to join a covert group to defend against the next terrorist attack.
Travis finds his purpose. Maurice and his fellow vigilantes teach Travis the ins and outs of weaponry and explosives. Daisy begins to take a romantic interest in Travis. Travis catches the eye of the leaders of the group, who assign him a key role in a special mission to Washington, DC.
On the morning of his mission, Travis walks in on Daisy and Maurice making love among the firearms. That’s Travis’s first clue that maybe Daisy and Maurice are not who they say they are. He suspects that Humdallah and this covert group of ex-military aren’t what they claim to be either, and that the real threat to his country is closer than he ever imagined.
THE NEXT ATTACK is a five-page thriller. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Me
Travis was jaywalking when the bomb went off. The blast knocked him flat on his back, and an oncoming Ford F150 pickup nearly ran him over. Travis scrambled to the curb, in the direction of the unemployment office, where moments before he was turned away by a chirpy girl behind a cold, gray counter.
Something trickled down the back of Travis’s head. He took off his baseball cap. His hand was bloody. The sound of sirens floated through the air and filled the space around Travis. He looked up from his bloody hand.
Down Peachtree Street, Travis could see the smoke and debris. Men and women covered their heads with their arms and briefcases as they ran down the sidewalks and into the street. Gray ash covered everything -- the people, the cars, even the dogwood trees on each side of the road. A few customers from the Starbucks across the street stuck their heads out of the doorway of the shop, unsure if they should flee or stay put. Travis did not know what had just happened, but he knew it was big.
Then the second bomb went off.
He was looking right at the courthouse when it happened. A brilliant plume of orange fire leapt from the windows and doors of the building, the fire’s massive energy blowing out the brick and mortar onto the street. The brightness of the plume darkened as it grew into a black cloud. Fragments of glass, stone, and metal fell to the ground like horrible confetti. Travis did not see the wave of people rushing towards him, then past him. So he was surprised when he ended up flat on his back again.
The driver of the Ford jumped out of his truck. “Get on up, son,” he said, scooping up Travis from the sidewalk. “Get out of here before something else blows.”
“Huh?” Travis said. His ears were ringing. He didn’t remember hearing any explosions, but the sound must have been deafening. Travis blinked, and tried to rub away the burning from his eyes. He turned to follow the man from the truck. Two steps in, Travis lost him in the mass of people running down the street. Travis let the crush of people take him away, like a fallen branch whisked downstream by whitewater rapids.
A couple of blocks later, the crowd slowed. Travis craned his neck to see what was ahead of him in the road. Police already had set up a barricade, and Travis was on the wrong side of it. An officer on horseback directed the crowd through an opening in the barricade. Travis funneled through, and gasped for breath once he was on the other side.
“You okay?” someone asked him.
“What?” Travis shouted, his ears still ringing.
“You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. You look like you were there. You tell me what happened.”
Travis looked back towards the unemployment office and the courthouse. A column of dark smoke climbed towards the sky.
“Was it the terrorists?”
“What?”
“Was it a bomb? Was it the Muslims? Didn’t you see it?”
Travis didn’t have an answer, but it didn’t matter. An EMT carrying a mylar blanket approached him. “Come with me, sir,” the EMT said, wrapping Travis in the blanket and leading him to the sidewalk. About a dozen people sat on the concrete. They were all covered in varying amounts of ash and blood, and all wrapped in silver blankets. Shiny refugees rescued from some unthinkable fate.
The EMT sat Travis down beside a young woman wearing a dark green uniform. She gripped a cell phone in her right hand, her left arm motionless at her side. “Damnit, I can’t get through.” She looked at Travis. “Can you get through? On your phone?”
Travis remembered. His phone. He left it back in the car, along with his wallet. That’s why the girl behind the counter at the unemployment office turned him away. “Sorry, sir,” she had said. “You’ll need a photo ID to enter the building.” He was just going to run down the street to the parking garage and grab his wallet. It was only going to take a couple of minutes.
The woman in the green uniform -- her nametag said her name was Tasha -- continued to curse her phone. “How are my kids going to get home from school?”
“I can’t make any calls either. Worthless piece of garbage,” said a grungy kid with a pierced nose. “What do you think it was?” he asked no one in particular.
A man with tiny cuts all over his face and hands turned towards the kid. “Do you think it was a dirty bomb? Radioactive, or chemical?” The man started to shake. “I was running late for a trial. I was supposed to be there.” The man’s mouth was still open, but he ran out of words. Tasha slide across the concrete and put her good arm around him.
“Don’t you worry,” Tasha said. “Somebody’s looking after us today. You’re still here, aren’t you?” The man buried his face in Tasha’s shoulder and he started to cry.
“It’s not just Atlanta,” said a young man with a laptop and long, bloody gash running down his leg.
“God help us,” Tasha said.
“Cell phone systems are overloaded, but the Internet’s fine,” the young man continued. “They’re saying there were also explosions in LA, Phoenix, and Boston. Early reports of something happening in Houston, too. Nobody has taken responsibility yet.”
“Al Qaeda?” someone asked.
“Taliban?”
“Goddamned Democrats,” offered a man being bandaged by an EMT.
“If you’re gonna blame the Democrats,” said the guy with the laptop, “I’m blaming Glenn Beck.”
Travis watched a news crew work their way through the crowd. A reporter jumped among a pack of onlookers, waving his hand and trying to capture the attention of a group of police officers near the barricade. Travis held the mylar blanket over his face as the news camera panned in his direction.
An EMT crouched next to Travis. “Look this way,” he said. He shone a light in Travis’s eyes. “Can you tell me your name, sir?”
“Travis Walters.”
“What’s today?”
“Tuesday.”
“Who’s the President?”
“Jimmie Johnson.”
The EMT smiled. “I’m a Dale, Jr. fan myself. But other than questionable NASCAR taste, you seem alright.” The EMT slipped his pen light back in his shirt pocket and patted Travis’s shoulder . “If you pass out or vomit, head to the ER. Otherwise, you’ll be fine.” The EMT jumped to his feet and offered Travis a hand up.
Travis looked at the EMT’s hand. He didn’t take it. “What do I do now?” Travis asked.
“Go home.”
It took Travis hours to get home. The police shut down the MARTA trains because of security concerns, but the buses were still running. Travis asked around and got directions to a crowded bus stop, but wasn’t sure which route to take. He always drove his father’s old, green Monte Carlo -- a car that would have been a classic if Travis had any idea how to take care of it. Travis refused to ask his step-dad for any help, even though he worked at an auto shop since before he married Travis’s mom.
Travis waited at the bus stop for a solid hour before any buses showed up. Half a dozen overloaded buses hammered past the stop before Travis managed to squeeze his way onto an express bus going in the wrong direction. The bus driver eyed Travis as he squeezed onto the bus.
“Fare?” the bus driver called after him.
Travis stopped, and just shook his head. The driver waved him on. “Go ahead, kid.”
After two transfers and a mile walk from the bus stop, Travis was home. His mother stood in the doorway of their house. “Travis, where the hell were you?” When she opened the screen door and stepped onto the front steps, she started yelling -- a river of curses and blasphemies the likes of which Travis hadn’t heard since the night he told her Cheryl was pregnant. “Jesus H. Christ, what happened to you?” Travis was covered in a thin layer of gray dust, his shoulders slumped by fatigue, and he was toting the crumbled mylar blanket under his arm. Travis didn’t realize he was still in his silly, shiny wrapper until a little girl on the bus asked if he was Superman. He didn’t want to leave it behind on the bus for someone else to clean up.
“Oh dear Lord, what happened?” his mother said, her voice a good octave higher than usual.
“They blew up the courthouse.”
“I know that, Travis,” his mothered ushered him into the house. “Everybody knows that.” When Travis passed his mother she shrieked again. “God damn it, Travis! Why is there blood all down the back of your shirt?”
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...INCANTATA
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Mr. Agent
I am inquiring of you because of my knowledge of your preference for complex military political struggles that satisfy a reader’s desire to savor a fresh stylized work.
Quantum physicist Pierce Daniels is lead up an alley of death to see if he can survive a gauntlet of assassins. A new technology leads to a struggle between America circa 2012 and an infinite array of futures viewed that always lead to America’s annihilation. Thirteen miles of Hellfire separate America’s death from
our protagonist 7337th death.
Each thoroughly crafted section of THE INCANTATA is a tightly mapped stand alone Science Fantasy saga of 125,000 words written for a broad audience based on comprehensive research and state of the art
understanding of the subject.
The first five pages are appended for easy browsing.
Thank You
Paralyzing force bound Pierce Daniels to the black chair. It was always a different face and always the same gun. The only constant known to a man who walked a lonely razors edge between two nations
forever at war.
Growling in the pit of the stomach sent gentle waves of euphoric
relief trembling across his slow silenced mind. The first word would come soon after wondering what the first word might actually be. Seven Three Three Seven.
He was known to both Gog and Magog as Mr. Magoo. A cartoon character nickname for someone both sides felt they could play with as they chose and slap around with impunity. No wife and children and parents buried long ago lead both versions of the United States of America to under estimate the titanic level of resolve with which he played this most fatal of games.
His eye twitched and he tried to smile but his body wasn’t ready yet. Alert to his quarry the shooter shuffled his feet. Pierce relished the return of his hearing. With that sense restored he fantasized about the sounds of waves and pieces of music he had heard and grown to love. Trying to rock forward from his chest he detected the movement in his groin area. Clocking forward he knew only two minutes remained before he would speak. Now, thinking clearly he silenced his mind voluntarily restoring his true instincts.
Sitting on a soft, carpet, antique desk-map to his right; was a bold typed message awaiting decryption. The encoding was obvious to anyone who had the knowledge to survive the great war of 2012. There were only two very popular television shows ever broadcast and viewed by a colossal sized audience in real time. The type of effect the government clandestine experimenters had sought to use as a process to acquire a benchmark gauge that would determine the power of synchronized mass consciousness on the quantum fields that generated the future and past.
The first show broadcast in 1966 was the hopelessly titled; THE TIME TUNNEL. Experimenters were unaware people existed who were already capable of using such simple cause and effect relationships as a
television broadcast and the power generated by the viewing audiences’ consciousness to initialize the type of devices required for time travel.
Einstein was long gone and the picture of reality had changed dramatically since his departure into the grave.
HUGO=HUE GO HUG15
YEMI=25EM-ATOMOSE
MR. EKO=51115 OK5
OG218=OG Vs. MAGOG
MR. FIVE = KNOCKOUT
The decoded message was a shop worn deception.
Pierce opened his eyes and looked at the shooter. This was the first executioner he had ever recognized. Struggling for composure he allowed no...
“Where is Einstein?”
“Heads in a jar; his dicks in Doc’s flux capacitor.”
Pierce waited for the muzzle flash. The shooter had yet to raise his weapon. Looking downward he noticed it was still the same Arsenal 44. Magnum used on him every time before. Unable to move his limbs yet he studied the face of the look alike wondering why it took the NSA so long to finally try this trick. The shooter looked at the single gold pen on the desk before moving to a semi-squatting position to examine the underside of the white board drafting table Pierce used as an oversized work board for math problems.
“There are no marks under the table.”
“The count is accurately reckoned at precisely 7337.”
“We’ll see.”
The shooter put the weapon on the table while asking if Pierce was a fan of Star Trex.
“Portnoy’s Complaint is more my cup of tea mate.”
“A Fool’s Mate can easily be avoided.”
The shooter began preparing a pot of tea by selecting three bags from the glass jar on the old kitchen’s counter.
Three bags were silently denuded of their strings and labels before being quickly watered logged in the stout white china tea pot now headed towards the far end of the top floor apartment in the 1920’s art deco building.
The shooter paused before entering 6:00 into the microwaves key pad. Pierce picked up the pistol and glanced under the table. Reassured there were no jump calibrations marked underneath he placed the gun in
his mouth and pulled the trigger. The shooter pressed the start button on the key pad hoping to avoid an awkward moment. The pistols firing hammer clicked resolutely against the empty chamber.
“How many times have you made it to Canyon De Chele and succeeded in jumping off the cliff?”
A sinking heart and an empty pistol were laid on the table for his opponent to play with as he pleased. The long interrogation followed by the innocuous opportunity for an escape was the standard script from this point on. The long drop from Mummy’s Cave into Canyon De Chele was now certain to lead right back into this chair paralyzed again by time.
“The CIA put LOST together for you with great care to assure you the mission was understood and very successful.”
“The Chekhov’s gun on the table bit then?”
“Orientation time. Can you move your legs?”
“Load the gun.”
The shooter pulled Pierce to his feet shouldering him forward and out the door left open on the previous trip to the microwave. The shooter loaded the gun while leading his target to the roof of the building. Loaded and replaced in its clip-on belt holster; the snap of its removal audible.
The weapon and holster were passed to Daniels, he complied by walking towards the sleek dark red four seat jet copter.
One minute later they were in the Shell gas station parking lot on the southern side of the railroad access way
obscured by well fed overgrown brush. They crossed the intersection formed by a rural highway and the rail bed.
Pierce knew the snipers nest were arrayed at both treetop and ground level interspersed at fifty yard markers all the way to Facility-1 of The Advanced Intraphase Research site.
Shooter and target walked calmly through the dense bramble curtain of prickly brush. The shooter smiled after holding the web of tangles aside for Pierce’s passage into the kill zone known as The Bell Devil’s Walk of Hellfire.
“Hurry Pierce.” That phrase was never spoken before. Daniels composure broke as he quickly tapped his beltline for tranquilizers. The first five dozen silenced shots spit out entered the shooter who let go and fell on his back quietly smiling. “God’s luck to Self 7338. Hang tough Doc.”
Pierce walked inwards. “Today is a good day to die.”
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Mr. Agent
I am inquiring of you because of my knowledge of your preference for complex military political struggles that satisfy a reader’s desire to savor a fresh stylized work.
Quantum physicist Pierce Daniels is lead up an alley of death to see if he can survive a gauntlet of assassins. A new technology leads to a struggle between America circa 2012 and an infinite array of futures viewed that always lead to America’s annihilation. Thirteen miles of Hellfire separate America’s death from
our protagonist 7337th death.
Each thoroughly crafted section of THE INCANTATA is a tightly mapped stand alone Science Fantasy saga of 125,000 words written for a broad audience based on comprehensive research and state of the art
understanding of the subject.
The first five pages are appended for easy browsing.
Thank You
Paralyzing force bound Pierce Daniels to the black chair. It was always a different face and always the same gun. The only constant known to a man who walked a lonely razors edge between two nations
forever at war.
Growling in the pit of the stomach sent gentle waves of euphoric
relief trembling across his slow silenced mind. The first word would come soon after wondering what the first word might actually be. Seven Three Three Seven.
He was known to both Gog and Magog as Mr. Magoo. A cartoon character nickname for someone both sides felt they could play with as they chose and slap around with impunity. No wife and children and parents buried long ago lead both versions of the United States of America to under estimate the titanic level of resolve with which he played this most fatal of games.
His eye twitched and he tried to smile but his body wasn’t ready yet. Alert to his quarry the shooter shuffled his feet. Pierce relished the return of his hearing. With that sense restored he fantasized about the sounds of waves and pieces of music he had heard and grown to love. Trying to rock forward from his chest he detected the movement in his groin area. Clocking forward he knew only two minutes remained before he would speak. Now, thinking clearly he silenced his mind voluntarily restoring his true instincts.
Sitting on a soft, carpet, antique desk-map to his right; was a bold typed message awaiting decryption. The encoding was obvious to anyone who had the knowledge to survive the great war of 2012. There were only two very popular television shows ever broadcast and viewed by a colossal sized audience in real time. The type of effect the government clandestine experimenters had sought to use as a process to acquire a benchmark gauge that would determine the power of synchronized mass consciousness on the quantum fields that generated the future and past.
The first show broadcast in 1966 was the hopelessly titled; THE TIME TUNNEL. Experimenters were unaware people existed who were already capable of using such simple cause and effect relationships as a
television broadcast and the power generated by the viewing audiences’ consciousness to initialize the type of devices required for time travel.
Einstein was long gone and the picture of reality had changed dramatically since his departure into the grave.
HUGO=HUE GO HUG15
YEMI=25EM-ATOMOSE
MR. EKO=51115 OK5
OG218=OG Vs. MAGOG
MR. FIVE = KNOCKOUT
The decoded message was a shop worn deception.
Pierce opened his eyes and looked at the shooter. This was the first executioner he had ever recognized. Struggling for composure he allowed no...
“Where is Einstein?”
“Heads in a jar; his dicks in Doc’s flux capacitor.”
Pierce waited for the muzzle flash. The shooter had yet to raise his weapon. Looking downward he noticed it was still the same Arsenal 44. Magnum used on him every time before. Unable to move his limbs yet he studied the face of the look alike wondering why it took the NSA so long to finally try this trick. The shooter looked at the single gold pen on the desk before moving to a semi-squatting position to examine the underside of the white board drafting table Pierce used as an oversized work board for math problems.
“There are no marks under the table.”
“The count is accurately reckoned at precisely 7337.”
“We’ll see.”
The shooter put the weapon on the table while asking if Pierce was a fan of Star Trex.
“Portnoy’s Complaint is more my cup of tea mate.”
“A Fool’s Mate can easily be avoided.”
The shooter began preparing a pot of tea by selecting three bags from the glass jar on the old kitchen’s counter.
Three bags were silently denuded of their strings and labels before being quickly watered logged in the stout white china tea pot now headed towards the far end of the top floor apartment in the 1920’s art deco building.
The shooter paused before entering 6:00 into the microwaves key pad. Pierce picked up the pistol and glanced under the table. Reassured there were no jump calibrations marked underneath he placed the gun in
his mouth and pulled the trigger. The shooter pressed the start button on the key pad hoping to avoid an awkward moment. The pistols firing hammer clicked resolutely against the empty chamber.
“How many times have you made it to Canyon De Chele and succeeded in jumping off the cliff?”
A sinking heart and an empty pistol were laid on the table for his opponent to play with as he pleased. The long interrogation followed by the innocuous opportunity for an escape was the standard script from this point on. The long drop from Mummy’s Cave into Canyon De Chele was now certain to lead right back into this chair paralyzed again by time.
“The CIA put LOST together for you with great care to assure you the mission was understood and very successful.”
“The Chekhov’s gun on the table bit then?”
“Orientation time. Can you move your legs?”
“Load the gun.”
The shooter pulled Pierce to his feet shouldering him forward and out the door left open on the previous trip to the microwave. The shooter loaded the gun while leading his target to the roof of the building. Loaded and replaced in its clip-on belt holster; the snap of its removal audible.
The weapon and holster were passed to Daniels, he complied by walking towards the sleek dark red four seat jet copter.
One minute later they were in the Shell gas station parking lot on the southern side of the railroad access way
obscured by well fed overgrown brush. They crossed the intersection formed by a rural highway and the rail bed.
Pierce knew the snipers nest were arrayed at both treetop and ground level interspersed at fifty yard markers all the way to Facility-1 of The Advanced Intraphase Research site.
Shooter and target walked calmly through the dense bramble curtain of prickly brush. The shooter smiled after holding the web of tangles aside for Pierce’s passage into the kill zone known as The Bell Devil’s Walk of Hellfire.
“Hurry Pierce.” That phrase was never spoken before. Daniels composure broke as he quickly tapped his beltline for tranquilizers. The first five dozen silenced shots spit out entered the shooter who let go and fell on his back quietly smiling. “God’s luck to Self 7338. Hang tough Doc.”
Pierce walked inwards. “Today is a good day to die.”
Click here for the discussion thread.
Query Me This...Star of Aurora
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Rick Daley,
I am seeking represenatation for my Adult Science Fiction/Fantasy novel, Star of Aurora, complete at 60,000 words, and hope that you will consider me for your list.
Fennel Starshade, an assassin and retrieval specialist, is assigned the task of retrieving Diandra Samadaxtra, the kidnapped heir to Helathon Samadaxtra, leader of the Planet Aurora Prime. Fennel is accustomed to dangerous missions, but he is more of an executer than a planner, so when he finds himself thrust into a tangled web of deadly interstellar political intrigue he finds himself in uncharted space.
To succeed on his mission, Fennel must join forces with a man he neither trusts nor likes, William Braxsis, an old classmate who was once his best friend. Together they rescue Diandra, but as if the tensions between himself and William wasn't enough to deal with, Fennel now finds that he has the added complication of controlling his feelings for Aurora First Princess.
After a shocking revelation, these three journey to five different Planets and find out that each leader of each Planet holds a terrible secret, each one horrifying by itself, but when all are fitted together, like the pieces of a sinister puzzle, spells disaster. Fennel and William with the help of Diandra solves this puzzle and find a solution, just in time to save millions of people from destruction.
I have pasted the first five pages in the body of the e-mail for your perusal.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K. D. Vassall
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
Fennel Starshade sat at a corner table nursing a drink that the bartender had dubbed Fireangel. Bluish flames licked the sugared rim of the glass and Fennel sucked in a breath intending to blow it out, but that breath, polluted with smoke and cheap perfume lodged in his throat when he saw the face of the woman that had just walked in.
She lingered at the door for several moments, the heavy winds behind her blowing her dress around her, molding it to the generous curves of her hips. She cast her eyes around. He knew the exact moment her gaze settled on him. Heat licked up his thighs to his groin, travelling in a rush through his belly to warm his cheeks. The woman gave him a slow smile, her plump lips spreading across even white teeth. He smiled back, enjoying his reaction to her. It made no sense to hide it, she would have seen the flair of red in his Aura.
She moved through the room towards him. The heat in the bar rising several degrees the deeper she came. One man fell off his stool as she lowered herself into the seat in front of him. Her blond hair bounced around her and intense green eyes settled on his face.
“Fennel. You look well,” she said, her voice dripping like honey.
“So do you…as always Layla.”
“Well, that is my job,” she said, raising a long, slim finger to summon the bartender over.
Fennel grinned. This was not the sort of place where clients were served at the table. You were expected to go to the bar and order your drink. Still Fennel wasn’t surprised when the bartender almost tripped over his feet in his rush to reach her.
Lalya Cynon was beautiful, and not just in the ordinary way. It was much deeper than that. It was her scent. It was the way she moved. Every shift and shuffle was pure seduction. He had known her for six years. She was one of ten recruited by the Demetrius organization to undergo aural enhancement and trained as a spy. Her number had been three. Classification: a Delilah. She had undergone the procedure to boost her natural talents, which was to capture the attention, to inspire lust and desire.
At first the other members of the group had underestimated the value of Layla’s ability. One man had called her ‘a glorified cocklifter’, but Layla had proved to be one of the most effective agents that Demetrius had ever recruited.
Off the ten of them only three remained, number seven, Matthias Vendry: Classification: a Solomon, a man with an incredible talent with computers and general intelligence gathering, and myself, a David. I whittled giants down to size.
“Demetrius has been in touch. We have an assignment,” said Layla, pushing a thin console across the table towards him.
Fennel saw her aura flair, and the air was suddenly filled with the heavy scent of her perfume, she shifted seductively in her chair. She had everyone’s attention. Fennel knew that this was a trick Layla used on purpose to distract the others sitting close by from what they were saying.
“What is this?” Fennel asked, even as he took the file and started reading.
“Details of a plan to invade Earth.”
Fennel’s eyes lifted to merge with Layla’s green gaze. “It says that the attack will come from Aurora Prime.”
“Yes.”
“The Mage Rulers of that planet have been Earth’s allies for the last three hundred years. They fought alongside us in the second Interstellar War. They would not betray us, not without reason.”
Layla broadened her aura. The man at the back of the room began to drool. She speared her fingers through her hair, all eyes in the bar fixed on that simple motion.
“But what if someone gave them a reason?” she asked.
Fennell froze.
“Have they?”
Layla gave an almost imperceptible nod. “A Mage Princess has been taken.”
Dread settled in Fennel’s stomach and wound itself tight. “There are several, which one?”
“The first Daughter of the Prime, and heir to the throne, Diandra Samadaxtra.”
Fennel felt the blood drain from his face. “The heir…The heir has been kidnapped…are they certain?”
Layla gave a curt nod.
“But by whom?”
“According to the intelligence, by a rogue faction within our own government.”
“Why would anyone within our government want to start a war? Surely The Mage Emperor would see that this is a set up?” asked Fennel.
Layla raised an eyebrow. “The mage Emperor is well versed in Earth History, and knows that there are many humans that value money and power far more than they value peace.”
Fennell sighed, he couldn’t argue with that.
“Who provided the information?” he asked.
Layla hesitated before she answered. “William.”
“William? William Braxsis? He is a traitor.”
“He likes to call himself a freelancer…” Layla began.
“He’s a traitor. The only person William is concerned with is himself. Why would Demetrius even think that any information coming from William is accurate?”
“Demetrius has never lost contact with William. He has given the organization several leads, all of which had proven to be true. Demetrius has no reason to doubt him now…however…”
“Yes?” snapped Fennel.
“Considering the gravity of this situation, Demetrius wants you to verify the information.”
Fennel nodded, “which is?”
“That he knows where the Heir is being held. If it’s true Demetrius wants you to escort her to Earth.”
Fennel’s eyebrows reached for the sky. “To Earth? Why not home to Aurora Prime?”
Layla gave a delicate shrug. “Proximity. If William is right, she is being held in our own solar system on the dwarf planet Haumea, in the catacombs under the Celestial City. The United Governments will arrange for her safe passage back to Aurora, when you bring her here.”
Fennel blew gently on the flames rising out of his glass. The red liquid underneath it swirled. He was silent for several moments, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. He controlled his aura easily, keeping it a steady dark blue so that Layla wouldn’t see his inner turmoil. William was once a member of the Demetrius organization, but his tendency to deceit had gotten him expelled from the program. William had been a David like himself, a highly trained assassin and retrieval specialist. He had a complex, devious mind. Fennel didn’t trust any information coming from William. However if Demetrius had checked it out and declared it to be accurate…
“This is not usually the sort of matter Demetrius handles. Why doesn’t the government send in its own people?” Fennell asked.
“You forget that the Haumean Emperor has no great regard for United President Suri. How do you think he would react if Earth’s government forces landed on his planet? Furthermore, Haumea has been in trade talks with Aurora Prime for the last Decade. They are anxious to go forward with their mining project on Jupiter’s moon, Ganymede, but they need Seraphim, which as you know can only be found on Aurora Prime, to run the drills. The First Prime has refused to provide them with it. What do you think they would do if they found out that the daughter of the First Prime…the heir at that was being held on their planet?”
“I see your point,” murmured Fennell.
“Will you take the assignment? Demetrius needs and answer tonight.”
Fennel looked down at his glass again. The fire had burnt the sugar into a slick paste. He took a deep breath and blew out the fire before bringing the glass to lips. The sugar burnt his lips even as the sweet red liquid slid down his throat.
Click here for the discussion thread.
Dear Rick Daley,
I am seeking represenatation for my Adult Science Fiction/Fantasy novel, Star of Aurora, complete at 60,000 words, and hope that you will consider me for your list.
Fennel Starshade, an assassin and retrieval specialist, is assigned the task of retrieving Diandra Samadaxtra, the kidnapped heir to Helathon Samadaxtra, leader of the Planet Aurora Prime. Fennel is accustomed to dangerous missions, but he is more of an executer than a planner, so when he finds himself thrust into a tangled web of deadly interstellar political intrigue he finds himself in uncharted space.
To succeed on his mission, Fennel must join forces with a man he neither trusts nor likes, William Braxsis, an old classmate who was once his best friend. Together they rescue Diandra, but as if the tensions between himself and William wasn't enough to deal with, Fennel now finds that he has the added complication of controlling his feelings for Aurora First Princess.
After a shocking revelation, these three journey to five different Planets and find out that each leader of each Planet holds a terrible secret, each one horrifying by itself, but when all are fitted together, like the pieces of a sinister puzzle, spells disaster. Fennel and William with the help of Diandra solves this puzzle and find a solution, just in time to save millions of people from destruction.
I have pasted the first five pages in the body of the e-mail for your perusal.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Sincerely,
K. D. Vassall
Our protagonist has found evidence that the government is being lured into war. If the country engages in the conflict abroad, its military will not be able to deal with an imminent invasion by a rival nation. The problem is that the source of the information is a double-agent, and our protagonist is being set up to cause the war he/she is trying to prevent.
Star of Aurora
By K.D Vassall
Fennel Starshade sat at a corner table nursing a drink that the bartender had dubbed Fireangel. Bluish flames licked the sugared rim of the glass and Fennel sucked in a breath intending to blow it out, but that breath, polluted with smoke and cheap perfume lodged in his throat when he saw the face of the woman that had just walked in.
She lingered at the door for several moments, the heavy winds behind her blowing her dress around her, molding it to the generous curves of her hips. She cast her eyes around. He knew the exact moment her gaze settled on him. Heat licked up his thighs to his groin, travelling in a rush through his belly to warm his cheeks. The woman gave him a slow smile, her plump lips spreading across even white teeth. He smiled back, enjoying his reaction to her. It made no sense to hide it, she would have seen the flair of red in his Aura.
She moved through the room towards him. The heat in the bar rising several degrees the deeper she came. One man fell off his stool as she lowered herself into the seat in front of him. Her blond hair bounced around her and intense green eyes settled on his face.
“Fennel. You look well,” she said, her voice dripping like honey.
“So do you…as always Layla.”
“Well, that is my job,” she said, raising a long, slim finger to summon the bartender over.
Fennel grinned. This was not the sort of place where clients were served at the table. You were expected to go to the bar and order your drink. Still Fennel wasn’t surprised when the bartender almost tripped over his feet in his rush to reach her.
Lalya Cynon was beautiful, and not just in the ordinary way. It was much deeper than that. It was her scent. It was the way she moved. Every shift and shuffle was pure seduction. He had known her for six years. She was one of ten recruited by the Demetrius organization to undergo aural enhancement and trained as a spy. Her number had been three. Classification: a Delilah. She had undergone the procedure to boost her natural talents, which was to capture the attention, to inspire lust and desire.
At first the other members of the group had underestimated the value of Layla’s ability. One man had called her ‘a glorified cocklifter’, but Layla had proved to be one of the most effective agents that Demetrius had ever recruited.
Off the ten of them only three remained, number seven, Matthias Vendry: Classification: a Solomon, a man with an incredible talent with computers and general intelligence gathering, and myself, a David. I whittled giants down to size.
“Demetrius has been in touch. We have an assignment,” said Layla, pushing a thin console across the table towards him.
Fennel saw her aura flair, and the air was suddenly filled with the heavy scent of her perfume, she shifted seductively in her chair. She had everyone’s attention. Fennel knew that this was a trick Layla used on purpose to distract the others sitting close by from what they were saying.
“What is this?” Fennel asked, even as he took the file and started reading.
“Details of a plan to invade Earth.”
Fennel’s eyes lifted to merge with Layla’s green gaze. “It says that the attack will come from Aurora Prime.”
“Yes.”
“The Mage Rulers of that planet have been Earth’s allies for the last three hundred years. They fought alongside us in the second Interstellar War. They would not betray us, not without reason.”
Layla broadened her aura. The man at the back of the room began to drool. She speared her fingers through her hair, all eyes in the bar fixed on that simple motion.
“But what if someone gave them a reason?” she asked.
Fennell froze.
“Have they?”
Layla gave an almost imperceptible nod. “A Mage Princess has been taken.”
Dread settled in Fennel’s stomach and wound itself tight. “There are several, which one?”
“The first Daughter of the Prime, and heir to the throne, Diandra Samadaxtra.”
Fennel felt the blood drain from his face. “The heir…The heir has been kidnapped…are they certain?”
Layla gave a curt nod.
“But by whom?”
“According to the intelligence, by a rogue faction within our own government.”
“Why would anyone within our government want to start a war? Surely The Mage Emperor would see that this is a set up?” asked Fennel.
Layla raised an eyebrow. “The mage Emperor is well versed in Earth History, and knows that there are many humans that value money and power far more than they value peace.”
Fennell sighed, he couldn’t argue with that.
“Who provided the information?” he asked.
Layla hesitated before she answered. “William.”
“William? William Braxsis? He is a traitor.”
“He likes to call himself a freelancer…” Layla began.
“He’s a traitor. The only person William is concerned with is himself. Why would Demetrius even think that any information coming from William is accurate?”
“Demetrius has never lost contact with William. He has given the organization several leads, all of which had proven to be true. Demetrius has no reason to doubt him now…however…”
“Yes?” snapped Fennel.
“Considering the gravity of this situation, Demetrius wants you to verify the information.”
Fennel nodded, “which is?”
“That he knows where the Heir is being held. If it’s true Demetrius wants you to escort her to Earth.”
Fennel’s eyebrows reached for the sky. “To Earth? Why not home to Aurora Prime?”
Layla gave a delicate shrug. “Proximity. If William is right, she is being held in our own solar system on the dwarf planet Haumea, in the catacombs under the Celestial City. The United Governments will arrange for her safe passage back to Aurora, when you bring her here.”
Fennel blew gently on the flames rising out of his glass. The red liquid underneath it swirled. He was silent for several moments, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. He controlled his aura easily, keeping it a steady dark blue so that Layla wouldn’t see his inner turmoil. William was once a member of the Demetrius organization, but his tendency to deceit had gotten him expelled from the program. William had been a David like himself, a highly trained assassin and retrieval specialist. He had a complex, devious mind. Fennel didn’t trust any information coming from William. However if Demetrius had checked it out and declared it to be accurate…
“This is not usually the sort of matter Demetrius handles. Why doesn’t the government send in its own people?” Fennell asked.
“You forget that the Haumean Emperor has no great regard for United President Suri. How do you think he would react if Earth’s government forces landed on his planet? Furthermore, Haumea has been in trade talks with Aurora Prime for the last Decade. They are anxious to go forward with their mining project on Jupiter’s moon, Ganymede, but they need Seraphim, which as you know can only be found on Aurora Prime, to run the drills. The First Prime has refused to provide them with it. What do you think they would do if they found out that the daughter of the First Prime…the heir at that was being held on their planet?”
“I see your point,” murmured Fennell.
“Will you take the assignment? Demetrius needs and answer tonight.”
Fennel looked down at his glass again. The fire had burnt the sugar into a slick paste. He took a deep breath and blew out the fire before bringing the glass to lips. The sugar burnt his lips even as the sweet red liquid slid down his throat.
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