Okay this is it.
Good luck to all the people who entered.
I hope you take this opportunity to go back through the original posts and compare them to the revised posts. After all this was the whole point of the contest. This way we can see what the author had originally then see what they did to really flesh out the content of their sentences, characters, settings, whatnot.
I really enjoyed hosting this contest with Natalie. It was original and fun and all of Natalie's idea.
Please be patient. As you may or may not know, Natalie has some big upcoming plans with a wedding. So we need to be sure to say GRATS to her in the comment section below.
As soon as I know the results, I will contact you and give you further directions.
Thanks so much for participating and making this contest ROCK!!!
p.s. If you find a mistake on your entry, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Everyone is welcome to visit and stay for the fun. Author of PERFECTION, release date July 16, 2013, and FLAWED release date August 12, 2014. Published by Spencer Hill Press.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Revised Entry 1 Ashley Maker
ashleydmaker Entry Number 1
Name: Ashley Maker
Contact info: ashleydmaker(at)yahoo(dot)com
Title: Under the Trees
Genre: YA Historical Fantasy Romance
Pitch: Fleeing an arranged marriage, Araya’s last intention is to fall in love; when Prince Thor helps her, he doesn’t consider the consequences of harboring a fugitive princess…until Araya’s betrothed arrives, armed and determined to take her back.
Second line of first paragraph of 1st chapter: My muscles burned and sweat rolled into my eyes, but I could not let my horse slow down as we cleared fallen logs and ducked under branches.
First 250 words of 2nd chapter:
I intended to leave with the hunting party in the afternoon. After stopping and hearing requests and complaints in the villages along the way, we planned to set up camp under the yellow trees of the Golden Woods. Ten of my best men, all part of my signet guard, were to accompany me, in case we ran into trouble. Father feared we might.
“It has been too long since Darrell has pulled one of his stunts,” he said. “Expect trouble on your hunt. Be prepared. No harm can come from that.”
“My men are always prepared,” I replied, turning away to tie off my bag of supplies.
“Thor—” Father grasped my upper arm. He waited until I looked into his narrowed gray eyes. “If you come across them, don’t underestimate them. Be careful. I fear Darrell is up to something.”
His words sobered me, but they were not unexpected. The feud between King Cyric, my father, and King Darrell was well known and had only worsened since the engagement between my sister and Darrell’s son had fallen apart. They fought over the resources of the Golden Woods, for the rare white wood provided excellent lumber and supplied a plentiful source of game animals for hunting. Darrell’s men frequently crossed the boundary, meaning we had to constantly patrol, making sure no one pushed the line.
Still, I gave him my promise I would be careful, although sometimes I wished Darrell would do something so that the situation could be dealt with.
Name: Ashley Maker
Contact info: ashleydmaker(at)yahoo(dot)com
Title: Under the Trees
Genre: YA Historical Fantasy Romance
Pitch: Fleeing an arranged marriage, Araya’s last intention is to fall in love; when Prince Thor helps her, he doesn’t consider the consequences of harboring a fugitive princess…until Araya’s betrothed arrives, armed and determined to take her back.
Second line of first paragraph of 1st chapter: My muscles burned and sweat rolled into my eyes, but I could not let my horse slow down as we cleared fallen logs and ducked under branches.
First 250 words of 2nd chapter:
I intended to leave with the hunting party in the afternoon. After stopping and hearing requests and complaints in the villages along the way, we planned to set up camp under the yellow trees of the Golden Woods. Ten of my best men, all part of my signet guard, were to accompany me, in case we ran into trouble. Father feared we might.
“It has been too long since Darrell has pulled one of his stunts,” he said. “Expect trouble on your hunt. Be prepared. No harm can come from that.”
“My men are always prepared,” I replied, turning away to tie off my bag of supplies.
“Thor—” Father grasped my upper arm. He waited until I looked into his narrowed gray eyes. “If you come across them, don’t underestimate them. Be careful. I fear Darrell is up to something.”
His words sobered me, but they were not unexpected. The feud between King Cyric, my father, and King Darrell was well known and had only worsened since the engagement between my sister and Darrell’s son had fallen apart. They fought over the resources of the Golden Woods, for the rare white wood provided excellent lumber and supplied a plentiful source of game animals for hunting. Darrell’s men frequently crossed the boundary, meaning we had to constantly patrol, making sure no one pushed the line.
Still, I gave him my promise I would be careful, although sometimes I wished Darrell would do something so that the situation could be dealt with.
Revised Entry 2 mshatch
The Way to Dendara YA Fantasy:
marcy@tidewater.net entry #2
Pitch: Lucy, a young woman with bad dreams and a tragic past, inherits a kingdom. But instead of the nice kingdom with the fairies and elves and wood sprites, this is the other one, the one with trolls and goblins and a half brother who’d like nothing better than the throne for himself. For Lucy, the hardest part will not be ruling the kingdom; it will be keeping it.
Second line, first paragraph: No return address, no postage, not even any tape to keep the paper from being torn.
Second 250: She saw it as soon as she woke. The creature. The thing that had stolen her away, standing by the only door, waiting, watching her with cat’s eyes. She looked around, noting the ornate bed and heavy velvet drapes, pulled back and tied.
This was not her room.
Dreaming, she thought, still dreaming. She closed her eyes and told herself to wake up, but when she opened her eyes again everything was just the same.
The room was immense, the size of her flat, and as richly appointed as the bed. The decor was French, all rococo and curved lines, plush upholstery in deep, vibrant plum. She could smell incense burning.
The creature hadn’t moved, still stood by the tall wooden door, watching her with its amber eyes. She had thought at first it was some horribly deformed person. She had rather hoped, in fact. Because in the back of her mind there had come an unbidden thought: not from here. Now she knew there could be no doubt about its lack of humanity. It was too tall, too big, and its shape wasn’t right. It wasn’t a person at all. No person she’d ever seen had ridges like scars so perfectly made. No person had hands like claws and no one wore studded leather armor – except in books or movies.
She shuddered. Not real, she told herself. Couldn’t be. It was a dream, just like all the others she had. A very bad dream.
marcy@tidewater.net entry #2
Pitch: Lucy, a young woman with bad dreams and a tragic past, inherits a kingdom. But instead of the nice kingdom with the fairies and elves and wood sprites, this is the other one, the one with trolls and goblins and a half brother who’d like nothing better than the throne for himself. For Lucy, the hardest part will not be ruling the kingdom; it will be keeping it.
Second line, first paragraph: No return address, no postage, not even any tape to keep the paper from being torn.
Second 250: She saw it as soon as she woke. The creature. The thing that had stolen her away, standing by the only door, waiting, watching her with cat’s eyes. She looked around, noting the ornate bed and heavy velvet drapes, pulled back and tied.
This was not her room.
Dreaming, she thought, still dreaming. She closed her eyes and told herself to wake up, but when she opened her eyes again everything was just the same.
The room was immense, the size of her flat, and as richly appointed as the bed. The decor was French, all rococo and curved lines, plush upholstery in deep, vibrant plum. She could smell incense burning.
The creature hadn’t moved, still stood by the tall wooden door, watching her with its amber eyes. She had thought at first it was some horribly deformed person. She had rather hoped, in fact. Because in the back of her mind there had come an unbidden thought: not from here. Now she knew there could be no doubt about its lack of humanity. It was too tall, too big, and its shape wasn’t right. It wasn’t a person at all. No person she’d ever seen had ridges like scars so perfectly made. No person had hands like claws and no one wore studded leather armor – except in books or movies.
She shuddered. Not real, she told herself. Couldn’t be. It was a dream, just like all the others she had. A very bad dream.
Revised Entry 3 Artemis Grey
Title: Thornbriar
Genre: YA Fantasy Retelling
My Name: Artemis Grey
Email: Greyvaledesigns(at)gmail(dot)com
Pitch:
Most Ladies get china sets for their wedding. Beauty got a Beast with multiple personalities and a cursed magic kingdom nobody believed in. Now, as the new Queen, it’s up to Beauty to sort things out.
Second Line:
Instead, the black shaft of the arrow passed through her ruby curls as she staggered sideways.
First 250 of Second Chapter:
Beauty spent the remainder of her journey sequestered in the shadows of Liivan’s coach. The Senior merchant attended her only enough to satisfy protocol but otherwise let her be. She did not again ask about the possibly bestial Woodlord. Part of her truly wanted to, for would it not be better to know of what she faced? But then, in a way, it didn’t matter. She would marry him regardless.
It was much easier to uphold her fierce determination and bold resolve within the shelter of the coach. The peculiar way in which the Altheans had moved around her made all the more sense now. They had seen from the moment she’d been introduced that she did not fully understand her own situation.
Her cheeks burned to think of it but when she spoke to Liivan, it was with easy elegance and lovely smiles. The strange people of Althea might think her a simpering, foolish maiden, but Beauty would make the most splendid Queen they could have ever imagined. Her beauty had brought her this far, it would serve her yet.
Selene did not have the same spine on the matter. Of course, Selene was plain, in manner more than feature. Her demeanor only dimmed what would have else wise been a comely enough face. Beauty had no patience for the quailing of her handmaiden and might have left her standing beside the roadway if it wouldn’t have caused talk later.
Genre: YA Fantasy Retelling
My Name: Artemis Grey
Email: Greyvaledesigns(at)gmail(dot)com
Pitch:
Most Ladies get china sets for their wedding. Beauty got a Beast with multiple personalities and a cursed magic kingdom nobody believed in. Now, as the new Queen, it’s up to Beauty to sort things out.
Second Line:
Instead, the black shaft of the arrow passed through her ruby curls as she staggered sideways.
First 250 of Second Chapter:
Beauty spent the remainder of her journey sequestered in the shadows of Liivan’s coach. The Senior merchant attended her only enough to satisfy protocol but otherwise let her be. She did not again ask about the possibly bestial Woodlord. Part of her truly wanted to, for would it not be better to know of what she faced? But then, in a way, it didn’t matter. She would marry him regardless.
It was much easier to uphold her fierce determination and bold resolve within the shelter of the coach. The peculiar way in which the Altheans had moved around her made all the more sense now. They had seen from the moment she’d been introduced that she did not fully understand her own situation.
Her cheeks burned to think of it but when she spoke to Liivan, it was with easy elegance and lovely smiles. The strange people of Althea might think her a simpering, foolish maiden, but Beauty would make the most splendid Queen they could have ever imagined. Her beauty had brought her this far, it would serve her yet.
Selene did not have the same spine on the matter. Of course, Selene was plain, in manner more than feature. Her demeanor only dimmed what would have else wise been a comely enough face. Beauty had no patience for the quailing of her handmaiden and might have left her standing beside the roadway if it wouldn’t have caused talk later.
Revised Entry 4 Sherry Auger
Sherry Auger post #4
Title: A June Snowstorm in Maine
genre: chapter book
contact: ricksgalsherry@msn.com
Pitch:
No Way! 10-year-old Abigail Snoot can’t let the Highway Commissioner put a school bus turn-around in the middle of Mr. Pickle’s Store, home of her favorite one of a kind snacks. But what can a kid do about it? Plenty as Abby finds out when she puts her mind to it. She makes a deal with the commissioner; if it snows in June, the Highway Department would find an alternate location.
2nd line of 1st paragraph 1st chapter:
I was so happy that the snow was finally gone and we could walk to the store.
1st 250 words of 2nd chapter:
Now that I’m ten, and we’re on our way to Mr. Pickle’s Store, I can’t understand how I ever survived without Mrs. Pickle’s whole-wheat carrot and pineapple muffins, or the heavenly zucchini bread she makes. When we arrived at Mr. Pickle’s he greeted us as he always does.
“Hello! Hello, Mrs. Snoot, Miss Snoot. How are you on this fine day?”
“We’re just fine, Mr. Pickle. How are you and Mrs. Pickle doing?” asked Mom, handing Mr. Pickle her grocery list.
Mr. Pickle always insists on getting our groceries himself. He’s nice that way.
“Well,” begins Mr. Pickle. “We would be much better if we didn’t have to close our store by the tenth of June.”
“What!” I yell. “Close your store? You’ve been here forever. Not that you’re old or anything, but for as long as I can remember, and Mom can remember, and anyone I know can remember! You can’t do it. What would you do? Where would you go? Where would we buy our groceries?”
“Abigail! I am so sorry Mr. Pickle. Now apologize at once,” Mom demanded. “Give Mr. Pickle a chance to explain before you badger him with all your questions.”
“Sorry Mr. Pickle. Sorry Mom,” I said, hopping from one foot to the other impatiently.
“That’s okay dear,” says Mr. Pickle handing me a crispy and chewy oatmeal cookie. “It’s the highway’s fault really. Someone has decided that another school bus turn-around is needed and it’s being put here. There are more suitable places, but you know how those folks can be.
Title: A June Snowstorm in Maine
genre: chapter book
contact: ricksgalsherry@msn.com
Pitch:
No Way! 10-year-old Abigail Snoot can’t let the Highway Commissioner put a school bus turn-around in the middle of Mr. Pickle’s Store, home of her favorite one of a kind snacks. But what can a kid do about it? Plenty as Abby finds out when she puts her mind to it. She makes a deal with the commissioner; if it snows in June, the Highway Department would find an alternate location.
2nd line of 1st paragraph 1st chapter:
I was so happy that the snow was finally gone and we could walk to the store.
1st 250 words of 2nd chapter:
Now that I’m ten, and we’re on our way to Mr. Pickle’s Store, I can’t understand how I ever survived without Mrs. Pickle’s whole-wheat carrot and pineapple muffins, or the heavenly zucchini bread she makes. When we arrived at Mr. Pickle’s he greeted us as he always does.
“Hello! Hello, Mrs. Snoot, Miss Snoot. How are you on this fine day?”
“We’re just fine, Mr. Pickle. How are you and Mrs. Pickle doing?” asked Mom, handing Mr. Pickle her grocery list.
Mr. Pickle always insists on getting our groceries himself. He’s nice that way.
“Well,” begins Mr. Pickle. “We would be much better if we didn’t have to close our store by the tenth of June.”
“What!” I yell. “Close your store? You’ve been here forever. Not that you’re old or anything, but for as long as I can remember, and Mom can remember, and anyone I know can remember! You can’t do it. What would you do? Where would you go? Where would we buy our groceries?”
“Abigail! I am so sorry Mr. Pickle. Now apologize at once,” Mom demanded. “Give Mr. Pickle a chance to explain before you badger him with all your questions.”
“Sorry Mr. Pickle. Sorry Mom,” I said, hopping from one foot to the other impatiently.
“That’s okay dear,” says Mr. Pickle handing me a crispy and chewy oatmeal cookie. “It’s the highway’s fault really. Someone has decided that another school bus turn-around is needed and it’s being put here. There are more suitable places, but you know how those folks can be.
Revised Entry 5 Lori M Lee
Name: Lori M Lee
Entry #5
Title: Soul Without a Boy
Genre: YA urban fantasy
Contact: leemai82 at gmail dot com
Pitch:
When 17-year-old London Howell inadvertently "creates" a girl, he must protect her from the magi after the power in her soul—a soul that shouldn't exist anyway. But when his dad is taken, London will have to risk his own soul to save them both.
--
Second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
It was crouched against the wooden post of a neighbor's mailbox, little more than a shadow with large-knuckled fingers that raked at empty air.
--
First 250 words of your second chapter:
The boy gave Amun a cursory glance before addressing London. "What House are you from?"
London wasn't about to tell them where he lived. He pointed over his shoulder.
The girl with the ponytail laughed. She rested a hand on her hip and leaned toward Amun. "What's your name?" she asked. At Amun's dismissive look, her cheeks turned pink. "You got a problem?"
"What's the name of your House?" the boy asked, his words edged with impatience now. Like the girl, he was Asian, his dark hair braided back into cornrows.
"My house's name?" London repeated, confused. "Can't say we've ever named it." At the boy's tightening jaw, he offered, "Harold?"
"You think you're funny?" Cornrows asked, voice rising.
London didn't think so, but that didn't stop him from trying. Humor was a tool, an ice breaker. Or maybe an ice pick, more exact. Humor directed conversation away from topics that were either uncomfortable or too personal.
"Or maybe you're just stupid," Cornrows said. He reminded London of the football players at school—too much competition, not enough anger management.
"Sure," London said. If he was supposed to be stupid, then he would take advantage of it.
Cornrows sneered and raised his palm, fingers splayed as if pushing against an invisible surface.
The discomfort returned, skittering across London's skin. He was suddenly short of breath, like the air was being sucked from his lungs. He tried to breathe in and couldn't. He clutched his neck, alarmed at the dry gasps issuing from his throat.
Entry #5
Title: Soul Without a Boy
Genre: YA urban fantasy
Contact: leemai82 at gmail dot com
Pitch:
When 17-year-old London Howell inadvertently "creates" a girl, he must protect her from the magi after the power in her soul—a soul that shouldn't exist anyway. But when his dad is taken, London will have to risk his own soul to save them both.
--
Second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
It was crouched against the wooden post of a neighbor's mailbox, little more than a shadow with large-knuckled fingers that raked at empty air.
--
First 250 words of your second chapter:
The boy gave Amun a cursory glance before addressing London. "What House are you from?"
London wasn't about to tell them where he lived. He pointed over his shoulder.
The girl with the ponytail laughed. She rested a hand on her hip and leaned toward Amun. "What's your name?" she asked. At Amun's dismissive look, her cheeks turned pink. "You got a problem?"
"What's the name of your House?" the boy asked, his words edged with impatience now. Like the girl, he was Asian, his dark hair braided back into cornrows.
"My house's name?" London repeated, confused. "Can't say we've ever named it." At the boy's tightening jaw, he offered, "Harold?"
"You think you're funny?" Cornrows asked, voice rising.
London didn't think so, but that didn't stop him from trying. Humor was a tool, an ice breaker. Or maybe an ice pick, more exact. Humor directed conversation away from topics that were either uncomfortable or too personal.
"Or maybe you're just stupid," Cornrows said. He reminded London of the football players at school—too much competition, not enough anger management.
"Sure," London said. If he was supposed to be stupid, then he would take advantage of it.
Cornrows sneered and raised his palm, fingers splayed as if pushing against an invisible surface.
The discomfort returned, skittering across London's skin. He was suddenly short of breath, like the air was being sucked from his lungs. He tried to breathe in and couldn't. He clutched his neck, alarmed at the dry gasps issuing from his throat.
Revised Entry 6 Beth
Title: MARTYR
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Contact: Bethany Ray
PITCH: When she is thrust unwillingly into a deadly feud between politics and the mafia, all Evelyn wants to do is save the Senator's daughter - the girl that went from being Eveyln's job to the only friend she had ever known. In order to do that, she has to be willing to go on the offensive, sacrificing her own safety - and possibly her own life.
SECOND SENTENCE OF FIRST CHAPTER: "You know ignoring my dad isn't going to help. He'll just send the secret service after you."
FIRST 250 OF SECOND CHAPTER:
A week later, I’m up earlier than normal. The blackout curtains in my own bedroom helped shield the bright morning light, making it easier to sleep in as late as I wanted on weekends. Chloe was probably loving that.
Already annoyed with waking up on my couch in a house my money was paying for; my body flexed and stretched the kinks and tightness. Then I heard the sound of my own shower from behind the closed bedroom door.
It was only the first day of my new living arrangement, and already I was missing Amber. While she might have been a bitch and a little bit crazy, she at least knew how much I loved sleeping in my own bed and taking a shower first thing in the morning.
Over an hour later, Chloe came from my bedroom clean and sparking in a short denim skirt with leggings and a white wrap shirt. Her red hair corkscrewed down her back and her make-up nothing short of perfect. She’d look that way since the first time I met her years ago - runway perfect.
“You have your own shower, and room, I might mention.”
She lowered her head for a moment, but the shine in her eyes started me, pushing any sarcastic retort I might have had sailing back down my throat.
“Why are you crying?”
She turned away again, rubbing a manicured finger under her nose. “I don’t like being snapped at.”
“Then your dad should have sent you somewhere else.”
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Contact: Bethany Ray
PITCH: When she is thrust unwillingly into a deadly feud between politics and the mafia, all Evelyn wants to do is save the Senator's daughter - the girl that went from being Eveyln's job to the only friend she had ever known. In order to do that, she has to be willing to go on the offensive, sacrificing her own safety - and possibly her own life.
SECOND SENTENCE OF FIRST CHAPTER: "You know ignoring my dad isn't going to help. He'll just send the secret service after you."
FIRST 250 OF SECOND CHAPTER:
A week later, I’m up earlier than normal. The blackout curtains in my own bedroom helped shield the bright morning light, making it easier to sleep in as late as I wanted on weekends. Chloe was probably loving that.
Already annoyed with waking up on my couch in a house my money was paying for; my body flexed and stretched the kinks and tightness. Then I heard the sound of my own shower from behind the closed bedroom door.
It was only the first day of my new living arrangement, and already I was missing Amber. While she might have been a bitch and a little bit crazy, she at least knew how much I loved sleeping in my own bed and taking a shower first thing in the morning.
Over an hour later, Chloe came from my bedroom clean and sparking in a short denim skirt with leggings and a white wrap shirt. Her red hair corkscrewed down her back and her make-up nothing short of perfect. She’d look that way since the first time I met her years ago - runway perfect.
“You have your own shower, and room, I might mention.”
She lowered her head for a moment, but the shine in her eyes started me, pushing any sarcastic retort I might have had sailing back down my throat.
“Why are you crying?”
She turned away again, rubbing a manicured finger under her nose. “I don’t like being snapped at.”
“Then your dad should have sent you somewhere else.”
Revised Entry 7 Kate Larkindale
TITLE: Chasing the Taillights
GENRE: YA Contemporary
CONTACT: katelarkindale(at)gmail(dot)com
PITCH: Lucy and Tony share nothing except their genetic code and a love of rock music. When a car accident kills their parents, Lucy and Tony are forced to rely on one another--and decide whether to reveal their secrets. As the siblings struggle to overcome a lifetime of past conflicts and jealousies, they discover they might have more in common than they ever thought.
2nd LINE OF 1ST PARA.: I strain to push the lids up, but they’re already wide.
1ST 250 WORDS OF 2ND CHAPTER:
I cup my chin in my hand and stare at the screen, fingers scraping across unshaven stubble. It’s not late, but I find myself drifting off to sleep in front of the computer. My leaden eyes close and my head drops down toward the heavy wooden desk. I snap myself awake and shake my head. This assignment isn’t going to write itself, is it? Focus. Focus. World War II. That’s what you’re supposed to be thinking about. More importantly, the economic factors that led to World War II. I bite the inside of my cheek and the sharp bloom of pain makes me start. With the salty taste of my own blood flooding my tongue, I begin typing again.
I’m dragged away from hyper-inflation and the rise of the Nazi party by the insistent ringing of the phone. I realize it’s been shrilling for several minutes now, and wonder why neither of my roommates picked it up. Maybe they’re not home; it is Saturday night after all. It’s only jocks like me who have to spend Saturday nights catching up on schoolwork. Parties are just one of the things I sacrifice for my sport. Diving’s a huge time suck.
“Okay, okay… I’m coming.” I drag myself out of my chair, stumbling over the sneakers I kicked off earlier. My legs ache. A four hour practice can do that, especially when it’s all platform. Climbing all those stairs is a killer.
I scoop up the phone from the kitchen counter, half-expecting whoever’s at the other end to have hung up. “Hello?”
GENRE: YA Contemporary
CONTACT: katelarkindale(at)gmail(dot)com
PITCH: Lucy and Tony share nothing except their genetic code and a love of rock music. When a car accident kills their parents, Lucy and Tony are forced to rely on one another--and decide whether to reveal their secrets. As the siblings struggle to overcome a lifetime of past conflicts and jealousies, they discover they might have more in common than they ever thought.
2nd LINE OF 1ST PARA.: I strain to push the lids up, but they’re already wide.
1ST 250 WORDS OF 2ND CHAPTER:
I cup my chin in my hand and stare at the screen, fingers scraping across unshaven stubble. It’s not late, but I find myself drifting off to sleep in front of the computer. My leaden eyes close and my head drops down toward the heavy wooden desk. I snap myself awake and shake my head. This assignment isn’t going to write itself, is it? Focus. Focus. World War II. That’s what you’re supposed to be thinking about. More importantly, the economic factors that led to World War II. I bite the inside of my cheek and the sharp bloom of pain makes me start. With the salty taste of my own blood flooding my tongue, I begin typing again.
I’m dragged away from hyper-inflation and the rise of the Nazi party by the insistent ringing of the phone. I realize it’s been shrilling for several minutes now, and wonder why neither of my roommates picked it up. Maybe they’re not home; it is Saturday night after all. It’s only jocks like me who have to spend Saturday nights catching up on schoolwork. Parties are just one of the things I sacrifice for my sport. Diving’s a huge time suck.
“Okay, okay… I’m coming.” I drag myself out of my chair, stumbling over the sneakers I kicked off earlier. My legs ache. A four hour practice can do that, especially when it’s all platform. Climbing all those stairs is a killer.
I scoop up the phone from the kitchen counter, half-expecting whoever’s at the other end to have hung up. “Hello?”
Revised Entry 8 E. Arroyo
Name: Elizabeth Arroyo
Contact: elizabeth(dot)arroyo5(at)gmail.com
Title: Some Kind of Trouble
Genre: YA Contemporary
Entry #8
Pitch: After a drive-by shooting leaves Arianna with an unexpected boyfried, she finds that love alone won't save him from life on the streets.
2nd Line: I once chanted one hundred and three thousand times in one night for my mom to get better.
First 250 of 2nd chapter:
I awoke the next morning with David standing beside my bed, already dressed. “Where’s mom?”
“She’s at the clinic. What time is it?” I asked, still nestled under the covers.
“Seven.”
“Seven?” I jumped out of bed, got caught in the sheets and went sprawling to the floor. Shit. David laughed as I scampered to the bathroom. “Are you ready?” I asked him while brushing my teeth and pulling my hair in a tail. I had thirty minutes to drop him off and get my butt to school. I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Get my keys and turn on the car and come back inside.” I rinsed my mouth and ran to my room frantically searching for my school uniform, which I found where I had left it: on a chair near my bed. I grunted, threw it on and ran downstairs. It was seven-ten when I grabbed my jacket and got in my car, three minutes after that I realized I’d left David and went back for him. I had five minutes to make it to school after dropping him off.
The school parking lot was full and I managed to squeeze my car between a Honda, whose driver could care less about the lines on the pavement, and a minivan. Sliding out of my car, I ran inside.
I was three minutes late to Mr. Hanlon’s class and froze when I entered. In the front row away from the door sat Rebecca Townsend. In my seat. I narrowed my eyes and wanted to remind her that she usually sat near the door with Marcus when Mr. Hanlon spoke.
“There’s a chair near the door,” he told me.
Of course there was a chair near the door. It was her spot. I turned and sat down hard, dropped my book bag on the floor and took off my jacket. This day could not get any worse.
I was so wrong.
Contact: elizabeth(dot)arroyo5(at)gmail.com
Title: Some Kind of Trouble
Genre: YA Contemporary
Entry #8
Pitch: After a drive-by shooting leaves Arianna with an unexpected boyfried, she finds that love alone won't save him from life on the streets.
2nd Line: I once chanted one hundred and three thousand times in one night for my mom to get better.
First 250 of 2nd chapter:
I awoke the next morning with David standing beside my bed, already dressed. “Where’s mom?”
“She’s at the clinic. What time is it?” I asked, still nestled under the covers.
“Seven.”
“Seven?” I jumped out of bed, got caught in the sheets and went sprawling to the floor. Shit. David laughed as I scampered to the bathroom. “Are you ready?” I asked him while brushing my teeth and pulling my hair in a tail. I had thirty minutes to drop him off and get my butt to school. I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Get my keys and turn on the car and come back inside.” I rinsed my mouth and ran to my room frantically searching for my school uniform, which I found where I had left it: on a chair near my bed. I grunted, threw it on and ran downstairs. It was seven-ten when I grabbed my jacket and got in my car, three minutes after that I realized I’d left David and went back for him. I had five minutes to make it to school after dropping him off.
The school parking lot was full and I managed to squeeze my car between a Honda, whose driver could care less about the lines on the pavement, and a minivan. Sliding out of my car, I ran inside.
I was three minutes late to Mr. Hanlon’s class and froze when I entered. In the front row away from the door sat Rebecca Townsend. In my seat. I narrowed my eyes and wanted to remind her that she usually sat near the door with Marcus when Mr. Hanlon spoke.
“There’s a chair near the door,” he told me.
Of course there was a chair near the door. It was her spot. I turned and sat down hard, dropped my book bag on the floor and took off my jacket. This day could not get any worse.
I was so wrong.
Revised Entry 9 Lydia Sharp
Entry #9
SOCIAL GRACES
YA Contemp
Contact:
lydiasharp4sff (at) yahoo (dot) com
Pitch:
At the beginning of senior year, Rocklyn's family moves from the city to the boondocks, forcing her to start a new life when her old one had finally gotten semi-sorta good. Now she must come out as a lesbian all over again, at a school that's more straight-laced than her Doc Marten boots. Rocklyn just wants to survive this year, but along the way she makes new friends, falls in love, and finds the strength to confront an old enemy who discovers her new stomping grounds.
Second line of 1st paragraph:
I prefer to walk, to relish every step of my final trek across town.
First 250 words of 2nd chapter:
Sunday, August 20, 1995
I pass my sister, Candy, on the way downstairs. She's all sweaty from her daily morning run, which never accomplishes anything. She refuses to accept that she'll always have a baby pooch.
"Hey, slut," I say.
"Hey, dyke."
This is about as affectionate as it gets between us. At least we acknowledged each other.
The kitchen smells like a typical Sunday morning--coffee, maple syrup, and bacon grease. Dad's sipping from a mug and reading the Plain Dealer. Mom's fussing over Candy's brat in the high chair, trying to get him to stop throwing Cheerios at the stove while she's cooking. I'm pretty sure he hasn't cut any teeth yet, so why she gave him Cheerios is a mystery.
But everything Mom does is a mystery, really.
My five year-old brother, Jeremy (Mom's "change of life" baby), explodes into smiles when he sees me. I ruff up his hair then sit across from him, grab a plate of bacon and ignore the rest of the spread.
Dad bends the corner of his newspaper down just long enough to say, "Good morning, Rocklyn."
Sure it is. "What're you so happy about?" I ask Jeremy.
"We're moving!" He thrusts both hands in the air like he just scored a touchdown, then immediately goes back to wolfing down his pancakes.
"Don't remind me."
"Ring, ring!" Jeremy mimes picking up a telephone. "Oh hi, Snow White. You're looking for Grumpy? Yeah, hang on." He hands me his invisible phone. "It's for you."
SOCIAL GRACES
YA Contemp
Contact:
lydiasharp4sff (at) yahoo (dot) com
Pitch:
At the beginning of senior year, Rocklyn's family moves from the city to the boondocks, forcing her to start a new life when her old one had finally gotten semi-sorta good. Now she must come out as a lesbian all over again, at a school that's more straight-laced than her Doc Marten boots. Rocklyn just wants to survive this year, but along the way she makes new friends, falls in love, and finds the strength to confront an old enemy who discovers her new stomping grounds.
Second line of 1st paragraph:
I prefer to walk, to relish every step of my final trek across town.
First 250 words of 2nd chapter:
Sunday, August 20, 1995
I pass my sister, Candy, on the way downstairs. She's all sweaty from her daily morning run, which never accomplishes anything. She refuses to accept that she'll always have a baby pooch.
"Hey, slut," I say.
"Hey, dyke."
This is about as affectionate as it gets between us. At least we acknowledged each other.
The kitchen smells like a typical Sunday morning--coffee, maple syrup, and bacon grease. Dad's sipping from a mug and reading the Plain Dealer. Mom's fussing over Candy's brat in the high chair, trying to get him to stop throwing Cheerios at the stove while she's cooking. I'm pretty sure he hasn't cut any teeth yet, so why she gave him Cheerios is a mystery.
But everything Mom does is a mystery, really.
My five year-old brother, Jeremy (Mom's "change of life" baby), explodes into smiles when he sees me. I ruff up his hair then sit across from him, grab a plate of bacon and ignore the rest of the spread.
Dad bends the corner of his newspaper down just long enough to say, "Good morning, Rocklyn."
Sure it is. "What're you so happy about?" I ask Jeremy.
"We're moving!" He thrusts both hands in the air like he just scored a touchdown, then immediately goes back to wolfing down his pancakes.
"Don't remind me."
"Ring, ring!" Jeremy mimes picking up a telephone. "Oh hi, Snow White. You're looking for Grumpy? Yeah, hang on." He hands me his invisible phone. "It's for you."
Revised Entry 10 Nora Coon
Title: Insulin Junkies (Entry #10)
Genre: YA contemporary
Contact: Nora Coon, nora.e.coon[AT]gmail[DOT]com
Pitch: Eva knows something’s wrong long before the doctor diagnoses her with diabetes - no seventeen-year-old wakes up to a wet the bed for the fourth time in as many days and thinks, “Yep, this is totally normal.” When her parents send her to diabetes camp, though, she discovers that surviving life as an insulin junkie will take a lot more than shots.
2nd Line: The door wouldn't lock, so I hauled the big metal trash can in front of it, hoping it’d keep some people from coming in, and stood there in nothing but my shirt, washing my underwear.
250 of Ch. 2: I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich: two tablespoons of jam, two tablespoons of peanut butter, two slices of bread. I wonder if I’ll think of all food in terms of carbohydrates for the rest of my life. I draw up my lunchtime insulin injection - just short-acting insulin, this time - and my hands sweat, my palms prickling, as I try to decide if I can do it myself. I hold the syringe like a pencil, which feels wrong, and then like a joint, which feels even stranger. Just stab your arm, I tell myself. Just do it. It doesn't hurt that much. What's wrong with you, just do it!
I can't. I even touch the tip of the needle to my skin, like maybe it will jump out of my hand and just inject me on its own, but I can't go further. "Mom," I say at last.
She raises her head a little. "What is it?" She's hoarse - how has she gone hoarse since I've been sitting here?
"Can you...?" I gesture with the syringe, and I see her flinch before she collects herself and holds out one mute hand.
I drag my chair over next to her, chair legs screeching on the floor, and give her the syringe. Mom starts to cry when she slides the needle into my skin, and for the first time all morning, I can't help being a little annoyed with her too.
Genre: YA contemporary
Contact: Nora Coon, nora.e.coon[AT]gmail[DOT]com
Pitch: Eva knows something’s wrong long before the doctor diagnoses her with diabetes - no seventeen-year-old wakes up to a wet the bed for the fourth time in as many days and thinks, “Yep, this is totally normal.” When her parents send her to diabetes camp, though, she discovers that surviving life as an insulin junkie will take a lot more than shots.
2nd Line: The door wouldn't lock, so I hauled the big metal trash can in front of it, hoping it’d keep some people from coming in, and stood there in nothing but my shirt, washing my underwear.
250 of Ch. 2: I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich: two tablespoons of jam, two tablespoons of peanut butter, two slices of bread. I wonder if I’ll think of all food in terms of carbohydrates for the rest of my life. I draw up my lunchtime insulin injection - just short-acting insulin, this time - and my hands sweat, my palms prickling, as I try to decide if I can do it myself. I hold the syringe like a pencil, which feels wrong, and then like a joint, which feels even stranger. Just stab your arm, I tell myself. Just do it. It doesn't hurt that much. What's wrong with you, just do it!
I can't. I even touch the tip of the needle to my skin, like maybe it will jump out of my hand and just inject me on its own, but I can't go further. "Mom," I say at last.
She raises her head a little. "What is it?" She's hoarse - how has she gone hoarse since I've been sitting here?
"Can you...?" I gesture with the syringe, and I see her flinch before she collects herself and holds out one mute hand.
I drag my chair over next to her, chair legs screeching on the floor, and give her the syringe. Mom starts to cry when she slides the needle into my skin, and for the first time all morning, I can't help being a little annoyed with her too.
Revised Entry 11 Susan Oloier
Title: OUTCAST
Genre: YA Contemporary
Contact: susanoloier(at)gmail(dot)com
Post #: 11
PITCH:
Always the compliant, Catholic school girl, Noelle grows tired of people’s hypocrisy. Her pious mother criticizes her; the popular group bullies her. With the help of her black-sheep aunt and a defiant, new classmate, Noelle seeks revenge. But vengeance comes with a price: Noelle risks friendship, first love, and self to get back at those who have wronged her.
2ND LINE OF 1ST PARAGRAPH:
I felt it in the desert breeze, heard it in the sounds of broad tailed hummingbirds and mourning doves, and stared at it in the bathroom mirror.
1ST 250 WORDS OF 2ND CHAPTER:
The ocotillos writhed and twisted out of the sandy, desert floor as dust devils curled and raced one another. The monsoon season proved a fraud, leaving the last of the autumn months dry and arid.
It was Sunday. Another Sunday of wiggling my way out of church. It became a ritual, a ceremony, and a game. I crept down the stairs with predatory stealth, slipping out the back door before my mother even realized I was awake. I escaped the house early enough to avoid 8:00 a.m. mass. My Reeboks beat a rhythm on the asphalt of Civic Center Boulevard. Sweat dampened my sports bra, pooled between my breasts.
As I ran, the September sun bled carmine and tangerine from its place in the eastern sky. The Arizona fever scorched the alien, oxide green of the golf courses to a raw sienna. Cumulous clouds, tethered to the air, taunted us. In the Midwest, people call this heat Indian summer. To us, it was a cool-down from the daunting summer temperatures of 120 degrees.
The beat of The Black Eyed Peas greeted me as I labored through the door, and I knew Becca had evaded church, too. She took advantage of every moment, every second, of our parents’ absence. She paraded around the living room, phone pressed to her ear. She spotted me and made a curt one-eighty.
“Oh my God! Tell me he did not say that.”
Her chats always revolved around some guy. The new one: Carl.
Genre: YA Contemporary
Contact: susanoloier(at)gmail(dot)com
Post #: 11
PITCH:
Always the compliant, Catholic school girl, Noelle grows tired of people’s hypocrisy. Her pious mother criticizes her; the popular group bullies her. With the help of her black-sheep aunt and a defiant, new classmate, Noelle seeks revenge. But vengeance comes with a price: Noelle risks friendship, first love, and self to get back at those who have wronged her.
2ND LINE OF 1ST PARAGRAPH:
I felt it in the desert breeze, heard it in the sounds of broad tailed hummingbirds and mourning doves, and stared at it in the bathroom mirror.
1ST 250 WORDS OF 2ND CHAPTER:
The ocotillos writhed and twisted out of the sandy, desert floor as dust devils curled and raced one another. The monsoon season proved a fraud, leaving the last of the autumn months dry and arid.
It was Sunday. Another Sunday of wiggling my way out of church. It became a ritual, a ceremony, and a game. I crept down the stairs with predatory stealth, slipping out the back door before my mother even realized I was awake. I escaped the house early enough to avoid 8:00 a.m. mass. My Reeboks beat a rhythm on the asphalt of Civic Center Boulevard. Sweat dampened my sports bra, pooled between my breasts.
As I ran, the September sun bled carmine and tangerine from its place in the eastern sky. The Arizona fever scorched the alien, oxide green of the golf courses to a raw sienna. Cumulous clouds, tethered to the air, taunted us. In the Midwest, people call this heat Indian summer. To us, it was a cool-down from the daunting summer temperatures of 120 degrees.
The beat of The Black Eyed Peas greeted me as I labored through the door, and I knew Becca had evaded church, too. She took advantage of every moment, every second, of our parents’ absence. She paraded around the living room, phone pressed to her ear. She spotted me and made a curt one-eighty.
“Oh my God! Tell me he did not say that.”
Her chats always revolved around some guy. The new one: Carl.
Revised Entry 12 A.E. Martin
Name: A.E. Martin
Contact: aje237@yahoo.com
Title: Graveyard Phoenix
Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy
Entry: 12
Pitch:
When necromancer Blaise Evarin unexplainably starts resurrecting people who get four days of life again, she uses her ability to help criminal trials while dealing with severe political and religious criticism. Things become more complicated when several of her recent resurrections remain alive, go berserk, and embark on murderous rampages. And that's only problem number one.
Second line of first paragraph:
I took the container of blood from the sobbing woman, wondering why she’d even picked it up.
First 250 of second chapter:
After Gideon seemed stable enough with the resurrection, I called his family over and they unleashed their joy on him. I stepped back to collect the empty blood container, and watched as the gravediggers covered the open grave with a tarp. Since Gideon would be going back down in a few days, it didn't make sense to fill it up again.
His family was doing a lot of hugging and crying, but Gideon seemed to be in shock, because he was holding himself stiffly and avoiding eye contact with them. Everyone came back acting differently. Some were back to themselves in a snap, while others screamed and wailed for an hour before they could be made to understand what was going on. Gideon seemed to be an internal, confused screamer.
Once again, watching someone who'd been dead not ten minutes ago walking, breathing, and talking, raised all the frustrating questions I had about how I, of all people, had the power to do this. Raising zombies was one thing, but I was still coming to terms with the fact that I could raise living people. Not knowing where the power came from or why, and having to watch the people I brought back die again four days later, didn’t make anything easier.
Stop thinking so damn much, I said to myself. At least the reasons I do this are justified, even if not everyone thinks so. I walked over to the Tillars.
“You should take Gideon home now,” I said.
Contact: aje237@yahoo.com
Title: Graveyard Phoenix
Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy
Entry: 12
Pitch:
When necromancer Blaise Evarin unexplainably starts resurrecting people who get four days of life again, she uses her ability to help criminal trials while dealing with severe political and religious criticism. Things become more complicated when several of her recent resurrections remain alive, go berserk, and embark on murderous rampages. And that's only problem number one.
Second line of first paragraph:
I took the container of blood from the sobbing woman, wondering why she’d even picked it up.
First 250 of second chapter:
After Gideon seemed stable enough with the resurrection, I called his family over and they unleashed their joy on him. I stepped back to collect the empty blood container, and watched as the gravediggers covered the open grave with a tarp. Since Gideon would be going back down in a few days, it didn't make sense to fill it up again.
His family was doing a lot of hugging and crying, but Gideon seemed to be in shock, because he was holding himself stiffly and avoiding eye contact with them. Everyone came back acting differently. Some were back to themselves in a snap, while others screamed and wailed for an hour before they could be made to understand what was going on. Gideon seemed to be an internal, confused screamer.
Once again, watching someone who'd been dead not ten minutes ago walking, breathing, and talking, raised all the frustrating questions I had about how I, of all people, had the power to do this. Raising zombies was one thing, but I was still coming to terms with the fact that I could raise living people. Not knowing where the power came from or why, and having to watch the people I brought back die again four days later, didn’t make anything easier.
Stop thinking so damn much, I said to myself. At least the reasons I do this are justified, even if not everyone thinks so. I walked over to the Tillars.
“You should take Gideon home now,” I said.
Revised Entry 13 Erin Schneider
Name: Erin L. Schneider
Contact: elschneider@hotmail.com
Title: THE LUCKY FEW
Genre: YA Contemporary Thriller
Post #: Lucky #13
1) Pitch:
For over six hundred years, 99.9% of the world’s most powerful and influential leaders, scientists, CEOs - and yes, even most of Hollywood’s elite – successfully achieved greatness because of one thing…they were chosen. When a mysterious invitation shows up at sixteen-year-old Blakely Sullivan’s door, she can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten herself into now. Little does she know, she’s the next in line.
2) The second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
Those were the only words in perfect, jet-black calligraphy that crossed the formal white parchment of the invitation.
3) The first 250 words of your second chapter:
"First things first, I'm sure you're all wondering who I am. My name is Thaddeus Vaughan, but please, call me Thad; I’m the Dean here at Oren Preparatory.” He shifted slightly in his seat as he rested his hands along the surface of the table. “In order for us all to get to know one another, why don't we go around the table, introduce ourselves, and tell everyone one interesting fact, shall we?" He motioned to the boy sitting to his left, who sat across from me.
"Reid Whittley, nice to meet you all. And one thing about me? I’ve been riding and racing motorcycles since the age of four." He said it with such a matter-of-fact tone as he nodded at everyone around the room, until his frost blue eyes came to rest on mine. Unlike the glare he'd given me earlier, this time his lips curled up into a devilish grin as he winked my way; the motion lightning fast, I wasn't sure if anyone else around me noticed. I found myself blushing – the twinge of déjà vu I’d seen that wink before, flittered at the back of my mind - as I turned my gaze to the girl sitting next to him.
"Hello, my name is Naomi Forbes and yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you all. Let’s see, one thing about me is that I entered and won the Miss California Teen USA pageant last year." She smiled a cheesy, politician-style grin at everyone around the table, but it faded as it got to me.
Contact: elschneider@hotmail.com
Title: THE LUCKY FEW
Genre: YA Contemporary Thriller
Post #: Lucky #13
1) Pitch:
For over six hundred years, 99.9% of the world’s most powerful and influential leaders, scientists, CEOs - and yes, even most of Hollywood’s elite – successfully achieved greatness because of one thing…they were chosen. When a mysterious invitation shows up at sixteen-year-old Blakely Sullivan’s door, she can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten herself into now. Little does she know, she’s the next in line.
2) The second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
Those were the only words in perfect, jet-black calligraphy that crossed the formal white parchment of the invitation.
3) The first 250 words of your second chapter:
"First things first, I'm sure you're all wondering who I am. My name is Thaddeus Vaughan, but please, call me Thad; I’m the Dean here at Oren Preparatory.” He shifted slightly in his seat as he rested his hands along the surface of the table. “In order for us all to get to know one another, why don't we go around the table, introduce ourselves, and tell everyone one interesting fact, shall we?" He motioned to the boy sitting to his left, who sat across from me.
"Reid Whittley, nice to meet you all. And one thing about me? I’ve been riding and racing motorcycles since the age of four." He said it with such a matter-of-fact tone as he nodded at everyone around the room, until his frost blue eyes came to rest on mine. Unlike the glare he'd given me earlier, this time his lips curled up into a devilish grin as he winked my way; the motion lightning fast, I wasn't sure if anyone else around me noticed. I found myself blushing – the twinge of déjà vu I’d seen that wink before, flittered at the back of my mind - as I turned my gaze to the girl sitting next to him.
"Hello, my name is Naomi Forbes and yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you all. Let’s see, one thing about me is that I entered and won the Miss California Teen USA pageant last year." She smiled a cheesy, politician-style grin at everyone around the table, but it faded as it got to me.
Revised Entry 14 Carol Anne
Title: The Picasso Project
Genre: YA Contemporary
My name and email: Carol Anne Shaw, shawshack(at)shaw(dot)ca
Pitch: The world hasn’t been easy for 17-year old Eddie DuMont. A few years ago, his abusive father vanished, and his mother succumbed to a nervous breakdown soon afterwards. Any dreams for art school were quickly forgotten in Eddie's struggle to survive. The rules are simple: Lay low, trust no one, and make sure you have plenty of Duct tape on hand. But will Eddie's passion for art provide a way out for him and his kid sister, Maya, or will it derail them for good?
2nd line: I remember the stupidest things about that day, like the way the Beefaroni in the cracked enamel saucepan bubbled over the sides and messed up the stove.
250 of 2nd chap:
“Why do I have to wear this stupid coat, anyway?” my sister asks. She’s at that age where she thinks it’s cool to walk around in t-shirts, getting soaked in the pouring rain.
"Because you do," I tell her, "so don't argue."
"Jeez Eddie, you're so uptight!"
I hold up the green coat for her to put on and she thrusts her arms angrily into the sleeves. As coats go, it's not bad. Almost new, down-filled with pockets and zippers everywhere, and the best part was that it was eight bucks. Some days you just get lucky.
"Just wear the damn coat, Maya."
She flips me the bird and begins to walk off toward the trees.
"Wait," I call after her. "You forgot your lunch."
I push the plastic grocery bag into her hands and she looks at it hopefully, like by some miracle there’s going to be a massive corned beef on rye or a couple of super-sized brownies inside it. Right.
"Gross. Bran muffins again? They're totally stale, Eddie, and the banana is seriously rotten. No way am I going to eat that!"
"Listen, your ass is scrawny enough as it is,” I tell her. “Eat something.”
Maya is really starting to piss me off. Lately, she's always in a bad mood. Maybe it's girl stuff. She just turned fourteen so I guess all that psycho hormonal crap is probably going on, not that she'd ever tell me.
Genre: YA Contemporary
My name and email: Carol Anne Shaw, shawshack(at)shaw(dot)ca
Pitch: The world hasn’t been easy for 17-year old Eddie DuMont. A few years ago, his abusive father vanished, and his mother succumbed to a nervous breakdown soon afterwards. Any dreams for art school were quickly forgotten in Eddie's struggle to survive. The rules are simple: Lay low, trust no one, and make sure you have plenty of Duct tape on hand. But will Eddie's passion for art provide a way out for him and his kid sister, Maya, or will it derail them for good?
2nd line: I remember the stupidest things about that day, like the way the Beefaroni in the cracked enamel saucepan bubbled over the sides and messed up the stove.
250 of 2nd chap:
“Why do I have to wear this stupid coat, anyway?” my sister asks. She’s at that age where she thinks it’s cool to walk around in t-shirts, getting soaked in the pouring rain.
"Because you do," I tell her, "so don't argue."
"Jeez Eddie, you're so uptight!"
I hold up the green coat for her to put on and she thrusts her arms angrily into the sleeves. As coats go, it's not bad. Almost new, down-filled with pockets and zippers everywhere, and the best part was that it was eight bucks. Some days you just get lucky.
"Just wear the damn coat, Maya."
She flips me the bird and begins to walk off toward the trees.
"Wait," I call after her. "You forgot your lunch."
I push the plastic grocery bag into her hands and she looks at it hopefully, like by some miracle there’s going to be a massive corned beef on rye or a couple of super-sized brownies inside it. Right.
"Gross. Bran muffins again? They're totally stale, Eddie, and the banana is seriously rotten. No way am I going to eat that!"
"Listen, your ass is scrawny enough as it is,” I tell her. “Eat something.”
Maya is really starting to piss me off. Lately, she's always in a bad mood. Maybe it's girl stuff. She just turned fourteen so I guess all that psycho hormonal crap is probably going on, not that she'd ever tell me.
Revised Entry 15 A.J. Spindle
Name: A. J. Spindle
Entry #15
Title: The Bridge Between Two Minds
Genre: YA
Contact: ajspindle(at)yahoo(dot)com
Pitch: Seventeen-year-old Alice Reid can handle pain, she’s been trained to. But training isn’t enough when her best friend, Daniel Cole, takes a bullet for her. Being a student at KAT was supposed to be like a spy movie- a place where they train teens to work for the CIA. Now she has to deal with her emotions and find his killer before the killer finds her.
2nd line: If I hadn’t tripped, he’d still be here.
First 250 of 2nd Chapter:
Beep, beep, whir. Beep, beep, whir.
Low noises, white lights. I felt groggy and confused, my head heavier than normal. It took me a minute to realize I was dressed in a hospital gown, stretched out on a bed. Without moving I could feel the IV taped to my arm and shuddered, sending radiating waves of pain up my back. I sucked in a breath. I hate needles. I didn’t want to open my eyes with the bright lights over me, but someone was holding my hand. It was rough and calloused. I peeked from under my eyelids to find Dan sitting in the chair next to my bed.
“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked me. I stared at him, it was all I could do.
“Dan?” It was really him sitting next to me. Breathing. Alive. I must be dreaming.
“Yes, Alice?” he asked. “What do you need?”
“You’re not dead,” I said evenly. My voice was soft like a whisper but I knew he could hear me.
“Neither are you, thankfully.” He tried to smile. Had he been crying? His face betrayed no emotion, but behind his eyes I thought I saw something.
“I’m not dead?” I asked, my voice thick with uncertainty. I didn’t feel dead, but then again I had no idea what “dead” felt like.
“No,” he said and then his smile faltered. “Why did you take the bike?”
The bike. His bike that I had ruined in the crash.
Entry #15
Title: The Bridge Between Two Minds
Genre: YA
Contact: ajspindle(at)yahoo(dot)com
Pitch: Seventeen-year-old Alice Reid can handle pain, she’s been trained to. But training isn’t enough when her best friend, Daniel Cole, takes a bullet for her. Being a student at KAT was supposed to be like a spy movie- a place where they train teens to work for the CIA. Now she has to deal with her emotions and find his killer before the killer finds her.
2nd line: If I hadn’t tripped, he’d still be here.
First 250 of 2nd Chapter:
Beep, beep, whir. Beep, beep, whir.
Low noises, white lights. I felt groggy and confused, my head heavier than normal. It took me a minute to realize I was dressed in a hospital gown, stretched out on a bed. Without moving I could feel the IV taped to my arm and shuddered, sending radiating waves of pain up my back. I sucked in a breath. I hate needles. I didn’t want to open my eyes with the bright lights over me, but someone was holding my hand. It was rough and calloused. I peeked from under my eyelids to find Dan sitting in the chair next to my bed.
“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked me. I stared at him, it was all I could do.
“Dan?” It was really him sitting next to me. Breathing. Alive. I must be dreaming.
“Yes, Alice?” he asked. “What do you need?”
“You’re not dead,” I said evenly. My voice was soft like a whisper but I knew he could hear me.
“Neither are you, thankfully.” He tried to smile. Had he been crying? His face betrayed no emotion, but behind his eyes I thought I saw something.
“I’m not dead?” I asked, my voice thick with uncertainty. I didn’t feel dead, but then again I had no idea what “dead” felt like.
“No,” he said and then his smile faltered. “Why did you take the bike?”
The bike. His bike that I had ruined in the crash.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Revision Contest Update
Time for comments is now closed on the fifteen entries.
Please take your entry and make it shine then place in the comment section under this post.
Please include your name, contact info, and your post number.
You have until July 25th, then Natalie gets to take a gander at them.
Good luck!!
Update: There seems to be some confusion, so please let me elaborate and hopefully this will clear up the confusion. If there are any other questions, please do not hesitate to ask.
This is a revision contest.
Fifteen entries out of the 48 were chosen.
The fifteen chosen entries were posted where fellow writers can comment on the entries until today, July 18th. At this time, please use the comments to help tighten, correct, and or change the entries---or if it is perfect, leave it alone.
When you got your entry shining like a brand new penny, please post in the comment section below by July 25th. Please include your name, contact information, title and genre, and your post number.
I will repost the newly revised entry and Natalie will then judge and award super fab prizes.
The prizes are:
1st prize: A query critique and a first chapter critique
2nd prize: The first five pages and a query critique
3rd prize: A B&N gift card
If you have any other questions, please ask.
GOOD LUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Please take your entry and make it shine then place in the comment section under this post.
Please include your name, contact info, and your post number.
You have until July 25th, then Natalie gets to take a gander at them.
Good luck!!
Update: There seems to be some confusion, so please let me elaborate and hopefully this will clear up the confusion. If there are any other questions, please do not hesitate to ask.
This is a revision contest.
Fifteen entries out of the 48 were chosen.
The fifteen chosen entries were posted where fellow writers can comment on the entries until today, July 18th. At this time, please use the comments to help tighten, correct, and or change the entries---or if it is perfect, leave it alone.
When you got your entry shining like a brand new penny, please post in the comment section below by July 25th. Please include your name, contact information, title and genre, and your post number.
I will repost the newly revised entry and Natalie will then judge and award super fab prizes.
The prizes are:
1st prize: A query critique and a first chapter critique
2nd prize: The first five pages and a query critique
3rd prize: A B&N gift card
If you have any other questions, please ask.
GOOD LUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Revision Contest Entries
First, I want to thank Natalie Fischer for agreeing to do this. Please leave comments thanking her for her time.
And...
I want to thank all of you for participating and for following me. I'm planning on having more contests and interviews for you all to enjoy.
As you may or may not know, I'm all for contests. It is an awesome way to meet people and to get parts of your manuscripts read and feedback. AND, most contests have awesome prizes such as this one with a query and 1st chapter critique.
So...now off to the entries. I put all the names in the sorting hat, and my lovely assistant (okay, my son) pulled out the names of fifteen lucky people. Cuz...you know...I'm high tech like that.
As you can see, all the entries are now posted below. If I made a mistake, please be sure to let me know so that I can correct it.
Please follow the rules.
1) If your name was drawn and your entry is posted below, then feedback must be left for three entries. Of course, I invite everyone who wishes to leave comments. The more feedback one receives the better--writers helping writers and all that.
2) Please make the comments helpful without being rude.
3) If someone has a lot of comments, then please select another so that everyone can benefit. My hope is that everyone has at least three comments or more.
4) Comments will end July 18th. Then time for revisions if needed. Please check back on the 18th for further instructions.
Good luck!!
And...
I want to thank all of you for participating and for following me. I'm planning on having more contests and interviews for you all to enjoy.
As you may or may not know, I'm all for contests. It is an awesome way to meet people and to get parts of your manuscripts read and feedback. AND, most contests have awesome prizes such as this one with a query and 1st chapter critique.
So...now off to the entries. I put all the names in the sorting hat, and my lovely assistant (okay, my son) pulled out the names of fifteen lucky people. Cuz...you know...I'm high tech like that.
As you can see, all the entries are now posted below. If I made a mistake, please be sure to let me know so that I can correct it.
Please follow the rules.
1) If your name was drawn and your entry is posted below, then feedback must be left for three entries. Of course, I invite everyone who wishes to leave comments. The more feedback one receives the better--writers helping writers and all that.
2) Please make the comments helpful without being rude.
3) If someone has a lot of comments, then please select another so that everyone can benefit. My hope is that everyone has at least three comments or more.
4) Comments will end July 18th. Then time for revisions if needed. Please check back on the 18th for further instructions.
Good luck!!
Entry 1 ashleydmaker
Title: Under the Trees
Genre: YA Historical Fantasy Romance
Contact: ashleydmaker@yahoo.com
Short pitch: Desperate to escape an abusive arranged marriage, Princess Araya flees her father’s kingdom only to find herself at the mercy of Prince Thoredmund, the neighboring kingdom’s crown prince. After deciding to help Araya by hiding her in a forest near the castle, Thor has to cover their tracks with secrecy and lies. It isn’t long before the two royals start falling for each other, but their tentative new love is put on the line when Araya’s father and her betrothed show up, accusing Thor of kidnapping and demanding the return of their princess.
Second line of first paragraph of 1st chapter: Despite my burning muscles and the sweat rolling into my eyes, I could not let my horse slow down as we cleared fallen logs and ducked under branches.
First 250 words of second chapter: The hunting party intended to leave in the afternoon. After stopping and hearing requests and complaints in the villages along the way, we planned to set up camp under the yellow trees of the Golden Woods. Ten of my best men, all part of my signet guard, were to accompany me, in case we ran into trouble. Father feared we might.
“It has been too long since Darrell has pulled one of his stunts,” he said. “Expect trouble and be prepared. No harm can come from that.”
“My men are always prepared,” I replied. “They’re trained to anticipate such things as you say.”
I turned away to finish tying off my bag of supplies.
“Thor--” Father grasped my upper arm. “If you come across them, don’t underestimate them. Be careful. I fear Darrell is up to something. I don’t want to give him reason to cross the line.”
His words sobered me, but they were not unexpected. The feud between King Cyric, my father, and King Darrell of Rowlst was well known and had only worsened since the engagement between my sister and Darrell’s son had fallen apart. They fought over resources: the Golden Woods. The great woods were the most significant source of lumber for either kingdom, and the best game always came out of it. Darrell’s men frequently crossed the boundary from his side to ours, meaning we had to constantly patrol, making sure no one pushed the line.
Still, I gave him my promise before we set off.
Genre: YA Historical Fantasy Romance
Contact: ashleydmaker@yahoo.com
Short pitch: Desperate to escape an abusive arranged marriage, Princess Araya flees her father’s kingdom only to find herself at the mercy of Prince Thoredmund, the neighboring kingdom’s crown prince. After deciding to help Araya by hiding her in a forest near the castle, Thor has to cover their tracks with secrecy and lies. It isn’t long before the two royals start falling for each other, but their tentative new love is put on the line when Araya’s father and her betrothed show up, accusing Thor of kidnapping and demanding the return of their princess.
Second line of first paragraph of 1st chapter: Despite my burning muscles and the sweat rolling into my eyes, I could not let my horse slow down as we cleared fallen logs and ducked under branches.
First 250 words of second chapter: The hunting party intended to leave in the afternoon. After stopping and hearing requests and complaints in the villages along the way, we planned to set up camp under the yellow trees of the Golden Woods. Ten of my best men, all part of my signet guard, were to accompany me, in case we ran into trouble. Father feared we might.
“It has been too long since Darrell has pulled one of his stunts,” he said. “Expect trouble and be prepared. No harm can come from that.”
“My men are always prepared,” I replied. “They’re trained to anticipate such things as you say.”
I turned away to finish tying off my bag of supplies.
“Thor--” Father grasped my upper arm. “If you come across them, don’t underestimate them. Be careful. I fear Darrell is up to something. I don’t want to give him reason to cross the line.”
His words sobered me, but they were not unexpected. The feud between King Cyric, my father, and King Darrell of Rowlst was well known and had only worsened since the engagement between my sister and Darrell’s son had fallen apart. They fought over resources: the Golden Woods. The great woods were the most significant source of lumber for either kingdom, and the best game always came out of it. Darrell’s men frequently crossed the boundary from his side to ours, meaning we had to constantly patrol, making sure no one pushed the line.
Still, I gave him my promise before we set off.
Entry 2 mshatch
Title and genre: The Way to Dendara/YA fantasy
Contact: marcy@tidewater.net
Pitch: Lucy, a young woman with bad dreams and a tragic past, inherits a kingdom. But it isn't the nice kingdom with the fairies and elves and wood sprites. It's the other one.
Second line, first paragraph: No return address, no postage, not even any tape to keep the paper from being torn.
First 250, second chapter: She saw it as soon as she woke. The creature. The thing that had stolen her away, standing by the only door, waiting, watching her with a cat’s yellow eyes. She looked around, noting the ornate bed and heavy velvet drapes, pulled back and tied.
This was not her room.
Dreaming, she thought, still dreaming. She closed her eyes and told herself to wake up, but when she opened her eyes again everything was just the same.
The room was immense, the size of her flat, and as richly appointed as the bed. The decor was French, all rococo and curved lines, plush upholstery in deep, vibrant colors. She could smell incense burning.
The creature hadn’t moved, still stood by the tall wooden door, watching her with its amber eyes. She had thought at first it was some horribly deformed person. She had hoped. But now she saw there could be no doubt about its lack of humanity. It was not a person at all. No person she’d ever seen had ridges or scars so perfectly made. No person was ever so tall or had hands like claws and no one wore leather armor except in books or movies.
She shuddered. Not real, she told herself. Couldn’t be. A dream. She would simply get up and leave, and this dream would slip into another from which she could awake.
Contact: marcy@tidewater.net
Pitch: Lucy, a young woman with bad dreams and a tragic past, inherits a kingdom. But it isn't the nice kingdom with the fairies and elves and wood sprites. It's the other one.
Second line, first paragraph: No return address, no postage, not even any tape to keep the paper from being torn.
First 250, second chapter: She saw it as soon as she woke. The creature. The thing that had stolen her away, standing by the only door, waiting, watching her with a cat’s yellow eyes. She looked around, noting the ornate bed and heavy velvet drapes, pulled back and tied.
This was not her room.
Dreaming, she thought, still dreaming. She closed her eyes and told herself to wake up, but when she opened her eyes again everything was just the same.
The room was immense, the size of her flat, and as richly appointed as the bed. The decor was French, all rococo and curved lines, plush upholstery in deep, vibrant colors. She could smell incense burning.
The creature hadn’t moved, still stood by the tall wooden door, watching her with its amber eyes. She had thought at first it was some horribly deformed person. She had hoped. But now she saw there could be no doubt about its lack of humanity. It was not a person at all. No person she’d ever seen had ridges or scars so perfectly made. No person was ever so tall or had hands like claws and no one wore leather armor except in books or movies.
She shuddered. Not real, she told herself. Couldn’t be. A dream. She would simply get up and leave, and this dream would slip into another from which she could awake.
Entry 3 Artemis Grey
Title: Thornbriar
Genre: YA Fantasy Retelling
My Name: Artemis Grey
Email: Greyvaledesigns(at)gmail(dot)com
Pitch:
Most Ladies get china sets for their wedding. Beauty got a Beast with multiple personalities and a cursed magic kingdom nobody believed in.
Second Line:
Instead, the black shaft of the arrow passed through her ruby curls as she staggered sideways.
First 250 of Second Chapter:
Beauty spent the duration of the remainder of her journey sequestered in the shadows of Liivan’s coach. The Senior merchant attended her for an evening meal and for breakfast the following morning but otherwise let her be. She did not again ask about the possibly bestial Woodlord. Part of her truly wanted to, for would it not be better to know of what she faced? But then, in a way, it didn’t matter. She would be marrying him regardless.
It was much easier to uphold her fierce determination and bold resolve within the shelter of the coach. The peculiar way in which the Altheans had moved around her made all the more sense now. They had seen from the moment she’d been introduced that she did not fully understand her own situation.
Her cheeks burned to think of it but when she spoke to Liivan, it was with easy elegance and lovely smiles. The strange people of Althea might think her a simpering, foolish maiden, but Beauty would make the most splendid Queen they could have ever imagined. Her beauty had brought her this far, it would serve her yet.
Selene did not have the same spine on the matter. Of course, Selene was plain, in manner more than feature. Her demeanor only dimmed what would have else wise been a comely enough face. Beauty had no patience for the quailing of her handmaiden and might have left her standing beside the roadway if it wouldn’t have caused talk later.
Genre: YA Fantasy Retelling
My Name: Artemis Grey
Email: Greyvaledesigns(at)gmail(dot)com
Pitch:
Most Ladies get china sets for their wedding. Beauty got a Beast with multiple personalities and a cursed magic kingdom nobody believed in.
Second Line:
Instead, the black shaft of the arrow passed through her ruby curls as she staggered sideways.
First 250 of Second Chapter:
Beauty spent the duration of the remainder of her journey sequestered in the shadows of Liivan’s coach. The Senior merchant attended her for an evening meal and for breakfast the following morning but otherwise let her be. She did not again ask about the possibly bestial Woodlord. Part of her truly wanted to, for would it not be better to know of what she faced? But then, in a way, it didn’t matter. She would be marrying him regardless.
It was much easier to uphold her fierce determination and bold resolve within the shelter of the coach. The peculiar way in which the Altheans had moved around her made all the more sense now. They had seen from the moment she’d been introduced that she did not fully understand her own situation.
Her cheeks burned to think of it but when she spoke to Liivan, it was with easy elegance and lovely smiles. The strange people of Althea might think her a simpering, foolish maiden, but Beauty would make the most splendid Queen they could have ever imagined. Her beauty had brought her this far, it would serve her yet.
Selene did not have the same spine on the matter. Of course, Selene was plain, in manner more than feature. Her demeanor only dimmed what would have else wise been a comely enough face. Beauty had no patience for the quailing of her handmaiden and might have left her standing beside the roadway if it wouldn’t have caused talk later.
Entry 4 Sherry Auger
title: A June Snowstorm in Maine
genre: chapter book
contact: ricksgalsherry@msn.com
pitch:
Abigail sets out to save a local mom and pop grocery store destined to become a school bus turn-around. The once hated store that doesn't sell junk food has become a store she couldn't live without.
2nd line 1st paragraph 1st chapter
Yes, the store really is called Mr. Pickle's!
1st 250 words 2nd chapter
But now, on the way to Mr. Pickle’s store with Mom, I don’t understand how I ever survived without Mrs. Pickle’s whole-wheat carrot and pineapple muffins, or the heavenly zucchini bread she makes. When we arrived at Mr. Pickle’s he greets us like he always does.
“Hello! Hello Mrs. Snoot, Miss Snoot. How are you on this fine spring day?”
Of course, he doesn’t always say ‘spring.’ He’ll use whatever season it happens to be. Just thought I should point that out.
“We’re just fine, Mr. Pickle. How are you and Mrs. Pickle doing?” asks Mom, handing Mr. Pickle her grocery list. Mr. Pickle always insists on getting our groceries himself. He’s nice that way.
“Well,” begins Mr. Pickle. “We would be much better if we didn’t have to close our store by the tenth of June.”
“What!” I yell. “Close your store? You’ve been here forever. Not that you’re old or anything, but for as long as I can remember, and Mom can remember, and anyone I know can remember! You can’t do it. What would you do? Where would you go? Where would we buy our groceries?”
“Hush now Abigail,” Mom says. “Give Mr. Pickle a chance to explain before you pressure him with all your questions.”
“Sorry Mr. Pickle. Sorry Mom,” I say, hopping from one foot to the other impatiently.
“That’s okay dear,” says Mr. Pickle handing me a crispy and chewy oatmeal cookie. “It’s the highway’s fault really. Someone has decided that another school bus turn-around is needed and it’s being put here. There are more suitable places, but you know how those folks can be.
genre: chapter book
contact: ricksgalsherry@msn.com
pitch:
Abigail sets out to save a local mom and pop grocery store destined to become a school bus turn-around. The once hated store that doesn't sell junk food has become a store she couldn't live without.
2nd line 1st paragraph 1st chapter
Yes, the store really is called Mr. Pickle's!
1st 250 words 2nd chapter
But now, on the way to Mr. Pickle’s store with Mom, I don’t understand how I ever survived without Mrs. Pickle’s whole-wheat carrot and pineapple muffins, or the heavenly zucchini bread she makes. When we arrived at Mr. Pickle’s he greets us like he always does.
“Hello! Hello Mrs. Snoot, Miss Snoot. How are you on this fine spring day?”
Of course, he doesn’t always say ‘spring.’ He’ll use whatever season it happens to be. Just thought I should point that out.
“We’re just fine, Mr. Pickle. How are you and Mrs. Pickle doing?” asks Mom, handing Mr. Pickle her grocery list. Mr. Pickle always insists on getting our groceries himself. He’s nice that way.
“Well,” begins Mr. Pickle. “We would be much better if we didn’t have to close our store by the tenth of June.”
“What!” I yell. “Close your store? You’ve been here forever. Not that you’re old or anything, but for as long as I can remember, and Mom can remember, and anyone I know can remember! You can’t do it. What would you do? Where would you go? Where would we buy our groceries?”
“Hush now Abigail,” Mom says. “Give Mr. Pickle a chance to explain before you pressure him with all your questions.”
“Sorry Mr. Pickle. Sorry Mom,” I say, hopping from one foot to the other impatiently.
“That’s okay dear,” says Mr. Pickle handing me a crispy and chewy oatmeal cookie. “It’s the highway’s fault really. Someone has decided that another school bus turn-around is needed and it’s being put here. There are more suitable places, but you know how those folks can be.
Entry 5 Lori M Lee
Title: Soul Without a Boy
Genre: YA urban fantasy
Contact: leemai82 at gmail dot com
Pitch:
When 17-year-old London Howell inadvertently "creates" a girl, drawing the attention of the city's ruling magus family, he must decide if the answers to newly raised questions about himself and his family are worth the price of the girl's soul.
--
Second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
It was crouched against the wooden post of a neighbor's mailbox, little more than a shadow with large-knuckled fingers that raked at empty air.
--
First 250 words of your second chapter:
The boy with her—Asian, with dark hair braided back into cornrows—gave Amun a cursory glance before addressing London. "What House are you from?"
London wasn't about to tell them where he lived. He pointed over his shoulder.
The girl with the ponytail laughed.
"What's the name of your House?" Cornrows asked, his words edged with impatience now.
"My house's name?" London repeated, confused. "Can't say we've ever named it." At the boy's tightening jaw, he offered, "Harold?"
"You think you're funny?" he asked, voice rising.
London didn't think so, but that didn't stop him from trying. Humor was a tool, an ice breaker. Or maybe an ice pick, more exact, a way to direct a conversation from topics that were either uncomfortable or too personal.
"Or maybe you're just stupid," Cornrows said. He reminded London of the football players at school—too much competition, not enough anger management. Their animosity was more amusing than anything else.
Genre: YA urban fantasy
Contact: leemai82 at gmail dot com
Pitch:
When 17-year-old London Howell inadvertently "creates" a girl, drawing the attention of the city's ruling magus family, he must decide if the answers to newly raised questions about himself and his family are worth the price of the girl's soul.
--
Second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
It was crouched against the wooden post of a neighbor's mailbox, little more than a shadow with large-knuckled fingers that raked at empty air.
--
First 250 words of your second chapter:
The boy with her—Asian, with dark hair braided back into cornrows—gave Amun a cursory glance before addressing London. "What House are you from?"
London wasn't about to tell them where he lived. He pointed over his shoulder.
The girl with the ponytail laughed.
"What's the name of your House?" Cornrows asked, his words edged with impatience now.
"My house's name?" London repeated, confused. "Can't say we've ever named it." At the boy's tightening jaw, he offered, "Harold?"
"You think you're funny?" he asked, voice rising.
London didn't think so, but that didn't stop him from trying. Humor was a tool, an ice breaker. Or maybe an ice pick, more exact, a way to direct a conversation from topics that were either uncomfortable or too personal.
"Or maybe you're just stupid," Cornrows said. He reminded London of the football players at school—too much competition, not enough anger management. Their animosity was more amusing than anything else.
Entry 6 Bethany
Title: MARTYR
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Contact: Bethany Ray
PITCH: When she is thrust unwillingly into a deadly feud between politics and the mafia, all Evelyn wants to do is save the Senator's daughter. In order to do that, she has to be willing to go on the offensive, sacrificing her own safety - and possibly her own life.
SECOND SENTENCE OF FIRST CHAPTER: "You know ignoring my dad isn't going to help. He'll just send the secret service after you."
FIRST 250 OF SECOND CHAPTER:
The sun shining through my living room windows woke me up a week later much earlier than normal. The blackout curtains in my own bedroom let me sleep in as late as I wanted on the weekends, something Chloe was probably enjoying very much.
Already annoyed with waking up on my couch in a house my money was paying for; my body flexed and stretched the kinks and tightness. The white leather couch was aesthetically pleasing, especially with the cream colored carpeting and the bright green walls of living room. It wasn’t, however, comfortable enough to sleep on.
Perturbed and in need of more sleep, my hand was already on the knob to my bedroom door when rustling came from inside. Not wanting to walk in on my guest, I stood in front of the door assuming she would emerge shortly and let me have my room. Instead, after a few moments the sound of the showering from my master bathroom sounded.
Wrapping the quilt from the couch tighter around my shoulders, I opted for coffee instead of my own shower and clean clothes. It was only the first day of my new living arrangement, and already I was missing Amber. While she might have been a bitch and a little bit crazy, she at least knew how much I loved sleeping in my own bed and taking a shower first thing in the morning.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her furniture would be coming soon. The semester started even sooner. The more than modest salary coming in was enough to make me grin and bear it.
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Contact: Bethany Ray
PITCH: When she is thrust unwillingly into a deadly feud between politics and the mafia, all Evelyn wants to do is save the Senator's daughter. In order to do that, she has to be willing to go on the offensive, sacrificing her own safety - and possibly her own life.
SECOND SENTENCE OF FIRST CHAPTER: "You know ignoring my dad isn't going to help. He'll just send the secret service after you."
FIRST 250 OF SECOND CHAPTER:
The sun shining through my living room windows woke me up a week later much earlier than normal. The blackout curtains in my own bedroom let me sleep in as late as I wanted on the weekends, something Chloe was probably enjoying very much.
Already annoyed with waking up on my couch in a house my money was paying for; my body flexed and stretched the kinks and tightness. The white leather couch was aesthetically pleasing, especially with the cream colored carpeting and the bright green walls of living room. It wasn’t, however, comfortable enough to sleep on.
Perturbed and in need of more sleep, my hand was already on the knob to my bedroom door when rustling came from inside. Not wanting to walk in on my guest, I stood in front of the door assuming she would emerge shortly and let me have my room. Instead, after a few moments the sound of the showering from my master bathroom sounded.
Wrapping the quilt from the couch tighter around my shoulders, I opted for coffee instead of my own shower and clean clothes. It was only the first day of my new living arrangement, and already I was missing Amber. While she might have been a bitch and a little bit crazy, she at least knew how much I loved sleeping in my own bed and taking a shower first thing in the morning.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her furniture would be coming soon. The semester started even sooner. The more than modest salary coming in was enough to make me grin and bear it.
Entry 7 Kate Larkindale
TITLE: Chasing the Taillights
GENRE: YA Contemporary
CONTACT: katelarkindale(at)gmail(dot)com
PITCH: Lucy and Tony share nothing except their genetic code. When a car accident kills their parents and leaves Lucy scarred - both physically and emotionally - she and Tony are thrown together and forced to rely on one another in a way they've never had to before. As they struggle to come to terms with their loss, and each other, they discover they might have more in common than they thought.
2nd LINE OF 1ST PARA.: I strain to push the lids up, but they’re already wide.
1ST 250 WORDS OF 2ND CHAPTER:
I cup my chin in my hand and stare at the screen, fingers scraping across unshaven stubble. It’s not late, but I find myself drifting off to sleep in front of the computer. My leaden eyes close and my head drops down toward the heavy wooden desk. I snap myself awake and shake my head. This assignment isn’t going to write itself, is it? Focus. Focus. World War II. That’s what you’re supposed to be thinking about. More importantly, the economic factors that led to World War II. I bite the inside of my cheek and the sharp bloom of pain makes me start. With the salty taste of my own blood flooding my tongue, I begin typing again.
I’m dragged away from hyper-inflation and the rise of the Nazi party by the insistent ringing of the phone. I realize it’s been shrilling for several minutes now, and wonder why neither of my roommates picked it up. Maybe they’re not home; it is Saturday night after all. It’s only jocks like me who have to spend Saturday nights catching up on schoolwork. Parties are just one of the things I sacrifice for my sport. Diving’s a huge time suck.
“Okay, okay… I’m coming.” I drag myself out of my chair, stumbling over the sneakers I kicked off earlier. My legs ache. A four hour practice can do that, especially when it’s all platform. Climbing all those stairs is a killer.
I scoop up the phone from the kitchen counter, half-expecting whoever’s at the other end to have hung up. “Hello?”
GENRE: YA Contemporary
CONTACT: katelarkindale(at)gmail(dot)com
PITCH: Lucy and Tony share nothing except their genetic code. When a car accident kills their parents and leaves Lucy scarred - both physically and emotionally - she and Tony are thrown together and forced to rely on one another in a way they've never had to before. As they struggle to come to terms with their loss, and each other, they discover they might have more in common than they thought.
2nd LINE OF 1ST PARA.: I strain to push the lids up, but they’re already wide.
1ST 250 WORDS OF 2ND CHAPTER:
I cup my chin in my hand and stare at the screen, fingers scraping across unshaven stubble. It’s not late, but I find myself drifting off to sleep in front of the computer. My leaden eyes close and my head drops down toward the heavy wooden desk. I snap myself awake and shake my head. This assignment isn’t going to write itself, is it? Focus. Focus. World War II. That’s what you’re supposed to be thinking about. More importantly, the economic factors that led to World War II. I bite the inside of my cheek and the sharp bloom of pain makes me start. With the salty taste of my own blood flooding my tongue, I begin typing again.
I’m dragged away from hyper-inflation and the rise of the Nazi party by the insistent ringing of the phone. I realize it’s been shrilling for several minutes now, and wonder why neither of my roommates picked it up. Maybe they’re not home; it is Saturday night after all. It’s only jocks like me who have to spend Saturday nights catching up on schoolwork. Parties are just one of the things I sacrifice for my sport. Diving’s a huge time suck.
“Okay, okay… I’m coming.” I drag myself out of my chair, stumbling over the sneakers I kicked off earlier. My legs ache. A four hour practice can do that, especially when it’s all platform. Climbing all those stairs is a killer.
I scoop up the phone from the kitchen counter, half-expecting whoever’s at the other end to have hung up. “Hello?”
Entry 8 E. Arroyo
Title: Some Kind Of Trouble
Genre: YA Contemporary
Contact: elizabeth.arroyo5@gmail.com
Pitch: After a drive-by shooting leaves Arianna with an unexpected boyfriend, she finds that love alone won’t save him from life on the streets.
2nd Line: I once chanted one hundred and three thousand times in one night for my mom to get better.
2nd chptr:
I awoke the next morning with David standing beside my bed, already dressed.
“Where’s mom?” he asked.
“She’s at the clinic. What time is it?” I asked, still nestled under the covers.
“Seven.”
I jumped out of bed, got caught in the sheets and went sprawling to the floor. “Shit.” David laughed as I scampered to the bathroom. “Are you ready?” I asked him while brushing my teeth and pulling my hair in a tail. I had thirty minutes to drop him off and get my butt to school. I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Get my keys and turn on the car and come back inside.” I rinsed my mouth and ran to my room frantically searching for my school uniform, which I found where I had left it: on a chair near my bed. I grunted, threw it on and ran downstairs.
It was seven-ten when I grabbed my jacket and got in my car, three minutes after I realized I left David and went back for him, and six minutes after that I dropped him off at school. I got to school late.
I entered Mr. Hanlon’s class and froze. In the front row away from the door sat Rebecca Townsend. In my seat. I narrowed my eyes and wanted to remind her that she usually sat near the door with Marcus when Mr. Hanlon spoke.
“There’s a chair near the door,” he told me.
Of course there was a chair near the door. It was her spot. I turned and sat down hard, dropped my book bag on the floor and took off my jacket. This day could not get any worse.
I was so wrong.
Genre: YA Contemporary
Contact: elizabeth.arroyo5@gmail.com
Pitch: After a drive-by shooting leaves Arianna with an unexpected boyfriend, she finds that love alone won’t save him from life on the streets.
2nd Line: I once chanted one hundred and three thousand times in one night for my mom to get better.
2nd chptr:
I awoke the next morning with David standing beside my bed, already dressed.
“Where’s mom?” he asked.
“She’s at the clinic. What time is it?” I asked, still nestled under the covers.
“Seven.”
I jumped out of bed, got caught in the sheets and went sprawling to the floor. “Shit.” David laughed as I scampered to the bathroom. “Are you ready?” I asked him while brushing my teeth and pulling my hair in a tail. I had thirty minutes to drop him off and get my butt to school. I didn’t wait for him to answer. “Get my keys and turn on the car and come back inside.” I rinsed my mouth and ran to my room frantically searching for my school uniform, which I found where I had left it: on a chair near my bed. I grunted, threw it on and ran downstairs.
It was seven-ten when I grabbed my jacket and got in my car, three minutes after I realized I left David and went back for him, and six minutes after that I dropped him off at school. I got to school late.
I entered Mr. Hanlon’s class and froze. In the front row away from the door sat Rebecca Townsend. In my seat. I narrowed my eyes and wanted to remind her that she usually sat near the door with Marcus when Mr. Hanlon spoke.
“There’s a chair near the door,” he told me.
Of course there was a chair near the door. It was her spot. I turned and sat down hard, dropped my book bag on the floor and took off my jacket. This day could not get any worse.
I was so wrong.
Entry 9 Lydia Sharp
Title: SOCIAL GRACES
Genre: YA Contemp
Contact: lydiasharp4sff (at) yahoo (dot) com
Pitch:
At the start of her senior year, Rocklyn Geiger is moving from the city to the backwoods. Now she must come out as a lesbian all over again, in a school that's more tightly laced than her Doc Marten boots. As Rocklyn awkwardly navigates through foreign waters, she finds new friends, her first love, and an unexpected confrontation with an old enemy.
Second line of 1st par.:
I prefer to walk, to relish every step of my final trek across town.
First 250 words of 2nd chapter:
Sunday, August 20, 1995
I pass Candy in the hall on my way down to breakfast. She's all sweaty from her daily morning run, which never accomplishes anything. She refuses to accept that she'll always have a baby pooch.
"Hey, slut," I say.
"Hey, dyke."
This is about as affectionate as it gets between us. At least we acknowledged each other.
The kitchen smells like a typical Sunday morning--coffee, maple syrup, and bacon grease. Dad's sipping from a mug and reading the Plain Dealer. Mom's fussing over my nephew in the high chair, trying to get him to stop throwing Cheerio's at the stove while she's cooking. I'm pretty sure he hasn't cut any teeth yet, so why she gave him Cheerio's is a mystery.
But everything Mom does is a mystery, really.
My little brother, Jeremy--Mom's "change of life" baby--explodes into smiles when he sees me. I ruff up his hair then sit across from him, grab a plate of bacon and ignore the rest of the spread.
Dad leans over and pecks my forehead. "Good morning, Rocklyn."
Sure it is. "What're you so happy about?" I ask Jeremy.
"We're moving!" He thrusts both hands in the air like he just scored a touchdown.
"Don't remind me."
"Ring, ring!" He drops his fork full of pancakes and mimes picking up a telephone. "Oh hi, Snow White. You're looking for Grumpy? Yeah, hang on." He hands me his invisible phone. "It's for you."
Only Jeremy could get me to laugh at such an outright insult.
Genre: YA Contemp
Contact: lydiasharp4sff (at) yahoo (dot) com
Pitch:
At the start of her senior year, Rocklyn Geiger is moving from the city to the backwoods. Now she must come out as a lesbian all over again, in a school that's more tightly laced than her Doc Marten boots. As Rocklyn awkwardly navigates through foreign waters, she finds new friends, her first love, and an unexpected confrontation with an old enemy.
Second line of 1st par.:
I prefer to walk, to relish every step of my final trek across town.
First 250 words of 2nd chapter:
Sunday, August 20, 1995
I pass Candy in the hall on my way down to breakfast. She's all sweaty from her daily morning run, which never accomplishes anything. She refuses to accept that she'll always have a baby pooch.
"Hey, slut," I say.
"Hey, dyke."
This is about as affectionate as it gets between us. At least we acknowledged each other.
The kitchen smells like a typical Sunday morning--coffee, maple syrup, and bacon grease. Dad's sipping from a mug and reading the Plain Dealer. Mom's fussing over my nephew in the high chair, trying to get him to stop throwing Cheerio's at the stove while she's cooking. I'm pretty sure he hasn't cut any teeth yet, so why she gave him Cheerio's is a mystery.
But everything Mom does is a mystery, really.
My little brother, Jeremy--Mom's "change of life" baby--explodes into smiles when he sees me. I ruff up his hair then sit across from him, grab a plate of bacon and ignore the rest of the spread.
Dad leans over and pecks my forehead. "Good morning, Rocklyn."
Sure it is. "What're you so happy about?" I ask Jeremy.
"We're moving!" He thrusts both hands in the air like he just scored a touchdown.
"Don't remind me."
"Ring, ring!" He drops his fork full of pancakes and mimes picking up a telephone. "Oh hi, Snow White. You're looking for Grumpy? Yeah, hang on." He hands me his invisible phone. "It's for you."
Only Jeremy could get me to laugh at such an outright insult.
Entry 10 Nora Coon
Title: Insulin Junkies
Genre: YA contemporary
Contact: Nora Coon, nora.e.coon[AT]gmail[DOT]com
Pitch: Eva knows something’s wrong long before the doctor diagnoses her with diabetes - no seventeen-year-old wakes up having wet the bed for the fourth time in as many days and thinks, “Yep, this is totally normal.” When her parents send her to diabetes camp, though, she discovers that being an insulin junkie doesn't transform you into a saint - far from it.
2nd Line: The door doesn't lock, so I haul the big metal trash can in front of it, hoping it’ll keep some people from coming in, and stand there in nothing but my shirt, washing my underwear.
250 of Ch. 2: I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich: two tablespoons of jam, two tablespoons of peanut butter, two slices of bread. I wonder if I’ll think of all food in terms of carbohydrates for the rest of my life. I draw up my lunchtime insulin injection - just short-acting insulin, this time - and my hands sweat, my palms prickling, as I try to decide if I can do it myself. I hold the syringe like a pencil, which feels wrong, and then like a joint, which feels even stranger. Just stab your arm, I tell myself. Just do it. It doesn't hurt that much. What's wrong with you, just do it!
I can't. I even touch the tip of the needle to my skin, like maybe it will jump out of my hand and just inject me on its own, but I can't go further. "Mom," I say at last.
She raises her head a little. "What is it?" She's hoarse - how has she gone hoarse since I've been sitting here?
"Can you...?" I gesture with the syringe, and I see her flinch before she collects herself and holds out one mute hand.
I give her the syringe, plunger end first, and slide my chair over next to her, chair legs screeching on the floor. Mom starts to cry when she slides the needle into my skin, and for the first time all morning, I can't help being a little annoyed with her too.
Genre: YA contemporary
Contact: Nora Coon, nora.e.coon[AT]gmail[DOT]com
Pitch: Eva knows something’s wrong long before the doctor diagnoses her with diabetes - no seventeen-year-old wakes up having wet the bed for the fourth time in as many days and thinks, “Yep, this is totally normal.” When her parents send her to diabetes camp, though, she discovers that being an insulin junkie doesn't transform you into a saint - far from it.
2nd Line: The door doesn't lock, so I haul the big metal trash can in front of it, hoping it’ll keep some people from coming in, and stand there in nothing but my shirt, washing my underwear.
250 of Ch. 2: I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich: two tablespoons of jam, two tablespoons of peanut butter, two slices of bread. I wonder if I’ll think of all food in terms of carbohydrates for the rest of my life. I draw up my lunchtime insulin injection - just short-acting insulin, this time - and my hands sweat, my palms prickling, as I try to decide if I can do it myself. I hold the syringe like a pencil, which feels wrong, and then like a joint, which feels even stranger. Just stab your arm, I tell myself. Just do it. It doesn't hurt that much. What's wrong with you, just do it!
I can't. I even touch the tip of the needle to my skin, like maybe it will jump out of my hand and just inject me on its own, but I can't go further. "Mom," I say at last.
She raises her head a little. "What is it?" She's hoarse - how has she gone hoarse since I've been sitting here?
"Can you...?" I gesture with the syringe, and I see her flinch before she collects herself and holds out one mute hand.
I give her the syringe, plunger end first, and slide my chair over next to her, chair legs screeching on the floor. Mom starts to cry when she slides the needle into my skin, and for the first time all morning, I can't help being a little annoyed with her too.
Entry 11 Susan Oloier
Title: OUTCAST
Genre: YA Contemporary
Contact: Susan Oloier (susanoloier[at]gmail[dot]com
Pitch:
She wasn’t supposed to fall for Chad; he was part of the revenge plan. But Noelle risks friendship, love, and self to get even with Trina.
Second line of first paragraph of first chapter:
I felt it in the desert breeze, heard it in the sounds of broad tailed hummingbirds and mourning doves, and stared at it in the bathroom mirror.
First 250 from second chapter:
The ocotillos writhed and twisted out of the sandy, desert floor as dust devils curled and raced one another. The monsoon season proved a fraud, leaving the last of the autumn months dry and arid.
As I ran that morning, the September sun bled carmine and tangerine from its place in the eastern sky. The Arizona fever scorched the alien, oxide green of the golf courses to a raw sienna. Cumulous clouds, tethered to the air, taunted us. In the Midwest, people call this heat Indian summer. To us, it was a cool-down from the daunting summer temperatures of 120 degrees.
It was Sunday. Another Sunday of wiggling my way out of church. It became a ritual, a ceremony, and a game. I crept down the stairs with predatory stealth, slipping out the back door before my mother even realized I was awake. I escaped the house early enough to avoid 8:00 a.m. mass. My Reeboks beat a rhythm on the asphalt of Civic Center Boulevard. Sweat dampened my sports bra, pooled between my breasts.
The beat of The Black Eyed Peas greeted me as I labored through the door, and I knew Becca had evaded church, too. She took advantage of every moment, every second, of our parents’ absence. She paraded around the living room, phone pressed to her ear. She spotted me and made a curt one-eighty.
“Oh my God! Tell me he did not say that.”
Her chats always revolved around some guy. The new one: Carl.
Genre: YA Contemporary
Contact: Susan Oloier (susanoloier[at]gmail[dot]com
Pitch:
She wasn’t supposed to fall for Chad; he was part of the revenge plan. But Noelle risks friendship, love, and self to get even with Trina.
Second line of first paragraph of first chapter:
I felt it in the desert breeze, heard it in the sounds of broad tailed hummingbirds and mourning doves, and stared at it in the bathroom mirror.
First 250 from second chapter:
The ocotillos writhed and twisted out of the sandy, desert floor as dust devils curled and raced one another. The monsoon season proved a fraud, leaving the last of the autumn months dry and arid.
As I ran that morning, the September sun bled carmine and tangerine from its place in the eastern sky. The Arizona fever scorched the alien, oxide green of the golf courses to a raw sienna. Cumulous clouds, tethered to the air, taunted us. In the Midwest, people call this heat Indian summer. To us, it was a cool-down from the daunting summer temperatures of 120 degrees.
It was Sunday. Another Sunday of wiggling my way out of church. It became a ritual, a ceremony, and a game. I crept down the stairs with predatory stealth, slipping out the back door before my mother even realized I was awake. I escaped the house early enough to avoid 8:00 a.m. mass. My Reeboks beat a rhythm on the asphalt of Civic Center Boulevard. Sweat dampened my sports bra, pooled between my breasts.
The beat of The Black Eyed Peas greeted me as I labored through the door, and I knew Becca had evaded church, too. She took advantage of every moment, every second, of our parents’ absence. She paraded around the living room, phone pressed to her ear. She spotted me and made a curt one-eighty.
“Oh my God! Tell me he did not say that.”
Her chats always revolved around some guy. The new one: Carl.
Entry 12 A. E. Martin
Title: Graveyard Phoenix
Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy
Contact: aje237@yahoo.com
Pitch: When necromancer Blaise Evarin suddenly starts resurrecting people who get four days of true life again, she has to deal with severe political and religious backlash. Things become more complicated when several of her recent resurrections remain alive, go berserk, and embark on murderous rampages. And that's only problem number one.
Second line of first paragraph: I fought not to show my annoyance at the whimpering, weeping woman as I took the blood from her; I don't even know why she'd picked it up.
First 250 of 2nd chapter:
After Gideon seemed stable enough with the resurrection, I called his family over and they smothered him. I stepped back to collect the empty blood container, and watched as the grave diggers covered the open grave with a tarp. Since Gideon would be going back down in a few days, it didn't make sense to fill it up again.
His family was doing a lot of hugging and crying, but Gideon seemed to be in shock, because he was holding himself stiffly and avoiding eye contact with them. Everyone came back acting differently. Some were back to themselves in a snap, and others screamed and wailed for an hour before they could be made to understand what was going on. Gideon seemed to be an internal, confused screamer.
Once again, watching a person who'd been dead not ten minutes ago walking, breathing, and talking, made me feel strange. I couldn’t help but think that no one should have this sort of power, least of all me. These past months I’d worked hard at not letting hysterics get the best of me every time I had to do this, but it was always a struggle. The fact that in four days I’d be back here watching Gideon succumb to death for the second time didn’t make it any easier.
Stop thinking so damn much, I said to myself. If I continued down this road I'd end up losing my mind. I took a deep breath and walked over to the Tillars.
Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy
Contact: aje237@yahoo.com
Pitch: When necromancer Blaise Evarin suddenly starts resurrecting people who get four days of true life again, she has to deal with severe political and religious backlash. Things become more complicated when several of her recent resurrections remain alive, go berserk, and embark on murderous rampages. And that's only problem number one.
Second line of first paragraph: I fought not to show my annoyance at the whimpering, weeping woman as I took the blood from her; I don't even know why she'd picked it up.
First 250 of 2nd chapter:
After Gideon seemed stable enough with the resurrection, I called his family over and they smothered him. I stepped back to collect the empty blood container, and watched as the grave diggers covered the open grave with a tarp. Since Gideon would be going back down in a few days, it didn't make sense to fill it up again.
His family was doing a lot of hugging and crying, but Gideon seemed to be in shock, because he was holding himself stiffly and avoiding eye contact with them. Everyone came back acting differently. Some were back to themselves in a snap, and others screamed and wailed for an hour before they could be made to understand what was going on. Gideon seemed to be an internal, confused screamer.
Once again, watching a person who'd been dead not ten minutes ago walking, breathing, and talking, made me feel strange. I couldn’t help but think that no one should have this sort of power, least of all me. These past months I’d worked hard at not letting hysterics get the best of me every time I had to do this, but it was always a struggle. The fact that in four days I’d be back here watching Gideon succumb to death for the second time didn’t make it any easier.
Stop thinking so damn much, I said to myself. If I continued down this road I'd end up losing my mind. I took a deep breath and walked over to the Tillars.
Entry 13 Erin L Schneider
Title: THE LUCKY FEW
Genre: YA Contemporary Thriller
Contact: elschneider@hotmail.com
1) Pitch:
For over six hundred years, 99.9% of the world’s most powerful and influential leaders, scientists, CEOs - and yes, even most of Hollywood’s elite – successfully achieved greatness because of one thing…they were chosen. When a mysterious invitation shows up at sixteen-year-old Blakely Sullivan’s door, she can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten herself into now. Little does she know, she’s the next in line.
2) The second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
Those were the only words in perfect, jet-black calligraphy that crossed the formal white parchment of the invitation.
3) The first 250 words of your second chapter:
"First things first, I'm sure you're all wondering who I am. My name is Thaddeus Vaughan, but please, call me Thad; I’m the Dean here at Oren Preparatory.” He shifted slightly in his seat as he rested his hands along the surface of the table. “In order for us all to get to know one another, why don't we go around the table, introduce ourselves, and tell everyone one interesting fact, shall we?" He motioned to the boy sitting to his left, who sat across from me.
"Reid Whittley, nice to meet you all. And one thing about me? I’ve been riding and racing motorcycles since the age of four." He said it with such a matter-of-fact tone as he nodded at everyone around the room, until his frost blue eyes came to rest on mine. Unlike the glare he'd given me earlier, this time his lips curled up into a devilish grin as he winked my way; the motion lightning fast, I'm not sure if anyone else around me noticed. I found myself blushing – the twinge of déjà vu I’d seen that wink before, flittered at the back of my mind - as I turned my gaze to the girl sitting next to him.
"Hello, my name is Naomi Forbes and yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you all. Let’s see, one thing about me is that I entered and won the Miss California Teen USA pageant last year." She smiled a cheesy, politician-style grin at everyone around the table, but it faded as it got to me.
Genre: YA Contemporary Thriller
Contact: elschneider@hotmail.com
1) Pitch:
For over six hundred years, 99.9% of the world’s most powerful and influential leaders, scientists, CEOs - and yes, even most of Hollywood’s elite – successfully achieved greatness because of one thing…they were chosen. When a mysterious invitation shows up at sixteen-year-old Blakely Sullivan’s door, she can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten herself into now. Little does she know, she’s the next in line.
2) The second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter:
Those were the only words in perfect, jet-black calligraphy that crossed the formal white parchment of the invitation.
3) The first 250 words of your second chapter:
"First things first, I'm sure you're all wondering who I am. My name is Thaddeus Vaughan, but please, call me Thad; I’m the Dean here at Oren Preparatory.” He shifted slightly in his seat as he rested his hands along the surface of the table. “In order for us all to get to know one another, why don't we go around the table, introduce ourselves, and tell everyone one interesting fact, shall we?" He motioned to the boy sitting to his left, who sat across from me.
"Reid Whittley, nice to meet you all. And one thing about me? I’ve been riding and racing motorcycles since the age of four." He said it with such a matter-of-fact tone as he nodded at everyone around the room, until his frost blue eyes came to rest on mine. Unlike the glare he'd given me earlier, this time his lips curled up into a devilish grin as he winked my way; the motion lightning fast, I'm not sure if anyone else around me noticed. I found myself blushing – the twinge of déjà vu I’d seen that wink before, flittered at the back of my mind - as I turned my gaze to the girl sitting next to him.
"Hello, my name is Naomi Forbes and yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you all. Let’s see, one thing about me is that I entered and won the Miss California Teen USA pageant last year." She smiled a cheesy, politician-style grin at everyone around the table, but it faded as it got to me.
Entry 14 Carol Anne
Title: The Picasso Project
Genre: YA Contemporary
My name and email: Carol Anne Shaw shawshack(at)shawshack(dot)ca
Pitch: The world hasn’t been kind to Eddie DuMont. He knows more than his fair share about betrayal, abandonment and fear. The first lesson came when his abusive father left home a few years earlier, and the second, soon afterwards when his mother was hospitalized with mental illness. Now it’s just Eddie and Maya, his fourteen-year-old sister, living in a beat up 1984 Buick Le Sabre in a clearing in the woods. The rules are simple when you live the way they do. Lay low. Trust no one, and make sure you have plenty of Duct tape on hand.
2nd line: Eddie knows he’ll remember the stupidest things about this day, like the white enamel saucepan on the stove that’s full of ravioli and the way the tomato sauce has bubbled over the sides.
250 of 2nd chap:
“Why do I have to wear this stupid coat, anyway?” my sister asks. She’s at that age where she thinks it’s cool to walk around in tee shirts in the pouring rain and get soaked.
"Because you do," I tell her, "so don't argue."
"Eddie, why do you have to boss me around so much?" She thrusts her arms angrily into the sleeves when I hold up the green coat for her to put on. As coats go, it's not bad. Almost new, down filled with pockets and zippers everywhere, and the best part was that it was only eight bucks. Some days you just get lucky.
"Someone's gotta do it."
She flips me the bird and starts to walk off toward the trees.
"Wait up," I call after her. "You forgot your lunch."
I push the plastic grocery bag into her hand and she looks inside it hopefully, like by some miracle there’s going to be a massive corned beef on rye sandwich or a couple of super-sized brownies inside it. Right.
"Yuk, muffins again? These are totally stale, Eddie, and that banana looks completely rotten. No way am I going to eat that!"
"Listen, your ass is scrawny enough as it is,” I tell her. “Eat something.”
Maya is really starting to piss me off. She's always in a bad mood these days. Maybe it's girl stuff. She just turned fourteen so I guess all that weird hormonal crap is probably going on, not that she'd tell me.
Genre: YA Contemporary
My name and email: Carol Anne Shaw shawshack(at)shawshack(dot)ca
Pitch: The world hasn’t been kind to Eddie DuMont. He knows more than his fair share about betrayal, abandonment and fear. The first lesson came when his abusive father left home a few years earlier, and the second, soon afterwards when his mother was hospitalized with mental illness. Now it’s just Eddie and Maya, his fourteen-year-old sister, living in a beat up 1984 Buick Le Sabre in a clearing in the woods. The rules are simple when you live the way they do. Lay low. Trust no one, and make sure you have plenty of Duct tape on hand.
2nd line: Eddie knows he’ll remember the stupidest things about this day, like the white enamel saucepan on the stove that’s full of ravioli and the way the tomato sauce has bubbled over the sides.
250 of 2nd chap:
“Why do I have to wear this stupid coat, anyway?” my sister asks. She’s at that age where she thinks it’s cool to walk around in tee shirts in the pouring rain and get soaked.
"Because you do," I tell her, "so don't argue."
"Eddie, why do you have to boss me around so much?" She thrusts her arms angrily into the sleeves when I hold up the green coat for her to put on. As coats go, it's not bad. Almost new, down filled with pockets and zippers everywhere, and the best part was that it was only eight bucks. Some days you just get lucky.
"Someone's gotta do it."
She flips me the bird and starts to walk off toward the trees.
"Wait up," I call after her. "You forgot your lunch."
I push the plastic grocery bag into her hand and she looks inside it hopefully, like by some miracle there’s going to be a massive corned beef on rye sandwich or a couple of super-sized brownies inside it. Right.
"Yuk, muffins again? These are totally stale, Eddie, and that banana looks completely rotten. No way am I going to eat that!"
"Listen, your ass is scrawny enough as it is,” I tell her. “Eat something.”
Maya is really starting to piss me off. She's always in a bad mood these days. Maybe it's girl stuff. She just turned fourteen so I guess all that weird hormonal crap is probably going on, not that she'd tell me.
Entry 15 A. J. Spindle
Title: The Bridge Between Two Minds
Genre: YA
Contact: ajspindle(at)yahoo(dot)com
Pitch: Seventeen-year-old Alice Reid can handle pain, she’s been trained to. But training isn’t enough when her best friend, Daniel Cole, takes a bullet for her. Being a student at KAT was supposed to be like a spy movie, a place where they train teens to work for the CIA. Now she has to deal with her emotions and find his killer before the killer finds her.
2nd line: If I hadn’t tripped, he’d still be here; Alive.
First 250 of 2nd Chapter:
Beep, beep, whir. Beep, beep, whir.
Low noises, white lights. My body hurt like no other. I felt groggy and confused, my head heavier than normal. It took me a minute to realize I was dressed in a hospital gown, stretched out on a bed. Without moving I could feel the IV taped to my arm and shuddered, sending pain radiating up my spine. I sucked in a breath. Ew, I hate needles. I didn’t want to open my eyes with the bright lights over me, but someone was holding my hand. It was rough and calloused. I peeked from under my eyelids to find Dan sitting in the chair next to my bed.
“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked me. I stared at him, it was all I could do.
“Dan?” It was really him sitting next to me. Breathing. Alive.
“Yes, Alice?” he asked. “What do you need?”
“You’re not dead,” I said evenly. My voice was soft like a whisper but I knew he could hear me.
“Neither are you, thankfully.” He tried to smile. Had he been crying? His face betrayed no emotion, but behind his eyes I thought I saw something.
“I’m not dead?” I asked, my voice thick with uncertainty. I didn’t feel dead, but then again I had no idea what “dead” felt like.
“No,” he said and then his smile faltered. “Why did you take the bike?”
The bike. His bike that I had ruined in the crash.
Genre: YA
Contact: ajspindle(at)yahoo(dot)com
Pitch: Seventeen-year-old Alice Reid can handle pain, she’s been trained to. But training isn’t enough when her best friend, Daniel Cole, takes a bullet for her. Being a student at KAT was supposed to be like a spy movie, a place where they train teens to work for the CIA. Now she has to deal with her emotions and find his killer before the killer finds her.
2nd line: If I hadn’t tripped, he’d still be here; Alive.
First 250 of 2nd Chapter:
Beep, beep, whir. Beep, beep, whir.
Low noises, white lights. My body hurt like no other. I felt groggy and confused, my head heavier than normal. It took me a minute to realize I was dressed in a hospital gown, stretched out on a bed. Without moving I could feel the IV taped to my arm and shuddered, sending pain radiating up my spine. I sucked in a breath. Ew, I hate needles. I didn’t want to open my eyes with the bright lights over me, but someone was holding my hand. It was rough and calloused. I peeked from under my eyelids to find Dan sitting in the chair next to my bed.
“Hey, how do you feel?” he asked me. I stared at him, it was all I could do.
“Dan?” It was really him sitting next to me. Breathing. Alive.
“Yes, Alice?” he asked. “What do you need?”
“You’re not dead,” I said evenly. My voice was soft like a whisper but I knew he could hear me.
“Neither are you, thankfully.” He tried to smile. Had he been crying? His face betrayed no emotion, but behind his eyes I thought I saw something.
“I’m not dead?” I asked, my voice thick with uncertainty. I didn’t feel dead, but then again I had no idea what “dead” felt like.
“No,” he said and then his smile faltered. “Why did you take the bike?”
The bike. His bike that I had ruined in the crash.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Revision Contest
Sorry, the contest is now closed.
I'm so very happy to be hosting another contest with agent extraordinaire Natalie Fischer from the Bradford Literary Agency.
You can follow Natalie at her blog where she gives awesome writing advice and twitter. I was lucky enough to interview Natalie and you can check that out here.
The contest we are hosting is focused on revisions. A very important part of the writing process that not only needs to be concentrated on the first chapter, but throughout the entire manuscript.
Now off to the contest.
Please read and follow the rules. If you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask.
Your submission should contain:
1) Write a short pitch. No more than two or three sentences. We need to know what your book is about.
2) The second line of the very first paragraph of the 1st chapter.
3) The first 250 words of your second chapter.
4) Please include your title, the genre, and a way to contact you.
5) Post in the comment section.
What will happen next:
I will take the first 50 entries or the contest will end July 11th. Which ever comes first.
I will randomly select 15 entries and post them by July 13th for comments.
Comments will end by July 18th.
At that time you will be given a chance to revise your entry and repost it by July 25th.
Natalie will judge and then reward super awesome prizes cuz she is a super awesome agent.
Rules:
If your entry is included within the ones randomly selected, then you must comment at least on three different entries.
If you won in my previous awesome contest with Gina Panettieri then please do not enter this contest. That does not include the honorable mentions--you can still enter.
You have to be a follower. You know...cuz it's my blog and I get to do that.
Prizes:
1st----A query critique and the first chapter.
2nd---A query critique and the first five pages
3rd---B and N gift card
Good luck everyone. Can't wait to see what ya got!!!!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Revision Contest Rules
I'm really excited to be having a contest with super agent Natalie Fischer. Natalie is an agent with Bradford Literary Agency.
First and foremost:
First and foremost:
DO NOT POST SUBMISSIONS YET!!!
The contest starts July 5th
This is just for the rules so if you have any questions you can post a comment and I can answer them.
Why? This contest is going to be a little different than the usual contests because we are focusing on revisions.
Everyone always worries about the first line, first paragraph, and first chapter. We want to see the second.
So, here we go!
Your submission should contain:
1) Write a short pitch. No more than two or three sentences. We need to know what your book is about.
2) The second line of your very first paragraph of the 1st chapter.
3) The first 250 words of your second chapter.
4) Please include your title, the genre, and a way to contact you.
What will happen next:
I will take the first 50 entries or the contest will end July 11th. Which ever comes first.
I will randomly select 15 entries and post them by July 13th for comments.
Comments will end by July 18th.
At that time you will be given a chance to revise your entry and repost it by July 25th.
Natalie will judge and then reward super awesome prizes cuz she is a super awesome agent.
Rules:
If your entry is included within the ones randomly selected, then you must comment at least on three different entries.
If you won in my previous awesome contest with Gina Panettieri then please do not enter this contest.
You have to be a follower.
Prizes:
1st----A query critique and the first chapter.
2nd---A query critique and the first five pages
3rd---B and N gift card
Cool. Huh?
So get those submissions ready!!!!!
The contest starts July 5th
This is just for the rules so if you have any questions you can post a comment and I can answer them.
Why? This contest is going to be a little different than the usual contests because we are focusing on revisions.
Everyone always worries about the first line, first paragraph, and first chapter. We want to see the second.
So, here we go!
Your submission should contain:
1) Write a short pitch. No more than two or three sentences. We need to know what your book is about.
2) The second line of your very first paragraph of the 1st chapter.
3) The first 250 words of your second chapter.
4) Please include your title, the genre, and a way to contact you.
What will happen next:
I will take the first 50 entries or the contest will end July 11th. Which ever comes first.
I will randomly select 15 entries and post them by July 13th for comments.
Comments will end by July 18th.
At that time you will be given a chance to revise your entry and repost it by July 25th.
Natalie will judge and then reward super awesome prizes cuz she is a super awesome agent.
Rules:
If your entry is included within the ones randomly selected, then you must comment at least on three different entries.
If you won in my previous awesome contest with Gina Panettieri then please do not enter this contest.
You have to be a follower.
Prizes:
1st----A query critique and the first chapter.
2nd---A query critique and the first five pages
3rd---B and N gift card
Cool. Huh?
So get those submissions ready!!!!!
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