Name: Marie Rearden
Email: marie (at) marierearden (dot) com
Title and Genre: DEADLY DARK DREAMS--Paranormal YA
Pitch: Kat Wake escapes death by agreeing to steal her teacher’s memories of the afterlife. But he’s on his own mission. He wants her soul.
First 250 Words:
Prep schools aren’t just for the preppy. Poor schmo types like me migrate to places like Harrington Dove Academy to escape the greatest horror of our seventeen-year-old lives.
Parents.
I woke to two, tone deaf voices making sounds that were parrot, monkey, and tornado siren all at once. Okay, so maybe they were singing. My roommate and I had the pleasure of cheerleader suitemates, and though I try not to believe stereotypes, these girls confirmed every one I’d ever heard about pom-pom pushers.
I cringed at a particularly loud warble and wondered how much booze they snuck by the resident advisor last night. Or with her help. Our RA wanted to be legal like elephants want peanuts.
By quarter past nine, the brain children next door were quiet/passed out/dead, and I rolled out of bed to pack for the holiday break. I pulled onto the highway an hour later, cursing the sprinkles that dotted my windshield. Mom hadn’t called back after last night’s fiasco, but I wasn’t surprised. She didn’t know how to check her texts without help, and forget Dad. He was hopeless when it came to cell phones.
I passed a caravan of senior citizens using the left lane for sightseeing and set the cruise control with more force than necessary, plastering my eyes to the road. Honestly, I didn’t trust myself not to snarl at the lead driver of what had to be a Henry Ford original.
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.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Submission Karen
Name: Karen M. Krueger
Email: karenmkrueger (at) gmail (dot) com
Title & genre: WITHOUT A SONG—YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Tessa loses her ability to sing,goes to a world where music is magic,&discovers a secret that forces her to find her voice to save her life
Staring at the red velvet curtain in front of me, I click my heels together three times and think, There’s no place like the stage. My fingers twitch to open the curtain to get a glimpse of the buzzing audience as they fill their seats, but the stage manager already gives me dirty looks from the wing. I, uh, didn’t ask permission before coming out here for my pre-performance ritual.
Despite his glare, excitement bubbles up inside me like carbonation, starting in my toes—accompanied by the slightest bit of damp palms and nail biting.
I love it.
Smiling, I leave the stage and act like I’m heading back to the green room to wait like a good little singer. After a few steps I turn to see if any of the crew watches me. No one notices, so I sneak back into a dark corner of the wing, tiptoeing to keep my heels from clicking. I melt into the darkness, letting my black formal dress blend me into my surroundings, and push on the poofy skirt to make myself smaller.
With five minutes to go before the start of the competition, the crew bustles around, too busy to notice an out of the way corner. Once in a while someone will flick on a little light here and there, like fireflies moving around backstage, reminding me of the night when I was six and my mom told me her secret about music.
The only light came from the lightning bugs in our backyard.
Email: karenmkrueger (at) gmail (dot) com
Title & genre: WITHOUT A SONG—YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Tessa loses her ability to sing,goes to a world where music is magic,&discovers a secret that forces her to find her voice to save her life
Staring at the red velvet curtain in front of me, I click my heels together three times and think, There’s no place like the stage. My fingers twitch to open the curtain to get a glimpse of the buzzing audience as they fill their seats, but the stage manager already gives me dirty looks from the wing. I, uh, didn’t ask permission before coming out here for my pre-performance ritual.
Despite his glare, excitement bubbles up inside me like carbonation, starting in my toes—accompanied by the slightest bit of damp palms and nail biting.
I love it.
Smiling, I leave the stage and act like I’m heading back to the green room to wait like a good little singer. After a few steps I turn to see if any of the crew watches me. No one notices, so I sneak back into a dark corner of the wing, tiptoeing to keep my heels from clicking. I melt into the darkness, letting my black formal dress blend me into my surroundings, and push on the poofy skirt to make myself smaller.
With five minutes to go before the start of the competition, the crew bustles around, too busy to notice an out of the way corner. Once in a while someone will flick on a little light here and there, like fireflies moving around backstage, reminding me of the night when I was six and my mom told me her secret about music.
The only light came from the lightning bugs in our backyard.
Submission Kimberlee
Name: Kimberlee Turley
Email: kimberlee(dot)turley(at)yahoo(dot)com
Tile & Genre: NOTE TO SELF—YA Fantasy
Pitch: When Gracie Heart finds threatening notes in her circus costume, she doesn’t realize she’s the one trying to warn herself: she’s next.
1st 250 words:
Gracie glared at the recommendation letter Mrs. Minchin had given her for a job at a chicken factory. Plucking feathers off dead chickens was a task unworthy of her rounded vowels and articulated consonants. Her English should have at least earned her a job in a seamstress’s shop. This job was Mrs. Minchin’s revenge for all those fights she’d started with the other children.
With her few possessions rattling around in her small cabin trunk, Gracie went to the front lobby to meet Mr. Minchin.
The shrewd headmaster escorted her to the large iron gates at the perimeter of the orphanage. She noted the smile which pulled at the corner of Mr. Minchin’s lips when she blew farewell kisses over her shoulder rather than acting sullen. Mr. Minchin could be blunt with his parting message and not need to worry he’d make her cry. After all, she wasn’t leaving her home, she was finally getting the chance to search for it.
“Here is your train ticket to Rochester . Once you arrive, you can ask for directions to the tenement.”
Gracie took the ticket and noted “paid” had been stamped on it in red ink. Mr. Minchin then pushed something cold and hard into her palm. “And this is from me and the missus.”
The silver coin gleamed in the light and she blinked with incredulity. After eight difficult years of putting up with her, he was giving her a gift? Perhaps he wasn’t the grumpy troll she’d thought him all along.
Email: kimberlee(dot)turley(at)yahoo(dot)com
Tile & Genre: NOTE TO SELF—YA Fantasy
Pitch: When Gracie Heart finds threatening notes in her circus costume, she doesn’t realize she’s the one trying to warn herself: she’s next.
1st 250 words:
Gracie glared at the recommendation letter Mrs. Minchin had given her for a job at a chicken factory. Plucking feathers off dead chickens was a task unworthy of her rounded vowels and articulated consonants. Her English should have at least earned her a job in a seamstress’s shop. This job was Mrs. Minchin’s revenge for all those fights she’d started with the other children.
With her few possessions rattling around in her small cabin trunk, Gracie went to the front lobby to meet Mr. Minchin.
The shrewd headmaster escorted her to the large iron gates at the perimeter of the orphanage. She noted the smile which pulled at the corner of Mr. Minchin’s lips when she blew farewell kisses over her shoulder rather than acting sullen. Mr. Minchin could be blunt with his parting message and not need to worry he’d make her cry. After all, she wasn’t leaving her home, she was finally getting the chance to search for it.
“Here is your train ticket to Rochester . Once you arrive, you can ask for directions to the tenement.”
Gracie took the ticket and noted “paid” had been stamped on it in red ink. Mr. Minchin then pushed something cold and hard into her palm. “And this is from me and the missus.”
The silver coin gleamed in the light and she blinked with incredulity. After eight difficult years of putting up with her, he was giving her a gift? Perhaps he wasn’t the grumpy troll she’d thought him all along.
Submission Michelle
Name: Michelle Painchaud
Email: mgpainchaud@gmail.com
Title & Genre: FEAR ITSELF - YA/UF
Pitch: Noa's infected with an alien parasite - she'd kill to be normal again. Government spooks will kill to get her.
1st 250 words:
My mistake was that I figured this would be easy.
The city had been my backyard for so long, I thought a few homogenized houses and overly-friendly adults would be a pushover. Even when Aunt Miranda told me I’d be attending her alma mater, an illustrious private school by the name of St. Francis Preparatory, I hadn’t balked. This was going to be pie, I kept thinking to myself. No - something easier than pie, softer. Cake.
This was before I stood in front of the door of my first class. The school bustles around me with perfectly pressed uniforms and stylish handbags. Sickly sweet perfume is interlaced with every simper and laugh. I inhale deeply, composing myself. Through the window I see the class is already full. My reflection in the glass is worn and weary – dark circles from no sleep, stringy brown hair. A pair of terrified, slate-colored eyes, trying hard to look tough.
A razor of anxiety twists in my stomach. Where was this sick, heavy dread coming from? Walking in there was simple enough.
These kids don’t scare me, I try to convince myself. I’d seen a girl die right before my eyes. She held the shard of mirror to my throat and I’d scrabbled for something, anything, and swung hard. The blood blossoms like a dark flower in my memory.
I shake my head to clear it. No more fear. No more death. I push through the door.
Nothing scares me anymore.
Email: mgpainchaud@gmail.com
Title & Genre: FEAR ITSELF - YA/UF
Pitch: Noa's infected with an alien parasite - she'd kill to be normal again. Government spooks will kill to get her.
1st 250 words:
My mistake was that I figured this would be easy.
The city had been my backyard for so long, I thought a few homogenized houses and overly-friendly adults would be a pushover. Even when Aunt Miranda told me I’d be attending her alma mater, an illustrious private school by the name of St. Francis Preparatory, I hadn’t balked. This was going to be pie, I kept thinking to myself. No - something easier than pie, softer. Cake.
This was before I stood in front of the door of my first class. The school bustles around me with perfectly pressed uniforms and stylish handbags. Sickly sweet perfume is interlaced with every simper and laugh. I inhale deeply, composing myself. Through the window I see the class is already full. My reflection in the glass is worn and weary – dark circles from no sleep, stringy brown hair. A pair of terrified, slate-colored eyes, trying hard to look tough.
A razor of anxiety twists in my stomach. Where was this sick, heavy dread coming from? Walking in there was simple enough.
These kids don’t scare me, I try to convince myself. I’d seen a girl die right before my eyes. She held the shard of mirror to my throat and I’d scrabbled for something, anything, and swung hard. The blood blossoms like a dark flower in my memory.
I shake my head to clear it. No more fear. No more death. I push through the door.
Nothing scares me anymore.
Submission Jamie
Jamie McHenry
mchenry.jamie@gmail.com
ON FALLEN WINGS-YA Fantasy
When Rhiannon's boyfriend is kidnapped, her quest to save him forces her to choose between the Faerie life she loves and losing him forever.
For as long as I could remember, Faeries had danced at Stone Meadow.
I loved dancing and the night was perfect, like a dream; I was innocent to its graces. Raising my arms, I leaned my head back to absorb glowing blue rays on my face and hands. Then I closed my eyes and caressed the cold tips of grass with my feet, repeating the familiar sway of my steps. As a frosty wisp of air stirred me from my trance, I swept my gown in a circle and spun gracefully to where my young sister, Leila, sat watching.
She reached up and parted a long strand of hair from my face. “That was wonderful,” she said. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes.” I fell to the grass and sighed. “I can’t believe this is happening.” Then I covered my face with both hands and moaned with joy. “Everything is going to change.”
Leila rolled onto her stomach and leaned on her elbows, propping her chin with her palms. “What is it like to be in love?”
I grinned at her curiosity and stretched my arms straight. “It’s like dancing barefoot in the meadow under moonlight,” I told her. “Love tickles your toes and then climbs to your heart.” I rolled on the grass. “It spirals toward your fingertips as you spin and spin. Then it reaches up to the moon, grabs its rays, and pulls them down like a warm blanket.”
Leila sighed loudly. My sister’s wide eyes revealed their wanting.
mchenry.jamie@gmail.com
ON FALLEN WINGS-YA Fantasy
When Rhiannon's boyfriend is kidnapped, her quest to save him forces her to choose between the Faerie life she loves and losing him forever.
For as long as I could remember, Faeries had danced at Stone Meadow.
I loved dancing and the night was perfect, like a dream; I was innocent to its graces. Raising my arms, I leaned my head back to absorb glowing blue rays on my face and hands. Then I closed my eyes and caressed the cold tips of grass with my feet, repeating the familiar sway of my steps. As a frosty wisp of air stirred me from my trance, I swept my gown in a circle and spun gracefully to where my young sister, Leila, sat watching.
She reached up and parted a long strand of hair from my face. “That was wonderful,” she said. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes.” I fell to the grass and sighed. “I can’t believe this is happening.” Then I covered my face with both hands and moaned with joy. “Everything is going to change.”
Leila rolled onto her stomach and leaned on her elbows, propping her chin with her palms. “What is it like to be in love?”
I grinned at her curiosity and stretched my arms straight. “It’s like dancing barefoot in the meadow under moonlight,” I told her. “Love tickles your toes and then climbs to your heart.” I rolled on the grass. “It spirals toward your fingertips as you spin and spin. Then it reaches up to the moon, grabs its rays, and pulls them down like a warm blanket.”
Leila sighed loudly. My sister’s wide eyes revealed their wanting.
Submission Bailey
Name: Bailey Hunter
E-mail: nordika.bailey@gmail.com
Title: DISJOINTED RESURRECTIONS - THE KOCHANEK PROCEDURE
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Pitch: Science saved June leaving her racing the clock to find out who the faceless beings stalking her were, how to stop them and save the others.
First 250:
June cradled the cell phone in the crook of her shoulder and opened the door to the obnoxiously bright convenience store.
“Mum, I told you. I’m going over to Fran’s place tonight. A bunch of us girls are getting together for an evening of card readings, palm readings -- that sort of thing. Leah just finished an aura reading class so she’s going to try and give us all one too.”
June nodded to the clerk while her mother rattled on.
“No mum. It’s not Satanism. You know that. Why do you say things like that anyway? Never mind. It’s just a fun gathering of women. You should come sometime. Then you can see for yourself.”
“Mhmm…uh huh…no” June gave auto replies as she shuffled through the snack aisle looking for proper party munchies.
“Mum! Don’t be silly. Of course you could come. I’m not going to beg you, but you are more than welcome.” June grabbed some pretzels, threw them in the basket and headed for the meagre produce section.
“No mum, I haven’t heard from Sherrie. She’ll call when she’s broke or needs a place to crash.” June sighs “I’m just telling it how it is, mum. Listen mummy, I love you very much and I will stop by tomorrow, ok? I’m about ready to go... Oh my God!”
June turned just in time to see a man in an over sized coat and face mask shoot the counter clerk. She tried to duck but too late.
Submission Loralie
Name: Loralie
Email: loralie.hall at gmail dot com
Title and genre: URIEL'S FALL -- Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Surrounded by gods and archangels who refuse to tell her the truth, Uriel learns the price of reality can't be covered by a good tip.
1st 250 words:
Cherubim longed for a name; a label to give it shape and definition like the seraphim it admired from a distance. Without a name it had no solid form, and therefore no senses. Images and voices bounced in its thoughts, painting a picture of their own.
It didn’t know if the other cherubim felt the same way. No one ever talked about it, so it also kept silent. But Cherubim loved to linger in the ethereal corridors of the creator’s heaven absorbing the day-to-day of the angels with bodies, personalities, and genders. It wondered what color eyes it would have. Would they be violet like Gabriel’s or maybe sapphire blue like Michael’s? And what kind of things would it be able to see with those eyes? Or feel with real fingers?
“Little one.” The voice echoed in its head.
Cherubim sought out the owner, recognizing him as one of the creator’s most powerful. Lucifer. It knew this one better than almost any. His name struck awe and fear in any cherubim. He never interacted with them; never gave them a reason to change their perspective.
It focused on the archangel, indicating its attention.
“I’ve seen you watching the seraphim.” His intent was difficult to read.
Was it in trouble? Cherubim tried to keep the fear at bay and failed.
“It’s all right. It’s why I’m talking to you. Would you like to be one of them?”
Really? It could have that? It would do anything for that.
Email: loralie.hall at gmail dot com
Title and genre: URIEL'S FALL -- Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Surrounded by gods and archangels who refuse to tell her the truth, Uriel learns the price of reality can't be covered by a good tip.
1st 250 words:
Cherubim longed for a name; a label to give it shape and definition like the seraphim it admired from a distance. Without a name it had no solid form, and therefore no senses. Images and voices bounced in its thoughts, painting a picture of their own.
It didn’t know if the other cherubim felt the same way. No one ever talked about it, so it also kept silent. But Cherubim loved to linger in the ethereal corridors of the creator’s heaven absorbing the day-to-day of the angels with bodies, personalities, and genders. It wondered what color eyes it would have. Would they be violet like Gabriel’s or maybe sapphire blue like Michael’s? And what kind of things would it be able to see with those eyes? Or feel with real fingers?
“Little one.” The voice echoed in its head.
Cherubim sought out the owner, recognizing him as one of the creator’s most powerful. Lucifer. It knew this one better than almost any. His name struck awe and fear in any cherubim. He never interacted with them; never gave them a reason to change their perspective.
It focused on the archangel, indicating its attention.
“I’ve seen you watching the seraphim.” His intent was difficult to read.
Was it in trouble? Cherubim tried to keep the fear at bay and failed.
“It’s all right. It’s why I’m talking to you. Would you like to be one of them?”
Really? It could have that? It would do anything for that.
Submission Cassandra
Name: Cassandra
Email: CassandraStryffe@yahoo.com
Title and Genre: ZOMBIE DIAPERS-light horror
Pitch: In a world where the walking corpses of loved ones are the most mundane danger 18 yr old Liz tries to raise an infant & forge a new life
First 250 words:
I stared down at the tiny bundle in the old laundry basket and sighed. I needed to go out and get a few things, things I had never thought I would need. I hadn't stockpiled anything for babies, hadn't given any thought to what allowing other people in here would mean to my hoarded supplies. Now I needed to. I sat back on my heels and pondered just how the hell I got here. A few months ago everything had been normal. I was shopping for the perfect dress for prom, Brad was taking me in a limo that he had rented for just the two of us. I was getting my nails done and bitching about my measly 100$ a month allowance. Then the unthinkable happened. I wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for the weird old guy across the street. He saved me, and a few others. But now they were all gone and me and this tiny, tiny baby were all that was left. Shaking my head I decided I didn't have time to sit there and re-hash old memories. Someone was counting on me. She needed me. And I didn't know the first thing about babies.
My family had been fairly well off, not rich, but comfortable. I had never babysat, and I was an only child (and something of a surprise to my folks who were in their 40's when they had me).
Now I had to figure out how to feed and change and whatever else a baby.
Email: CassandraStryffe@yahoo.com
Title and Genre: ZOMBIE DIAPERS-light horror
Pitch: In a world where the walking corpses of loved ones are the most mundane danger 18 yr old Liz tries to raise an infant & forge a new life
First 250 words:
I stared down at the tiny bundle in the old laundry basket and sighed. I needed to go out and get a few things, things I had never thought I would need. I hadn't stockpiled anything for babies, hadn't given any thought to what allowing other people in here would mean to my hoarded supplies. Now I needed to. I sat back on my heels and pondered just how the hell I got here. A few months ago everything had been normal. I was shopping for the perfect dress for prom, Brad was taking me in a limo that he had rented for just the two of us. I was getting my nails done and bitching about my measly 100$ a month allowance. Then the unthinkable happened. I wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for the weird old guy across the street. He saved me, and a few others. But now they were all gone and me and this tiny, tiny baby were all that was left. Shaking my head I decided I didn't have time to sit there and re-hash old memories. Someone was counting on me. She needed me. And I didn't know the first thing about babies.
My family had been fairly well off, not rich, but comfortable. I had never babysat, and I was an only child (and something of a surprise to my folks who were in their 40's when they had me).
Now I had to figure out how to feed and change and whatever else a baby.
Submission Willow
Name: Willow Cross
willow.cross@yahoo.com
Title/Genre: Inheritance-YA Urban fantasy
When Sarah received her inheritance, she didn't realize her true gift would come on her 18th birthday with the full moon.
Bang, clang, bang reverberated up the basement stairs and throughout the house. Sarah had already attempted to finish her homework in every room available, but the volume of noise remained equal in each. At least the kitchen table offered usable workspace.
Every so often a swoosh and tick tick tick from the portable welder would interrupt the clatter of metal being pounded into place. Then the bangs would begin again.
She took a sip of coffee and sat her cup on the kitchen table harder than she normally would have. Hot liquid sloshed over the sides and pooled under the blank sheet of paper that was supposed to have been an essay on slavery in the modern world. “Crap.” The bright yellow kitchen walls with sunflowers bordering the top didn't even come close to matching her mood. She stared at the mess on the table as the banging continued.
For the umpteenth time that afternoon, she wondered what Aunt Edna would have done in this situation. Sure they'd never met, but it would've been nice to have a grownup's perspective. A scowl crossed her face as she thought of what that last set of foster parents would have done. Jason would already be in an institution somewhere. If not in jail.
She sighed and grabbed a paper towel. Grownups were usually more trouble than they were worth. Besides, seventeen was pretty darn close to grown up. Close enough anyhow.
willow.cross@yahoo.com
Title/Genre: Inheritance-YA Urban fantasy
When Sarah received her inheritance, she didn't realize her true gift would come on her 18th birthday with the full moon.
Bang, clang, bang reverberated up the basement stairs and throughout the house. Sarah had already attempted to finish her homework in every room available, but the volume of noise remained equal in each. At least the kitchen table offered usable workspace.
Every so often a swoosh and tick tick tick from the portable welder would interrupt the clatter of metal being pounded into place. Then the bangs would begin again.
She took a sip of coffee and sat her cup on the kitchen table harder than she normally would have. Hot liquid sloshed over the sides and pooled under the blank sheet of paper that was supposed to have been an essay on slavery in the modern world. “Crap.” The bright yellow kitchen walls with sunflowers bordering the top didn't even come close to matching her mood. She stared at the mess on the table as the banging continued.
For the umpteenth time that afternoon, she wondered what Aunt Edna would have done in this situation. Sure they'd never met, but it would've been nice to have a grownup's perspective. A scowl crossed her face as she thought of what that last set of foster parents would have done. Jason would already be in an institution somewhere. If not in jail.
She sighed and grabbed a paper towel. Grownups were usually more trouble than they were worth. Besides, seventeen was pretty darn close to grown up. Close enough anyhow.
Submission Stina
Name: Stina
Email: stinalindenblatt (at) shaw (dot) ca
Genre and Title: YA contemporary--Shot in the Dark
Email: stinalindenblatt (at) shaw (dot) ca
Genre and Title: YA contemporary--Shot in the Dark
Maddie’s mission: to prove her BFF’s ex-boyfriend is selling steroids—only someone’s desperate to keep her from discovering the truth.
<<<3
For some people, time rushes by, never allowing them a chance to breathe. For others, like me, it can creep forward, forcing you to see all your screw ups in slow motion. Giving you the chance to regret them, but never allowing you the time to grab them back before it’s too late. Before they define you.
I pivot in my seat and check the clock on the biology classroom wall for the second time in two minutes. Where the hell is she?
Mr. Brenner nods at the guy slouched at the table near the door. Before he has a chance to get up and close it, and before the bell deafens us with it irritating screech, Olivia Goddard, my best friend, sails in, shutting the door behind her.
Finally. She didn’t show up at lunch, and I’ve been dying to talk to her about tonight.
Liv’s long, golden blonde hair curtains her face, almost hiding it, as she makes her way to our table, her eyes focused on the floor. Her hair, graceful legs, and high cheekbones are enough to send the testosterone levels of the guys in the class skyrocketing to record levels. I press my lips together to keep from cracking up at the lovesick looks plastered on their faces. Dream on guys.
She sits next to me at our table. Her eyes are red and damp trails stain her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper so Mr. Brenner can’t hear me.
Submission Sheenah
Name: Sheenah Freitas
Email: bellesfairytale[at]yahoo[dot]com
Title and genre: THE CHOSEN -- YA fantasy
Pitch: A reincarnated goddess must gather the powers of the gods in order to prevent a dire prophesy.
From behind the bar counter a young woman looked about and sighed. There was much that she still needed to do before dusk arrived bringing with it her first customers. Diminutive sunlight made its way from a shattered window; the ones that were intact had so much dust caked on them they sucked everything in like a black hole allowing nothing to pass through. Like the windows, the floor was covered in a film preventing its true luster from being seen. Miniscule tables filled the room with dull chairs on top. She pulled her blonde hair back behind her, but it managed to come undone within the first hour of cleaning.
Children could be heard outside, giggling. With a heavy sigh she dropped her mop and headed toward the door.
The sun was shining down on her as she walked out of Eternity, a small building in the dilapidated part of town. A month of cleaning and repairs wasn’t enough to take the years of negligence away. It was a bar for the hopeless, the weak, and the poor.
She peered down the alley. It stopped at the main street and continued on until it hit another road before continuing on again. To her, the alley was never ending, forever testing a human’s patience much like time. In front of her was a concrete courtyard the other businesses in the area used. The children, who were playing with a ball, hadn’t noticed her yet.
Email: bellesfairytale[at]yahoo[dot]com
Title and genre: THE CHOSEN -- YA fantasy
Pitch: A reincarnated goddess must gather the powers of the gods in order to prevent a dire prophesy.
From behind the bar counter a young woman looked about and sighed. There was much that she still needed to do before dusk arrived bringing with it her first customers. Diminutive sunlight made its way from a shattered window; the ones that were intact had so much dust caked on them they sucked everything in like a black hole allowing nothing to pass through. Like the windows, the floor was covered in a film preventing its true luster from being seen. Miniscule tables filled the room with dull chairs on top. She pulled her blonde hair back behind her, but it managed to come undone within the first hour of cleaning.
Children could be heard outside, giggling. With a heavy sigh she dropped her mop and headed toward the door.
The sun was shining down on her as she walked out of Eternity, a small building in the dilapidated part of town. A month of cleaning and repairs wasn’t enough to take the years of negligence away. It was a bar for the hopeless, the weak, and the poor.
She peered down the alley. It stopped at the main street and continued on until it hit another road before continuing on again. To her, the alley was never ending, forever testing a human’s patience much like time. In front of her was a concrete courtyard the other businesses in the area used. The children, who were playing with a ball, hadn’t noticed her yet.
Submission Carolyn
NAME: Carolyn Chambers Clark
EMAIL: cccwellness@earthlink.net
TITLE/GENRE: JANE EYRE, BEWARE, contemporary YA
PITCH: A plucky future lawyer plots to teach her JANE EYRE co-star a lesson, setting up a battle royal that could cost her admission to Columbia University.
250:
Senior Class Motto: Knowledge is the locker, but I forgot the combination
If I hadn't opened my big mouth the first week of senior year and asked what I could do to get a good grade in my psychology elective, I wouldn't feel trapped in this empty classroom with my teacher staring at me.
It's what I wanted, but now I feel like
exhibit A. I hope he can't read my mind and discover I think he's hot. Not that I'd ever act on it, but a girl can fantasize… I start to worry that he may not like girls with brown hair. I could dye my hair blonde or red, but I'm not sure which…
Mr. Tandish adjusts his tie and leans back against his desk chair to give me a closer look at his dimples. Just when I'm picturing the two of us together in the back of his convertible with my hair half-blonde and half-red, he says, "You're very bright, Jane, but you may have psychological issues that could hamper your grades."
His woodsy aftershave, which a minute ago smelled sexy, now makes me dizzy. I squirm in my chair and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. "Me? Psychological issues? It's not schizophrenia, is it? Still, if I start hearing voices, I'll have somebody to talk to because my only friend moved away."
My cheeks start to feel hot. I'm talking too much. I hope he doesn't think I'm blushing.
EMAIL: cccwellness@earthlink.net
TITLE/GENRE: JANE EYRE, BEWARE, contemporary YA
PITCH: A plucky future lawyer plots to teach her JANE EYRE co-star a lesson, setting up a battle royal that could cost her admission to Columbia University.
250:
Senior Class Motto: Knowledge is the locker, but I forgot the combination
If I hadn't opened my big mouth the first week of senior year and asked what I could do to get a good grade in my psychology elective, I wouldn't feel trapped in this empty classroom with my teacher staring at me.
It's what I wanted, but now I feel like
exhibit A. I hope he can't read my mind and discover I think he's hot. Not that I'd ever act on it, but a girl can fantasize… I start to worry that he may not like girls with brown hair. I could dye my hair blonde or red, but I'm not sure which…
Mr. Tandish adjusts his tie and leans back against his desk chair to give me a closer look at his dimples. Just when I'm picturing the two of us together in the back of his convertible with my hair half-blonde and half-red, he says, "You're very bright, Jane, but you may have psychological issues that could hamper your grades."
His woodsy aftershave, which a minute ago smelled sexy, now makes me dizzy. I squirm in my chair and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. "Me? Psychological issues? It's not schizophrenia, is it? Still, if I start hearing voices, I'll have somebody to talk to because my only friend moved away."
My cheeks start to feel hot. I'm talking too much. I hope he doesn't think I'm blushing.
Submission Kimberly
Name: Kimberly A Miller
Email: kimberlymillerpa@aol.com
Title: TRIANGLES--YA urban fantasy
Pitch: A seventeen-year-old girl experiences bizarre alternate realities when her cruise ship enters the mysterious Bermuda Triangle.
First 250 words:
I spotted her shivering figure cowering under a tall pine tree. Pulling up to the dark curb, I slammed the car into park and dimmed the lights. She slinked across the lawn and yanked the passenger door open.
“Get in!” I whispered. “Hurry!”
“Where are we going?” Nisha slid into the passenger seat and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Her bedhead and Happy Bunny pajamas forced a chuckle out of me.
“Trystan wants to see me. Just for a few minutes.” I shoved the car into drive and stomped on the gas pedal. “We’re meeting him at the reservoir. You have to keep watch for us in case the cops patrol the park.” I turned down the back road leading to the reservoir. Our heads bobbed and jerked as my mom’s old Ford Taurus navigated the uneven blacktop at high speed.
“Damn, Autumn Rayne! You woke me up to screw around with your boyfriend?” Nisha let out a giant yawn. “You suck.”
I kept my eyes on the unlit road. “Shut up. You’re my best friend. I’d do the same for you.”
She grabbed the steering wheel and tugged. “Turn this thing around right now.” The car listed to the right.
“Nisha! Let go!” I yanked her hands off the wheel, causing the car to bank left. I had just enough time to see the huge ditch on the side of the road to know we were screwed.
Email: kimberlymillerpa@aol.com
Title: TRIANGLES--YA urban fantasy
Pitch: A seventeen-year-old girl experiences bizarre alternate realities when her cruise ship enters the mysterious Bermuda Triangle.
First 250 words:
I spotted her shivering figure cowering under a tall pine tree. Pulling up to the dark curb, I slammed the car into park and dimmed the lights. She slinked across the lawn and yanked the passenger door open.
“Get in!” I whispered. “Hurry!”
“Where are we going?” Nisha slid into the passenger seat and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Her bedhead and Happy Bunny pajamas forced a chuckle out of me.
“Trystan wants to see me. Just for a few minutes.” I shoved the car into drive and stomped on the gas pedal. “We’re meeting him at the reservoir. You have to keep watch for us in case the cops patrol the park.” I turned down the back road leading to the reservoir. Our heads bobbed and jerked as my mom’s old Ford Taurus navigated the uneven blacktop at high speed.
“Damn, Autumn Rayne! You woke me up to screw around with your boyfriend?” Nisha let out a giant yawn. “You suck.”
I kept my eyes on the unlit road. “Shut up. You’re my best friend. I’d do the same for you.”
She grabbed the steering wheel and tugged. “Turn this thing around right now.” The car listed to the right.
“Nisha! Let go!” I yanked her hands off the wheel, causing the car to bank left. I had just enough time to see the huge ditch on the side of the road to know we were screwed.
Submission Jackie
Name: Jackie Felger
Email: jackiefelger(at)gmail(dot)com
Title & Genre: BREATHE FOR ME--YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: 17 yr old Hadley Blake discovers illegal cage matches at her new school for gifted teens & must fight for freedom or risk death to escape.
I covered my nose with the sleeve of my hospital gown, but it did little to mask the stench. “Next time, warn a girl before you show her a corpse.”
“He isn’t dead, Hadley.” Dr. Ramsey pushed the bed railing down, causing a loud clank to echo throughout the room.
I jumped. The body didn’t.
“If that noise didn’t wake him, nothing will.” I inched closer to the bed. Scarlet puddles seeped through the sheet at one end. Ten toes poked out at the other. “Why is he covered up if he’s alive?”
“I was concerned his appearance would frighten you.” Dr. Ramsey tugged on the sheet, revealing a guy who could’ve served as an extra in a horror flick. A gash on his forehead nearly leaked brains, and his face held numerous cuts, making his head look like it had been used as a piñata.
The smell of rancid meat grew stronger and almost knocked me to the floor. I gripped the bed sheets, trying to anchor myself. “What the hell happened to him?”
“That’s not your concern,” Dr. Ramsey said, ignoring my freak-out fest. “Your focus should be on healing him.”
“That’s what this is about?” I shouted. “You kidnapped me because you thought I could heal him?”
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
“Hello? When you barge into someone’s bedroom in the middle of the night and take them by force, it’s considered kidnapping.”
“We’ll discuss that incident later. Right now, I need you to heal him.”
Email: jackiefelger(at)gmail(dot)com
Title & Genre: BREATHE FOR ME--YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: 17 yr old Hadley Blake discovers illegal cage matches at her new school for gifted teens & must fight for freedom or risk death to escape.
I covered my nose with the sleeve of my hospital gown, but it did little to mask the stench. “Next time, warn a girl before you show her a corpse.”
“He isn’t dead, Hadley.” Dr. Ramsey pushed the bed railing down, causing a loud clank to echo throughout the room.
I jumped. The body didn’t.
“If that noise didn’t wake him, nothing will.” I inched closer to the bed. Scarlet puddles seeped through the sheet at one end. Ten toes poked out at the other. “Why is he covered up if he’s alive?”
“I was concerned his appearance would frighten you.” Dr. Ramsey tugged on the sheet, revealing a guy who could’ve served as an extra in a horror flick. A gash on his forehead nearly leaked brains, and his face held numerous cuts, making his head look like it had been used as a piñata.
The smell of rancid meat grew stronger and almost knocked me to the floor. I gripped the bed sheets, trying to anchor myself. “What the hell happened to him?”
“That’s not your concern,” Dr. Ramsey said, ignoring my freak-out fest. “Your focus should be on healing him.”
“That’s what this is about?” I shouted. “You kidnapped me because you thought I could heal him?”
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
“Hello? When you barge into someone’s bedroom in the middle of the night and take them by force, it’s considered kidnapping.”
“We’ll discuss that incident later. Right now, I need you to heal him.”
Submission Richard
Name: Richard Ewell
Email: richardewellart@rocketmail.com
Title and genre: FAT TRAPPED (Horror)
Pitch: In Garden Estates people are disappearing, what is their connection to each other and who are the people that are about to torture them.
Danielle felt blood run down her forehead like a river finding it's way down her nose. The blood dripped off her nose and she could hear it splat on the ground beneath her. Darkness surrounded her like prey and swallowed her whole. The last thing she remembered was doing her daily run routine through the neighborhood of Garden Estates.
She blinked several times trying to adjust her eyes in the darkness but it wasn’t working to well. Danielle's arms were high above her head and hands were woven through each other tied by a rope. The rope was holding her up just enough to where her toes touched. She could not put her feet flat on the floor because of the rope so there was constant pressure on her toes. The floor beneath her felt cold, in fact the air was the same. This could be due to Danielle wearing nothing but her purple and black spandex shorts and matching sports bra.
Panic began to set in and Danielle pulled against the rope around her hands as hard she could but could not get free. It burned her wrists but that was of no concern to her at this moment. Tears began to form around her eyes and screams started spewing out of her mouth. She could hear noises above her, talking, walking, and even some laughter.
“What do you want from me” Danielle screamed as tears fell in her mouth choking her.
Email: richardewellart@rocketmail.com
Title and genre: FAT TRAPPED (Horror)
Pitch: In Garden Estates people are disappearing, what is their connection to each other and who are the people that are about to torture them.
Danielle felt blood run down her forehead like a river finding it's way down her nose. The blood dripped off her nose and she could hear it splat on the ground beneath her. Darkness surrounded her like prey and swallowed her whole. The last thing she remembered was doing her daily run routine through the neighborhood of Garden Estates.
She blinked several times trying to adjust her eyes in the darkness but it wasn’t working to well. Danielle's arms were high above her head and hands were woven through each other tied by a rope. The rope was holding her up just enough to where her toes touched. She could not put her feet flat on the floor because of the rope so there was constant pressure on her toes. The floor beneath her felt cold, in fact the air was the same. This could be due to Danielle wearing nothing but her purple and black spandex shorts and matching sports bra.
Panic began to set in and Danielle pulled against the rope around her hands as hard she could but could not get free. It burned her wrists but that was of no concern to her at this moment. Tears began to form around her eyes and screams started spewing out of her mouth. She could hear noises above her, talking, walking, and even some laughter.
“What do you want from me” Danielle screamed as tears fell in her mouth choking her.
Submission Ellen
Name: Ellen McPeek Glisan
E-mail: eglisan@swbell.net
Title and Genre: No Free Art; Murder Mystery
Pitch: By making the most of their abilities despite their personal struggles, a blind grandmother and her silent, paralyzed granddaughter help to solve a local murder.
First 250 words of novel:
The winter wind whistled loudly around the wall of the school. A plastic bucket blew across the school courtyard, crashed into the door, and cracked in two. Snow followed frantically, covered the pieces of the bucket, and just as quickly blew away. The pieces of the bucket whipped out into the parking lot and broke into smaller pieces—a typical January night in Norton, Illinois.
Inside the high school gym, the basketball game provided the fans a temporary break from the cruel winds that were raging outside. The Norton Nighthawks fans screamed in unison as if the only thing that mattered in the whole world was that certain basket or pass. Even though every single person knew he or she had to brave the sharp, slapping winds in just a short time, while they were inside that gym, they were warm and happy, and the cold wasn’t even a distant thought.
Their break from the realities of winter ended as the people of Norton streamed out of the gym following the final shot. The close win over Johnson High lifted their spirits against the sharp, cold wind. They talked as they walked, but none of them lingered to talk a little longer at their cars like they always did in warmer weather. Lifted spirits was not that good of a shield against the subzero winds.
A grand total of 1800 people lived in Norton, Illinois……
E-mail: eglisan@swbell.net
Title and Genre: No Free Art; Murder Mystery
Pitch: By making the most of their abilities despite their personal struggles, a blind grandmother and her silent, paralyzed granddaughter help to solve a local murder.
First 250 words of novel:
The winter wind whistled loudly around the wall of the school. A plastic bucket blew across the school courtyard, crashed into the door, and cracked in two. Snow followed frantically, covered the pieces of the bucket, and just as quickly blew away. The pieces of the bucket whipped out into the parking lot and broke into smaller pieces—a typical January night in Norton, Illinois.
Inside the high school gym, the basketball game provided the fans a temporary break from the cruel winds that were raging outside. The Norton Nighthawks fans screamed in unison as if the only thing that mattered in the whole world was that certain basket or pass. Even though every single person knew he or she had to brave the sharp, slapping winds in just a short time, while they were inside that gym, they were warm and happy, and the cold wasn’t even a distant thought.
Their break from the realities of winter ended as the people of Norton streamed out of the gym following the final shot. The close win over Johnson High lifted their spirits against the sharp, cold wind. They talked as they walked, but none of them lingered to talk a little longer at their cars like they always did in warmer weather. Lifted spirits was not that good of a shield against the subzero winds.
A grand total of 1800 people lived in Norton, Illinois……
Submission Miriam
Name: Miriam Caldwell
Email: miriam.caldwell (at) gmail.com
Title DREAMING ISIS YA Contemporary Fantasy
Pitch:17-year-old Isis must choose between her mom’s acceptance or embracing who she truly is as she learns to control her newfound magical powers
First 250 words: It’s often been said that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but in the world I live in, a straight line is hard to find. I’ve never seen a road go straight into the distance disappearing into the horizon. Here, they twist and curve seemingly miles out of the way before they lead you where you want to go, which is home.
My mom fled her small southern town shedding the stigma of growing up in a trailer park. Ashamed of her mother who, though coming from money, was cast out after marrying my grandfather. She had been warned and when he up and left her with three small kids, her parents did not welcome her back in with loving arms.
In lots of ways my mom is still running, even though she’s settled down, married a lawyer and got a fancy house of her own.
Appearance is everything, whispers about our family should NOT happen, and any mention of the past is unacceptable as though she is afraid that someday the nightmares she’s been running from are going to find her again.
Which leaves me her only child with a bit of problem. An obsessive mother constantly breathing down my neck. Afraid to let me go, even though, thank God, it’s my senior year. My straight line is moving away to college. Running from my family the way my mom ran from hers.
Email: miriam.caldwell (at) gmail.com
Title DREAMING ISIS YA Contemporary Fantasy
Pitch:17-year-old Isis must choose between her mom’s acceptance or embracing who she truly is as she learns to control her newfound magical powers
First 250 words: It’s often been said that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but in the world I live in, a straight line is hard to find. I’ve never seen a road go straight into the distance disappearing into the horizon. Here, they twist and curve seemingly miles out of the way before they lead you where you want to go, which is home.
My mom fled her small southern town shedding the stigma of growing up in a trailer park. Ashamed of her mother who, though coming from money, was cast out after marrying my grandfather. She had been warned and when he up and left her with three small kids, her parents did not welcome her back in with loving arms.
In lots of ways my mom is still running, even though she’s settled down, married a lawyer and got a fancy house of her own.
Appearance is everything, whispers about our family should NOT happen, and any mention of the past is unacceptable as though she is afraid that someday the nightmares she’s been running from are going to find her again.
Which leaves me her only child with a bit of problem. An obsessive mother constantly breathing down my neck. Afraid to let me go, even though, thank God, it’s my senior year. My straight line is moving away to college. Running from my family the way my mom ran from hers.
Submission Jeanmarie
Name: Jeanmarie Anaya
Email: janaya75@hotmail.com
Title: MAGNETIC
Genre: paranormal YA
Twitter Pitch:
Carly Reynolds discovers being a hero won’t automatically get her a gold star. Particularly when the person she must save is already dead.
First 250 words:
Carly knew something was off about the old man the minute she first saw him. She spotted him peeking out from behind one of the towering flower arrangements dotting the room. He twitched his head back and forth, like a rat nosing at a trash pail and hoping not to get caught.
She sized him up. Maybe he was a priest. She quickly nixed that idea—no collar. Besides, what kind of priest hid behind flowers instead of shaking hands? And he was nothing like the other mourners at the funeral, either. He didn’t kneel on the padded velvet footstool beneath Nonna’s casket to offer up a prayer. And he didn’t give anyone the requisite sad, pitiful smile Carly had grown accustomed to seeing in the last three days.
She kept one eye pinned on him as she stood behind her father, leaning against the wall, hoping not to be seen by her mother or Aunt Marjorie. Good grief, those two had been sobbing all evening. Marj had bits of Kleenex stuck to the end of her nose. No way was Carly getting within a six-foot radius of that pity party. She didn’t need to be reminded of the obvious.
Besides, watching the old geezer stroking the casket was by far the best entertainment she’d had all day and she needed something to take her mind off the fact that her grandmother was in that casket. If nothing else, she’d vowed not to lose her cool in public.
Email: janaya75@hotmail.com
Title: MAGNETIC
Genre: paranormal YA
Twitter Pitch:
Carly Reynolds discovers being a hero won’t automatically get her a gold star. Particularly when the person she must save is already dead.
First 250 words:
Carly knew something was off about the old man the minute she first saw him. She spotted him peeking out from behind one of the towering flower arrangements dotting the room. He twitched his head back and forth, like a rat nosing at a trash pail and hoping not to get caught.
She sized him up. Maybe he was a priest. She quickly nixed that idea—no collar. Besides, what kind of priest hid behind flowers instead of shaking hands? And he was nothing like the other mourners at the funeral, either. He didn’t kneel on the padded velvet footstool beneath Nonna’s casket to offer up a prayer. And he didn’t give anyone the requisite sad, pitiful smile Carly had grown accustomed to seeing in the last three days.
She kept one eye pinned on him as she stood behind her father, leaning against the wall, hoping not to be seen by her mother or Aunt Marjorie. Good grief, those two had been sobbing all evening. Marj had bits of Kleenex stuck to the end of her nose. No way was Carly getting within a six-foot radius of that pity party. She didn’t need to be reminded of the obvious.
Besides, watching the old geezer stroking the casket was by far the best entertainment she’d had all day and she needed something to take her mind off the fact that her grandmother was in that casket. If nothing else, she’d vowed not to lose her cool in public.
Submission A.E.
Name: A.E. Martin
Email: aje237@yahoo.com
Title and genre: RAVENOUS DUSK (Urban Fantasy)
Pitch: Necromancer Blake loses control of her life when she goes from de-possessing people to unwillingly helping a gorgeous Reaper channel ghosts to the Underworld.
First 250 words:
The room was spinning, no wait, maybe I was the one spinning. I stopped and wobbled onto a bar stool.
“You know, it pisses me off that I live in a world where people just don’t go away when they die!” I said. “I mean, isn’t death supposed to be the ultimate end? The grand finale? The Big Bang?”
“Actually, the Big Bang is that theory by scientists about the formation of the universe…”
“Now Liam? Really?” I said, glaring at him. Liam sighed.
“Sorry, I forgot logic isn’t welcome during ‘drunken times with Blake’.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Now, where was I?” I got up again and started pacing. Liam was sitting hunched over the one beer he’d been nursing for the past hour, and watched as I chugged the rest of my beer, then demanded another from the bartender.
“Raving about people not being gone when they die,” Liam said dully. He actually took a drink; I must really be annoying the hell out of him tonight.
“Right! What’s with all the damn ghosts Liam? Did you know when I was twelve my grandmother’s ghost decided to jump into some old lady, ring my doorbell, and offer me candy from her purse?”
“Yes, I knew…”
“But she was in an Asian lady’s body!” I said. “That was my first clue something was off.”
“Maybe the first clue should have been that you already knew she was dead,” Liam said around a yawn.
Email: aje237@yahoo.com
Title and genre: RAVENOUS DUSK (Urban Fantasy)
Pitch: Necromancer Blake loses control of her life when she goes from de-possessing people to unwillingly helping a gorgeous Reaper channel ghosts to the Underworld.
First 250 words:
The room was spinning, no wait, maybe I was the one spinning. I stopped and wobbled onto a bar stool.
“You know, it pisses me off that I live in a world where people just don’t go away when they die!” I said. “I mean, isn’t death supposed to be the ultimate end? The grand finale? The Big Bang?”
“Actually, the Big Bang is that theory by scientists about the formation of the universe…”
“Now Liam? Really?” I said, glaring at him. Liam sighed.
“Sorry, I forgot logic isn’t welcome during ‘drunken times with Blake’.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Now, where was I?” I got up again and started pacing. Liam was sitting hunched over the one beer he’d been nursing for the past hour, and watched as I chugged the rest of my beer, then demanded another from the bartender.
“Raving about people not being gone when they die,” Liam said dully. He actually took a drink; I must really be annoying the hell out of him tonight.
“Right! What’s with all the damn ghosts Liam? Did you know when I was twelve my grandmother’s ghost decided to jump into some old lady, ring my doorbell, and offer me candy from her purse?”
“Yes, I knew…”
“But she was in an Asian lady’s body!” I said. “That was my first clue something was off.”
“Maybe the first clue should have been that you already knew she was dead,” Liam said around a yawn.
Submission Jordan McCollum
Name: Jordan McCollum
Email: jordan at jordanmccollum dot com
Title: FAÇADE--Thriller
Pitch: To protect the world's tenuous peace after WWII, a dyed-in-the-wool Soviet must choose between love and loyalty.
First 250:
As a Soviet living in Paris, and a woman, I had multiple fronts to defend. But the most devastating attack would come from a quarter I'd never anticipated. I would remember everything except the blast.
Though my father must have considered how accepting a favor from the Americans would affect the treaty negotiations, he'd done the political calculus and apparently this was his answer. I couldn't muster the same confidence, nor could I stop worrying my ring's rounded edge as I followed Papa across the broad court to the waiting maroon Packard.
For now, I had to help my father maintain the political balance for the duration of the ride as best we could. None of us could afford another war.
I stopped my restless hands and stepped into the Packard. The two Americans in the backseat nodded at me. The Secretary of State touched his gray homburg's brim. I settled onto the collapsible seat in front of him, but even the familiar, faint scent of cigarette smoke and leather couldn't make me comfortable.
"His Excellency James Byrnes," my father introduced the silver-haired man.
The slight American held up a hand. "Titles aren't necessary." He certainly didn't look like a capitalist, but then, they never did.
My father set his briefcase with the others at my feet and climbed into the seat by me. "My daughter, Yekaterina Korneyevna Mikhailova," he continued in his slight accent. "Our cultural attaché."
"Mikhailov," the fat American next to Byrnes addressed my father. "Who'd've thought? [. . .]"
Email: jordan at jordanmccollum dot com
Title: FAÇADE--Thriller
Pitch: To protect the world's tenuous peace after WWII, a dyed-in-the-wool Soviet must choose between love and loyalty.
First 250:
As a Soviet living in Paris, and a woman, I had multiple fronts to defend. But the most devastating attack would come from a quarter I'd never anticipated. I would remember everything except the blast.
Though my father must have considered how accepting a favor from the Americans would affect the treaty negotiations, he'd done the political calculus and apparently this was his answer. I couldn't muster the same confidence, nor could I stop worrying my ring's rounded edge as I followed Papa across the broad court to the waiting maroon Packard.
For now, I had to help my father maintain the political balance for the duration of the ride as best we could. None of us could afford another war.
I stopped my restless hands and stepped into the Packard. The two Americans in the backseat nodded at me. The Secretary of State touched his gray homburg's brim. I settled onto the collapsible seat in front of him, but even the familiar, faint scent of cigarette smoke and leather couldn't make me comfortable.
"His Excellency James Byrnes," my father introduced the silver-haired man.
The slight American held up a hand. "Titles aren't necessary." He certainly didn't look like a capitalist, but then, they never did.
My father set his briefcase with the others at my feet and climbed into the seat by me. "My daughter, Yekaterina Korneyevna Mikhailova," he continued in his slight accent. "Our cultural attaché."
"Mikhailov," the fat American next to Byrnes addressed my father. "Who'd've thought? [. . .]"
Submission Jordan
Name: Jordan Elizabeth Mierek
Email: SignedJori@gmail.com
Title and genre: TABITHA'S DEATH -- YA Dark Fantasy
Pitch: Tabitha slits her wrists to leave her painful life. Instead, she is sucked into a world where she must obey the Gray Man in order to die.
1st 250 words: Somewhere in the hallway, that stupid clock ticked away, counting down the minutes to my death. Tick-tock, tick-tock, you’re gonna die. I clenched my jaw, staring at my palm where I wanted to see a razorblade to end it all. Do it.
No, I didn’t have a razorblade. I could neither cut nor die.
Worthless.
I headed to Scott’s house to ask how he does it.
I was glad it was the weekend, when his parents go out to barbecues with ritzy friends, a mess of designer clothes. After Dad left, I’d begged Mom to move, yet she insisted on staying in the “good” neighborhood where it was safe, regardless of what the neighbors thought of us “trailer trash.”
I knocked about a hundred times on Scott’s back door before he finally answered with a joint in one hand and a can of beer in the other. Hardcore rock music blared from the depths of his house.
“Hey,” he said in that nasally voice that grates on my nerves. I tried to concentrate only on Scott. It was the last time I was going to see him, so it had to count.
“What’s up, Tab?”
I could’ve answered with many different responses. I could’ve said I was fine or the sky was up. I could’ve said I’d been better, the understatement of the century. Maybe he wanted to hear about what happened last night, and then he would have said it was typical boy behavior.
Email: SignedJori@gmail.com
Title and genre: TABITHA'S DEATH -- YA Dark Fantasy
Pitch: Tabitha slits her wrists to leave her painful life. Instead, she is sucked into a world where she must obey the Gray Man in order to die.
1st 250 words: Somewhere in the hallway, that stupid clock ticked away, counting down the minutes to my death. Tick-tock, tick-tock, you’re gonna die. I clenched my jaw, staring at my palm where I wanted to see a razorblade to end it all. Do it.
No, I didn’t have a razorblade. I could neither cut nor die.
Worthless.
I headed to Scott’s house to ask how he does it.
I was glad it was the weekend, when his parents go out to barbecues with ritzy friends, a mess of designer clothes. After Dad left, I’d begged Mom to move, yet she insisted on staying in the “good” neighborhood where it was safe, regardless of what the neighbors thought of us “trailer trash.”
I knocked about a hundred times on Scott’s back door before he finally answered with a joint in one hand and a can of beer in the other. Hardcore rock music blared from the depths of his house.
“Hey,” he said in that nasally voice that grates on my nerves. I tried to concentrate only on Scott. It was the last time I was going to see him, so it had to count.
“What’s up, Tab?”
I could’ve answered with many different responses. I could’ve said I was fine or the sky was up. I could’ve said I’d been better, the understatement of the century. Maybe he wanted to hear about what happened last night, and then he would have said it was typical boy behavior.
Submission Beth
Name: Bethany - bethanyray.goodman at gmail
Title: Untitled
Genre: Space Dystopia
Pitch: Juniper and Lillian would do anything to save their little world from their murderous ruler - but first they must find a way back to Earth.
250 Words:
The crowd surged on the ship, their protests echoing through the decontamination chamber. Most of them had never seen the loading dock; there weren’t many of us with keys.
The slim fitting breathing suit set me apart from the others. A few of the faceless bulky figures came to me, pleading admission. But I wasn’t a soldier today.
Today I stood among them, just as eager to dock the last ship back to Earth for a month as they were. My father stood at my left, a hand on my back to guide me towards the front. The room was miles long, but the fifty people surrounding us all waiting in the same area. All wanting to board.
When the first shot sounded, I pulled my father to a crouch, shielding as much of him as I could with my five foot, three inch frame. My suit was bullet proof; even the sterling white scientists’ suits didn’t have body armor. The rest of the civilian suits were even worse than his.
While we crouched, one of the loading dock guys ran over to us. “Dr. Karl, this is no place for a scientist or even a soldier. Go back up to the colony.” He looked out into the crowd. “Quickly.”
“My daughter and I want to board. We don’t want any trouble with Dr. Strauss.”
The dock worker grimaced, shaking his head. “You already have trouble. I’m going to pretend I didn’t see either of you involved in this. Go back.”
Title: Untitled
Genre: Space Dystopia
Pitch: Juniper and Lillian would do anything to save their little world from their murderous ruler - but first they must find a way back to Earth.
250 Words:
The crowd surged on the ship, their protests echoing through the decontamination chamber. Most of them had never seen the loading dock; there weren’t many of us with keys.
The slim fitting breathing suit set me apart from the others. A few of the faceless bulky figures came to me, pleading admission. But I wasn’t a soldier today.
Today I stood among them, just as eager to dock the last ship back to Earth for a month as they were. My father stood at my left, a hand on my back to guide me towards the front. The room was miles long, but the fifty people surrounding us all waiting in the same area. All wanting to board.
When the first shot sounded, I pulled my father to a crouch, shielding as much of him as I could with my five foot, three inch frame. My suit was bullet proof; even the sterling white scientists’ suits didn’t have body armor. The rest of the civilian suits were even worse than his.
While we crouched, one of the loading dock guys ran over to us. “Dr. Karl, this is no place for a scientist or even a soldier. Go back up to the colony.” He looked out into the crowd. “Quickly.”
“My daughter and I want to board. We don’t want any trouble with Dr. Strauss.”
The dock worker grimaced, shaking his head. “You already have trouble. I’m going to pretend I didn’t see either of you involved in this. Go back.”
Submission Melissa
Name: Melissa Barlow
E-mail: MelissaBarlow777(at)yahoo(dot)com
Title: KNIGHTS OF AVALON - YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: When Justine’s friend turns out to be the reincarnation of Guinevere and is kidnapped by Mordred, Justine will wield Excalibur to save her.
First 250 words:
“Hi, Justine. I’m sorry to be calling so late.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded scared, exhausted. It was my best friend’s Mom.
“Gwen’s not with you, is she?”
I scrambled to get my bearings in the darkness, the cell phone clutched in my hand. I was in my bedroom, the Bruce Lee posters on the walls told me that much. I peered at the alarm clock, the numbers flashed 3:11 back at me. Dread prickled at my skin. This wasn’t good. This was one of those calls you never wanted to get. Not at 3am on a school night. Not when everybody was talking about the murderer out there, targeting the brightest and most brilliant teens in New Jersey.
“No,” I said, fighting to keep calm. “Why would she be?” I was jumping to conclusions. I had to hear Mrs. Martinez out, let her explain why I had nothing to worry about.
“You haven’t heard from her at all?” There was a desperation to Mrs. Martinez’s voice a desperation I couldn’t bear to hear.
“No, what happened?” I asked, throwing the blankets back and sitting up straight. My heart started to pound. Fear forced me wide awake. “I mean, we talked earlier this evening. That was it.” It was three in the morning and the mother of my best friend was calling to find out where her daughter was. Only I had no idea.
E-mail: MelissaBarlow777(at)yahoo(dot)com
Title: KNIGHTS OF AVALON - YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: When Justine’s friend turns out to be the reincarnation of Guinevere and is kidnapped by Mordred, Justine will wield Excalibur to save her.
First 250 words:
“Hi, Justine. I’m sorry to be calling so late.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded scared, exhausted. It was my best friend’s Mom.
“Gwen’s not with you, is she?”
I scrambled to get my bearings in the darkness, the cell phone clutched in my hand. I was in my bedroom, the Bruce Lee posters on the walls told me that much. I peered at the alarm clock, the numbers flashed 3:11 back at me. Dread prickled at my skin. This wasn’t good. This was one of those calls you never wanted to get. Not at 3am on a school night. Not when everybody was talking about the murderer out there, targeting the brightest and most brilliant teens in New Jersey.
“No,” I said, fighting to keep calm. “Why would she be?” I was jumping to conclusions. I had to hear Mrs. Martinez out, let her explain why I had nothing to worry about.
“You haven’t heard from her at all?” There was a desperation to Mrs. Martinez’s voice a desperation I couldn’t bear to hear.
“No, what happened?” I asked, throwing the blankets back and sitting up straight. My heart started to pound. Fear forced me wide awake. “I mean, we talked earlier this evening. That was it.” It was three in the morning and the mother of my best friend was calling to find out where her daughter was. Only I had no idea.
Submission MaryGrayKaye
name: MaryGrayKaye
email: marygraykaye@gmail.com
title and genre: A WINGED THING, AND HOLY
pitch: Genevieve Dupont hungers for the love of a poet. In that pursuit, she becomes one. The love disintegrates; the poetry flourishes.
first words: At first it is the voice flowing down the oaken library table like a rivulet along a forest floor. It carries words I hardly hear, poetizing an act of love – …lying with a woman brings thoughts of mountains…bones rising up out of her flesh…soft wetness, the warmth…. Now the voice wraps around the words – …a snake-like river…uncoiling slowly in the sun….
The recitation transforms this after-hours poetry workshop into a sexual experience, not what I anticipated with the promotional flier’s promise of an introduction to verse – Sweetest is being held by a woman….
My body tenses. Bending forward I catch a glimpse of the face six chairs down churning out the baritone strains, a stoic face in concentration, tanned and gaunt, sculpted by years of emotion. His eyes look over spectacles to read the words he has put to paper. He enunciates each syllable so we can absorb as sensitively as he has experienced the very act of penetration –…she takes the seed as the earth takes seed in the spring…
As he reads, the summer evening sun seeps through the elongated gothic windows behind us. His shadow creeps across the table distracting me, engaging me. In the background I hear this lover describe his beloved in lilting tones, the admiration and the lust tripping over each other in lines of unending beauty. I absorb that love. If I could write such poetry; if I could find such love.
email: marygraykaye@gmail.com
title and genre: A WINGED THING, AND HOLY
pitch: Genevieve Dupont hungers for the love of a poet. In that pursuit, she becomes one. The love disintegrates; the poetry flourishes.
first words: At first it is the voice flowing down the oaken library table like a rivulet along a forest floor. It carries words I hardly hear, poetizing an act of love – …lying with a woman brings thoughts of mountains…bones rising up out of her flesh…soft wetness, the warmth…. Now the voice wraps around the words – …a snake-like river…uncoiling slowly in the sun….
The recitation transforms this after-hours poetry workshop into a sexual experience, not what I anticipated with the promotional flier’s promise of an introduction to verse – Sweetest is being held by a woman….
My body tenses. Bending forward I catch a glimpse of the face six chairs down churning out the baritone strains, a stoic face in concentration, tanned and gaunt, sculpted by years of emotion. His eyes look over spectacles to read the words he has put to paper. He enunciates each syllable so we can absorb as sensitively as he has experienced the very act of penetration –…she takes the seed as the earth takes seed in the spring…
As he reads, the summer evening sun seeps through the elongated gothic windows behind us. His shadow creeps across the table distracting me, engaging me. In the background I hear this lover describe his beloved in lilting tones, the admiration and the lust tripping over each other in lines of unending beauty. I absorb that love. If I could write such poetry; if I could find such love.
submission Aheila
Name: Aheïla
Email: thewriteaholicblog (at) hotmail.com
Title & Genre: OIL AND BOILING WATER -- Steampunk adventure with romantic elements
Pitch: Tatiana reckons a finer Britannia starts with a female Scholar. Broken engines, flirty French pirates and noes are hurdles of little import.
First 250 words:
The door slammed shut in my face. Its hinges rang from the shock for a couple of my angry heartbeats. I looked down at my bulging breasts, cursing them as my newfound habit instructed. I tried everything to get through the mahogany threshold and past the high marble walls of the University. Never was I allowed to step in.
Once, I strapped my breasts, which wasn’t as uncomfortable as releasing the glued fabric after wearing it for a day. I borrowed my brother’s clothes and tied my hair in a fashion appropriate for young educated lads. Altering my voice would have been tawdry and tedious to maintain. I wanted to agree with the general image of the people allowed in, but I held my gender in high regards and wouldn’t go as far as to forfeit it.
They derided me.
I opted for a new approach, one that lay at the other end of the spectrum. I put my breasts on a nigh indecent display in a precious dress and wore pricey perfumes. I adorned my neck with my most beautiful jewellery, powdered my nose and reddened my lips. They offered to accompany me somewhere else. Somewhere private.
Shoddy fops.
It seemed to me I had done it right this time. I wore the appropriate kind of corset, humble yet full of promise. My feet suffered in tight leather shoes with ridiculously high heels. I spoke in the low, charming voice suitable for a lady. I bowed, I fluttered and I smiled.
Email: thewriteaholicblog (at) hotmail.com
Title & Genre: OIL AND BOILING WATER -- Steampunk adventure with romantic elements
Pitch: Tatiana reckons a finer Britannia starts with a female Scholar. Broken engines, flirty French pirates and noes are hurdles of little import.
First 250 words:
The door slammed shut in my face. Its hinges rang from the shock for a couple of my angry heartbeats. I looked down at my bulging breasts, cursing them as my newfound habit instructed. I tried everything to get through the mahogany threshold and past the high marble walls of the University. Never was I allowed to step in.
Once, I strapped my breasts, which wasn’t as uncomfortable as releasing the glued fabric after wearing it for a day. I borrowed my brother’s clothes and tied my hair in a fashion appropriate for young educated lads. Altering my voice would have been tawdry and tedious to maintain. I wanted to agree with the general image of the people allowed in, but I held my gender in high regards and wouldn’t go as far as to forfeit it.
They derided me.
I opted for a new approach, one that lay at the other end of the spectrum. I put my breasts on a nigh indecent display in a precious dress and wore pricey perfumes. I adorned my neck with my most beautiful jewellery, powdered my nose and reddened my lips. They offered to accompany me somewhere else. Somewhere private.
Shoddy fops.
It seemed to me I had done it right this time. I wore the appropriate kind of corset, humble yet full of promise. My feet suffered in tight leather shoes with ridiculously high heels. I spoke in the low, charming voice suitable for a lady. I bowed, I fluttered and I smiled.
Submission Theresa
Name: Theresa Milstein
E-mail: tmilstein at gmail dot com
Title: NAKED EYE - YA Fantasy
Pitch:
Sixteen-year-old Lucienne’s prosthetic eye is replaced with a lie-seeing one. What price does Lucienne have to pay to uncover the truth?
250 Words:
You know how adults always warn children not to run with scissors because they could lose an eye and to stop tipping back their chairs because they could crack open their skulls? I’ve never cracked open my skull from tipping back a desk chair, but three years ago, I ran with scissors and lost an eye.
Seventh Grade
My class worked on an art project, making dioramas of our bedrooms, which had to be drawn to scale. “That’s my scissor,” I accused Andrea when I’d moved scraps of paper, bits of Styrofoam, and pipe cleaners only to spy my orange-handled one in her hand.
“It’s mine now,” she responded. Her lifeless hair covered her expression, and she didn’t even bother looking up as she cut out her dilapidated-looking dresser. I only knew it was a dresser because she’d told me. Her artistic ability was as bad as her attitude.
I huffed up from the table, banging shoulders with that sloth, Jeremy on the way to the art supply desk. We were locker neighbors, and he made sure to take his time with his door blocking mine so I’d stand there tapping my foot until just before the bell. It was only two weeks into school and I’d received three tardies because of him.
I searched the bin to find only rusty scissors were left, which would be terrible for slicing through thick paper. Snatching a scissor, I hurried back to the desk.
E-mail: tmilstein at gmail dot com
Title: NAKED EYE - YA Fantasy
Pitch:
Sixteen-year-old Lucienne’s prosthetic eye is replaced with a lie-seeing one. What price does Lucienne have to pay to uncover the truth?
250 Words:
You know how adults always warn children not to run with scissors because they could lose an eye and to stop tipping back their chairs because they could crack open their skulls? I’ve never cracked open my skull from tipping back a desk chair, but three years ago, I ran with scissors and lost an eye.
Seventh Grade
My class worked on an art project, making dioramas of our bedrooms, which had to be drawn to scale. “That’s my scissor,” I accused Andrea when I’d moved scraps of paper, bits of Styrofoam, and pipe cleaners only to spy my orange-handled one in her hand.
“It’s mine now,” she responded. Her lifeless hair covered her expression, and she didn’t even bother looking up as she cut out her dilapidated-looking dresser. I only knew it was a dresser because she’d told me. Her artistic ability was as bad as her attitude.
I huffed up from the table, banging shoulders with that sloth, Jeremy on the way to the art supply desk. We were locker neighbors, and he made sure to take his time with his door blocking mine so I’d stand there tapping my foot until just before the bell. It was only two weeks into school and I’d received three tardies because of him.
I searched the bin to find only rusty scissors were left, which would be terrible for slicing through thick paper. Snatching a scissor, I hurried back to the desk.
Submission Margay
Name: Margay Leah Justice
Email: Margay1122(at)gmail(dot)com
Title: A DEMON'S REDEMPTION - Paranormal Romance
Pitch: The lines between good and evil have been drawn but they blur when redeemer Lorelei falls for sweet-talking demon Azazel. Can she trust him?
250 Words:
When I was born, all of the demons in hell cashed in their chips to vie for me. Not for want of me, precisely, but for what I represent. I am cursed – or blessed – with the ability to sniff them out. Kind of like a psychic bloodhound. And unearth them. Literally. But in a crazy twist of irony, I am also the conduit for them to buy their way back into heaven. For one month out of the year, it is my duty to help the truly repentant on their journey back onto a nobler path. Unfortunately, during this time, my senses are somewhat blighted, so I can’t smell them coming. Or send them packing, back into the fiery pit from which they arose. Who makes up these rules? Well, at least they can’t harm me during that time, either. That’s the condition of the truce, anyway. Welcome to hell –
Lorelei’s fingers crashed against the keyboard as the scent of sulfur wafted beneath her nose. As if someone had just lit a match. Only stronger. More pungent. More…sinister. Damn. She knew that smell – and it always brought trouble. Not now, she thought. My one free moment before the big exam and I have to contend with a wayward –
“I’m not here to harm you,” a deep, almost guttural voice sounded from behind the tree against which she was propped.
Email: Margay1122(at)gmail(dot)com
Title: A DEMON'S REDEMPTION - Paranormal Romance
Pitch: The lines between good and evil have been drawn but they blur when redeemer Lorelei falls for sweet-talking demon Azazel. Can she trust him?
250 Words:
When I was born, all of the demons in hell cashed in their chips to vie for me. Not for want of me, precisely, but for what I represent. I am cursed – or blessed – with the ability to sniff them out. Kind of like a psychic bloodhound. And unearth them. Literally. But in a crazy twist of irony, I am also the conduit for them to buy their way back into heaven. For one month out of the year, it is my duty to help the truly repentant on their journey back onto a nobler path. Unfortunately, during this time, my senses are somewhat blighted, so I can’t smell them coming. Or send them packing, back into the fiery pit from which they arose. Who makes up these rules? Well, at least they can’t harm me during that time, either. That’s the condition of the truce, anyway. Welcome to hell –
Lorelei’s fingers crashed against the keyboard as the scent of sulfur wafted beneath her nose. As if someone had just lit a match. Only stronger. More pungent. More…sinister. Damn. She knew that smell – and it always brought trouble. Not now, she thought. My one free moment before the big exam and I have to contend with a wayward –
“I’m not here to harm you,” a deep, almost guttural voice sounded from behind the tree against which she was propped.
Submission Norma
Name: Norma Johnson-MacGregor
Email: Johnson_norma(at)hotmail(dot)com
Title: VEX
Genre: YA SF/F
Pitch: Virtual Environment Ten—VEX—turns deadly when Tana, 16, discovers something wants to download itself into her body and take over her life.
1st 250 words:
I tried to ignore the steady hum of the computers that filled the sterile, white walled room. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird?”
“He meant for this technology to be used by someone,” Shane said. “It was all he cared about…toward the end.” His voice choked to a halt. I placed a tentative hand on Shane’s broad shoulder, offering all the support I dared without breaking the fragile ease that existed between us.
Toward the end. Shane meant before his father died down here. Before he was driven to obsession by the virtual universe he’d created. It had been common for him to spend days in the lab perfecting it. His body hadn’t been found until two days after his death. I looked around, the large room. I couldn’t imagine locking myself away here. The thought of a body being found in this room made my skin crawl.
Despite all of the books that and file cabinets that lined the walls, the room still managed to feel cold and empty. An oversized oak desk stood against one wall, covered by a keyboard, mouse and scattered papers that were filled with complicated looking diagrams and notes. A huge computer monitor was mounted to the wall, its impersonal blue screen staring at us. Several computers lined the floor under the desk, all linked together in a network, Shane had told me, in order to provide the energy needed to power whatever program his dad had been working on.
Email: Johnson_norma(at)hotmail(dot)com
Title: VEX
Genre: YA SF/F
Pitch: Virtual Environment Ten—VEX—turns deadly when Tana, 16, discovers something wants to download itself into her body and take over her life.
1st 250 words:
I tried to ignore the steady hum of the computers that filled the sterile, white walled room. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird?”
“He meant for this technology to be used by someone,” Shane said. “It was all he cared about…toward the end.” His voice choked to a halt. I placed a tentative hand on Shane’s broad shoulder, offering all the support I dared without breaking the fragile ease that existed between us.
Toward the end. Shane meant before his father died down here. Before he was driven to obsession by the virtual universe he’d created. It had been common for him to spend days in the lab perfecting it. His body hadn’t been found until two days after his death. I looked around, the large room. I couldn’t imagine locking myself away here. The thought of a body being found in this room made my skin crawl.
Despite all of the books that and file cabinets that lined the walls, the room still managed to feel cold and empty. An oversized oak desk stood against one wall, covered by a keyboard, mouse and scattered papers that were filled with complicated looking diagrams and notes. A huge computer monitor was mounted to the wall, its impersonal blue screen staring at us. Several computers lined the floor under the desk, all linked together in a network, Shane had told me, in order to provide the energy needed to power whatever program his dad had been working on.
Submission Shari
Name: Shari A. Brady
Email: Sharibrady1 at yahoo dot com
Title/Genre: Epiphany YA Contemporary/Supernatural element
Ptich: Sixteen year old Carmella must help her older sister get into heaven, but in order to do that she must face the truth of her and her sister's life.
1st 250:
As we pull out the Elmwood Park Cemetery, I think about all the dreams Francesca and I confessed to each other when the lights were out and we were supposed to be sleeping. There were so many places Francesca and I wanted to see, so many things we were going to do with our lives. She always wanted to see Hawaii and the Caribbean, where the climate was mild, people were relaxed, where life seemed so much easier than here in the Midwest. But Francesca never made it past twenty-two, never made it past the city of Chicago.
Since I was born, my life was all about Francesca. We were inseparable. I wonder when the reality of losing my big sister will sink in and that’ll be it. I’ll lose my mind. Become a mute. Stop living at sixteen. I wonder when the pain in my gut will subside. I know I’ll never laugh again, let alone manage a real smile. I feel like I’m walking around with bricks on my back, and I’m convinced God must hate Francesca and me. I wonder what we did to deserve this?
My mother’s resting her head in her hand, looking out the window, silent while my Dad drives. I stare at my dad’s shiny black hair. The dark charcoal suit he has on is the only thing he’s worn for the past two days. It’s the same suit he wore a few years ago for Grandpa’s funeral.
Email: Sharibrady1 at yahoo dot com
Title/Genre: Epiphany YA Contemporary/Supernatural element
Ptich: Sixteen year old Carmella must help her older sister get into heaven, but in order to do that she must face the truth of her and her sister's life.
1st 250:
As we pull out the Elmwood Park Cemetery, I think about all the dreams Francesca and I confessed to each other when the lights were out and we were supposed to be sleeping. There were so many places Francesca and I wanted to see, so many things we were going to do with our lives. She always wanted to see Hawaii and the Caribbean, where the climate was mild, people were relaxed, where life seemed so much easier than here in the Midwest. But Francesca never made it past twenty-two, never made it past the city of Chicago.
Since I was born, my life was all about Francesca. We were inseparable. I wonder when the reality of losing my big sister will sink in and that’ll be it. I’ll lose my mind. Become a mute. Stop living at sixteen. I wonder when the pain in my gut will subside. I know I’ll never laugh again, let alone manage a real smile. I feel like I’m walking around with bricks on my back, and I’m convinced God must hate Francesca and me. I wonder what we did to deserve this?
My mother’s resting her head in her hand, looking out the window, silent while my Dad drives. I stare at my dad’s shiny black hair. The dark charcoal suit he has on is the only thing he’s worn for the past two days. It’s the same suit he wore a few years ago for Grandpa’s funeral.
Submission Karlene
Name: Karlene K Petitt
Email: Karlene.Petitt@gmail.com
Title/Genre: Flight 007, A Darby Series/General fiction.
Pitch: Imagine Stephanie Plumb as an Airline Pilot. For Darby, every flight's a challenge and every layover an adventure. A cougar in the sky.
1st 250 words:
My name is Darby and I am an airline pilot. That’s why I’m sitting outside the chief pilot’s office at 7:30 in the morning. Not because I’m a pilot, but because I’m Darby. Sometimes known as D.B., which has nothing to do with doing business and everything to do with Bradshaw being my last name.
Unfortunately I have an uncanny way of getting myself into trouble without even trying. Not a skill, but an innate talent that I’m not proud of. It’s also been said that I’m every older man’s regret and every younger man’s dream.
Right now, I’m the chief pilot’s problem, and he’s my nightmare. I’m not really a problem. He just couldn’t have me naked, so he takes every opportunity to make my life miserable. And being Darby, opportunity arises often.
Sitting in this hall is definitely not on the top of my list of to-dos after flying ten hours from Tokyo to L.A, at the tail end of an eleven-day trip. I’m tired. I’m grumpy. I can’t drink coffee, because I need to sleep. And on top of everything else, I really need to pee.
“Hey Darb, how ya doin?” Brandie asks, balancing her bags against the wall, in attempt to punch the code into the security door pad. I jump up to help.
“Great. Let me get that for you,” I say for the ninth time in the previous twenty minutes. I’m actually not good right now, for so many reasons.
Email: Karlene.Petitt@gmail.com
Title/Genre: Flight 007, A Darby Series/General fiction.
Pitch: Imagine Stephanie Plumb as an Airline Pilot. For Darby, every flight's a challenge and every layover an adventure. A cougar in the sky.
1st 250 words:
My name is Darby and I am an airline pilot. That’s why I’m sitting outside the chief pilot’s office at 7:30 in the morning. Not because I’m a pilot, but because I’m Darby. Sometimes known as D.B., which has nothing to do with doing business and everything to do with Bradshaw being my last name.
Unfortunately I have an uncanny way of getting myself into trouble without even trying. Not a skill, but an innate talent that I’m not proud of. It’s also been said that I’m every older man’s regret and every younger man’s dream.
Right now, I’m the chief pilot’s problem, and he’s my nightmare. I’m not really a problem. He just couldn’t have me naked, so he takes every opportunity to make my life miserable. And being Darby, opportunity arises often.
Sitting in this hall is definitely not on the top of my list of to-dos after flying ten hours from Tokyo to L.A, at the tail end of an eleven-day trip. I’m tired. I’m grumpy. I can’t drink coffee, because I need to sleep. And on top of everything else, I really need to pee.
“Hey Darb, how ya doin?” Brandie asks, balancing her bags against the wall, in attempt to punch the code into the security door pad. I jump up to help.
“Great. Let me get that for you,” I say for the ninth time in the previous twenty minutes. I’m actually not good right now, for so many reasons.
Submission Jacqueline
Name: Jacqueline Kim
Email: jacquelinekim (at) rocketmail (dot) com
Title/Genre: SHOES FOR TWO--Fantasy
Pitch: Bookish Ariana is mistaken for Cinderella when she is the only girl to fit the glass slipper and is sent to the palace to marry the prince.
1st 250 Words:
That shoe was not supposed to fit.
I could blame a number of people for that: I could blame the princess for wearing it; I could blame Prince Alexandre for thinking of such a foolish way to find her; and, in my present state of anger, I could even blame my own late mother for birthing a daughter the same height and size as this princess. But then again, that would be foolish. I shouldn’t even think of such a thing.
Or perhaps I could blame Amica, even though she is my best friend. If she had not forced me to go to the ball, then I may not be in such a mess. On second thought…I did agree to go myself (after a great deal of her indignant goading).
Mayhap Mrs. Joan is partially at fault. She was the one that had picked out all the finest jewelry and accessories, clearing my doubts about going to the ball. But I shan’t blame her, for she was so thoughtful as to send this journal to me, and it is a handsome volume that may prove to calm my qualms and frustrations.
I could charge Father responsible for giving me such great encouragement to attend, even letting me wear the mask…but he is the only parent I have left, and how dearly I love him.
Whosever fault it is, I am in one wretched situation. And I must, must, must get out of it. Before the month is out.
Email: jacquelinekim (at) rocketmail (dot) com
Title/Genre: SHOES FOR TWO--Fantasy
Pitch: Bookish Ariana is mistaken for Cinderella when she is the only girl to fit the glass slipper and is sent to the palace to marry the prince.
1st 250 Words:
That shoe was not supposed to fit.
I could blame a number of people for that: I could blame the princess for wearing it; I could blame Prince Alexandre for thinking of such a foolish way to find her; and, in my present state of anger, I could even blame my own late mother for birthing a daughter the same height and size as this princess. But then again, that would be foolish. I shouldn’t even think of such a thing.
Or perhaps I could blame Amica, even though she is my best friend. If she had not forced me to go to the ball, then I may not be in such a mess. On second thought…I did agree to go myself (after a great deal of her indignant goading).
Mayhap Mrs. Joan is partially at fault. She was the one that had picked out all the finest jewelry and accessories, clearing my doubts about going to the ball. But I shan’t blame her, for she was so thoughtful as to send this journal to me, and it is a handsome volume that may prove to calm my qualms and frustrations.
I could charge Father responsible for giving me such great encouragement to attend, even letting me wear the mask…but he is the only parent I have left, and how dearly I love him.
Whosever fault it is, I am in one wretched situation. And I must, must, must get out of it. Before the month is out.
Submission Ann Braden
Name: Ann Braden
E-mail: annbbraden at gmail.com
Title: Swimming with Tchaikovsky
Genre: YA Magical Realism
Pitch: When Sally’s Russian host father is kidnapped for exposing govt corruption, all seems lost. Until Sally’s music creates visions of the past.
1st 250 words:
With her cello strapped to her back, Sally picked her way past the trash huddled in the eddies of the stairwell as she made her way down from the third floor apartment. Just days before her flight, her friends had warned her that she wasn’t tough enough to handle a week in Russia. Sally had been dabbing at her eyes at the time, having just watched a particularly moving McDonald’s commercial, but she had argued back anyway.
“But I’m used to competitions.”
“It’s not the competition we’re thinking about -- it’s everything else. You’re just too sensitive.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Sally pushed against the metal door to the outside. It didn’t budge. She grit her teeth and pushed harder. I’m NOT too sensitive.
The heavy door disagreed.
With a slight growl, she slammed her shoulder into it, only to get her purple fleece caught on the deadbolt that was quietly holding the door in place. She groaned and turned it. As the door swung out over the stoop, it barely cleared something sprawled across her path.
A man’s body stinking of alcohol.
The man groaned, and his arm twitched as he swatted at something on his face. Not too sensitive, right? She took a deep breath. Right. She leaped over the man, just missing the edge of his leather jacket. Then she straightened up and headed for the concert hall.
When she turned onto Nevsky Prospect, the main street of Saint Petersburg, cold wind whipped through her hair.
E-mail: annbbraden at gmail.com
Title: Swimming with Tchaikovsky
Genre: YA Magical Realism
Pitch: When Sally’s Russian host father is kidnapped for exposing govt corruption, all seems lost. Until Sally’s music creates visions of the past.
1st 250 words:
With her cello strapped to her back, Sally picked her way past the trash huddled in the eddies of the stairwell as she made her way down from the third floor apartment. Just days before her flight, her friends had warned her that she wasn’t tough enough to handle a week in Russia. Sally had been dabbing at her eyes at the time, having just watched a particularly moving McDonald’s commercial, but she had argued back anyway.
“But I’m used to competitions.”
“It’s not the competition we’re thinking about -- it’s everything else. You’re just too sensitive.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Sally pushed against the metal door to the outside. It didn’t budge. She grit her teeth and pushed harder. I’m NOT too sensitive.
The heavy door disagreed.
With a slight growl, she slammed her shoulder into it, only to get her purple fleece caught on the deadbolt that was quietly holding the door in place. She groaned and turned it. As the door swung out over the stoop, it barely cleared something sprawled across her path.
A man’s body stinking of alcohol.
The man groaned, and his arm twitched as he swatted at something on his face. Not too sensitive, right? She took a deep breath. Right. She leaped over the man, just missing the edge of his leather jacket. Then she straightened up and headed for the concert hall.
When she turned onto Nevsky Prospect, the main street of Saint Petersburg, cold wind whipped through her hair.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Pitch & 250 Word Contest
The contest is now closed. Thanks for participating.
I will be posting each entry in the next couple of days. At that time, I would like for each participant to choose three posts to read and comment under. That way this will be a learning experience for all involved.
Please check back.
And again, thanks for entering.
It's your lucky day.
I'm super excited again to be hosting another contest for all my wonderful followers. Yep! Another one.
Judged by agent awesomeness, Gina Panettieri (follow her here), President of Talcott Notch Literary Service. I was lucky enough to interview Gina a few months ago. You can check that out here.
Okay, so off to the contest. Read the rules and follow them.
First--This contest is opened to U.S and Canada residents only. Your manuscript does NOT have to be complete to enter.
Oh, and by the way, you need to be a follower.
Second--Your pitch has to fit in a twitter-sized tweet. So, yanno, no more than 140 characters. And, yes, I will be counting.
Third--Please keep your entry to 250 words. Do not stop in the middle of a sentence, though. I mean, seriously, finish it.
Forth--Please post in the comment section as such:
Name: Ebyss Only you put in your name, not mine.
Email: Yanno, so I can get hold of you if you win.
Title and genre: BEST NOVEL EVER (put title in all caps as shown)--Fantasy
Pitch: Remember 140 characters only
1st 250 words: It was a dark and stormy night....yadda yadda yadda.
Now to the best part.......
Gina has been gracious enough to offer some fabtastic (my blog I get to make up words) prizes.
1st Place: Full critique of of manuscript or however much you have completed of WIP in a half-hour one on one session, AND signed copies of Nancy Holzner's DEADTOWN and HELLFORGED and Wayne Simmons' FLU and DROP DEAD GORGEOUS. These will be autographed to you.
Both of these wonderful authors are clients of Gina's. You can visit them here and here.
2nd Place: Critique of first three chapters or the first 50 pages and a synopsis. You also get a book.
3rd Place: Critique of first chapter.
4th Place: Critique of first page and pitch.
This is a wonderful opportunity for all of us writers. If I wasn't hosting this contest, I'd be entering. Hmm?? I wonder if I used a different name.....Um..... :)
This contest starts today, April 11th and ends April 17th of this year 2011.
Rules are subject to change. Cuz, it's my blog.
Have fun and let's see what you got!!!!!!
I can't promise extra entries or a definite win, but I'll do a happy dance if you'll share this contest with your friends on twitter and facebook.
Please note, if you entered the other contest, YOU CAN enter this one too.
I will be posting each entry in the next couple of days. At that time, I would like for each participant to choose three posts to read and comment under. That way this will be a learning experience for all involved.
Please check back.
And again, thanks for entering.
It's your lucky day.
I'm super excited again to be hosting another contest for all my wonderful followers. Yep! Another one.
Judged by agent awesomeness, Gina Panettieri (follow her here), President of Talcott Notch Literary Service. I was lucky enough to interview Gina a few months ago. You can check that out here.
Okay, so off to the contest. Read the rules and follow them.
First--This contest is opened to U.S and Canada residents only. Your manuscript does NOT have to be complete to enter.
Oh, and by the way, you need to be a follower.
Second--Your pitch has to fit in a twitter-sized tweet. So, yanno, no more than 140 characters. And, yes, I will be counting.
Third--Please keep your entry to 250 words. Do not stop in the middle of a sentence, though. I mean, seriously, finish it.
Forth--Please post in the comment section as such:
Name: Ebyss Only you put in your name, not mine.
Email: Yanno, so I can get hold of you if you win.
Title and genre: BEST NOVEL EVER (put title in all caps as shown)--Fantasy
Pitch: Remember 140 characters only
1st 250 words: It was a dark and stormy night....yadda yadda yadda.
Now to the best part.......
Gina has been gracious enough to offer some fabtastic (my blog I get to make up words) prizes.
1st Place: Full critique of of manuscript or however much you have completed of WIP in a half-hour one on one session, AND signed copies of Nancy Holzner's DEADTOWN and HELLFORGED and Wayne Simmons' FLU and DROP DEAD GORGEOUS. These will be autographed to you.
Both of these wonderful authors are clients of Gina's. You can visit them here and here.
2nd Place: Critique of first three chapters or the first 50 pages and a synopsis. You also get a book.
3rd Place: Critique of first chapter.
4th Place: Critique of first page and pitch.
This is a wonderful opportunity for all of us writers. If I wasn't hosting this contest, I'd be entering. Hmm?? I wonder if I used a different name.....Um..... :)
This contest starts today, April 11th and ends April 17th of this year 2011.
Rules are subject to change. Cuz, it's my blog.
Have fun and let's see what you got!!!!!!
I can't promise extra entries or a definite win, but I'll do a happy dance if you'll share this contest with your friends on twitter and facebook.
Please note, if you entered the other contest, YOU CAN enter this one too.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
1st 250 Word Contest ---Winners Announced
And the winner is.....
But before I announce the winners, I would like to thank Alyson Peterson for agreeing to judge my little contest. Especially for still taking the time after she found out she had a family emergency.
I would also like to thank everyone who participated.
Now on to the Alyson...
I finally got to reading all of those fabulous submissions. I picked the winners even though there were more than three that caught my attention. Here are my thoughts if you feel like posting there with my results.
My dear Writing Friends!
What a wonderful challenge it is to read the opening paragraphs to your submissions. I am sorry to say that I had to leave the fabulous internship due to a sudden illness in my family and I miss reading your queries and submissions. I hope to return soon (actually I don't because it would be post funeral and I'd like as much time as I can get!). After reading and commenting on all 16 contest submissions, I would have to say that I am concerned. Too many adjectives, adverbs, and unclear sentence structures!!! The best advice I can give is that you read (slowly and in monotone) out loud your manuscripts and have a red pen on hand to make changes. Keep your story on point, clear, and give a balance of show, tell and voice for maximum literary punch.
Here are the winners:
1st Place: #16 Soul Without A Boy by Lori Lee
2nd Place: #13 Bleed Well by Michael Tate
3rd Place: A unbreakable tie between #3 Envy by Angela and #8 Death By High Heels by Violet Ingram
Honorable mention: #12 Brothers Torn by, Leiann Bynum
I hope you are all well and writing like madmen/women. Best of luck and I hope to see you all on the page soon!
Alyson
Alyson left comments on everyone's post. I suggest you take a look and see what she has to say about you.
If you're a winner, I will be contacting you soon for mailing info.
Thanks again, Alyson and thank you, participants.
But before I announce the winners, I would like to thank Alyson Peterson for agreeing to judge my little contest. Especially for still taking the time after she found out she had a family emergency.
I would also like to thank everyone who participated.
Now on to the Alyson...
I finally got to reading all of those fabulous submissions. I picked the winners even though there were more than three that caught my attention. Here are my thoughts if you feel like posting there with my results.
My dear Writing Friends!
What a wonderful challenge it is to read the opening paragraphs to your submissions. I am sorry to say that I had to leave the fabulous internship due to a sudden illness in my family and I miss reading your queries and submissions. I hope to return soon (actually I don't because it would be post funeral and I'd like as much time as I can get!). After reading and commenting on all 16 contest submissions, I would have to say that I am concerned. Too many adjectives, adverbs, and unclear sentence structures!!! The best advice I can give is that you read (slowly and in monotone) out loud your manuscripts and have a red pen on hand to make changes. Keep your story on point, clear, and give a balance of show, tell and voice for maximum literary punch.
Here are the winners:
1st Place: #16 Soul Without A Boy by Lori Lee
2nd Place: #13 Bleed Well by Michael Tate
3rd Place: A unbreakable tie between #3 Envy by Angela and #8 Death By High Heels by Violet Ingram
Honorable mention: #12 Brothers Torn by, Leiann Bynum
I hope you are all well and writing like madmen/women. Best of luck and I hope to see you all on the page soon!
Alyson
Alyson left comments on everyone's post. I suggest you take a look and see what she has to say about you.
If you're a winner, I will be contacting you soon for mailing info.
Thanks again, Alyson and thank you, participants.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
1st 250 Word Contest comments
Thanks all for participating. There are 16 entries and I do not envy Alyson at all---there are some wonderful entries to have to choose from.
I have posted all entries up, 1-16.
If you find a mistake on your your entry, please leave a comment here with details to the problem and making reference to the appropriate paragraph or sentence--don't forget to tell me the post number I will make the correction as soon as I can.
I am inviting all to make comments to each author's submission. Please nothing rude. Only helpful or encouraging comments will be accepted.
Results will be posted as soon as I get them. I'm expecting about a month, give or take. As soon as I know, so will you.
This was a lot of fun and I can't wait until next months contest. That's right, I already have another planned.
Last thing, please leave a comment here to thank Alyson for her time. She is a busy person interning at Ayesha Pande Literary, and I think it was great that she donated her time for us.
So...THANK YOU. :) You're the bestest (my blog I get to make up words).
I've noticed that when you hit older posts that it skips a numbered post. To review please hit the post number located on the side. That way every post will have a chance for comments without getting accidentally skipped over.
Thanks,
The Management. :)
Please note that the management does know how to count but for some reason the posts will not save in the correct order. What happened?? I don't know. I tried to edit and edit them but they keep messing up. I think I might have it fixed now.
I have posted all entries up, 1-16.
If you find a mistake on your your entry, please leave a comment here with details to the problem and making reference to the appropriate paragraph or sentence--don't forget to tell me the post number I will make the correction as soon as I can.
I am inviting all to make comments to each author's submission. Please nothing rude. Only helpful or encouraging comments will be accepted.
Results will be posted as soon as I get them. I'm expecting about a month, give or take. As soon as I know, so will you.
This was a lot of fun and I can't wait until next months contest. That's right, I already have another planned.
Last thing, please leave a comment here to thank Alyson for her time. She is a busy person interning at Ayesha Pande Literary, and I think it was great that she donated her time for us.
So...THANK YOU. :) You're the bestest (my blog I get to make up words).
I've noticed that when you hit older posts that it skips a numbered post. To review please hit the post number located on the side. That way every post will have a chance for comments without getting accidentally skipped over.
Thanks,
The Management. :)
Please note that the management does know how to count but for some reason the posts will not save in the correct order. What happened?? I don't know. I tried to edit and edit them but they keep messing up. I think I might have it fixed now.
Submission #1
NAME: Kim Batchelor
TITLE: The Mists of Na Crainn (Middle Grade)
A sharp wind cut through the leaves above the girl’s head. Their shredded remnants bolted forward and so did she, running with her arms pulling at the air.
“Lyric Doherty!”
Had she truly heard her name being called? Lyric brushed the thought aside, ignored the call, and kept to the path. To stray meant more danger than to keep to the foot way she now traveled by memory.
“Lyric!”
This time the voice certainly came from somewhere nearby. Lyric stopped, and only in stopping did she make out a slight glow on the ground just to the right of the path—a shimmer like water. The light from a single star illuminated that one spot.
Lyric took a few more steps and slowly eased herself to her knees. Her eyes fixed on the small patch of grass. She stared a long while, or what seemed a long while. The dry foliage above her head thrashed against itself, sounding a familiar warning.
Something is here, she thought. Her fingers quivered as she threaded them through the blades. The task required care, or otherwise whatever called her might slip away, as it sometimes did if she were too eager. The object might sink into the ground or dissolve into the air or… What’s this?
A delicate silver spiral appeared in the center of the pool of light. Lyric opened her hand and gently lifted it to nestle just inside her palm, then placed it in her pocket. The grass returned to its forest-green hue as a churning cloud dimmed the light from above.
Submission #2
Name: Amory David Day
Title: Pills and Plastic (Literary Fiction)
No one ever tells you how loud it is when you’re inside an ambulance. The sirens are blaring, and you’re at ground zero. Not to mention the EMTs are shouting at each other. Usually pleasant things like “his hearts about to stop! Can you find the Naloxone already?”
Also, if you are in your early twenties, and you're in an ambulance with a heart that is about to crash, it’s usually safe to say that old age and natural causes are not phrases that come to mind.
At sixteen I wanted to live forever, now, now I couldn’t care less if I made it one more minute.
It’s really too early to tell you that, you don’t have the context yet. I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Kar Daniel Kellerman. Now I know what you’re thinking, who in their right mind names their kid Kar?
Well, it was the eighties, Buddhism was hot, and anyone on Wall Street had to assuage their guilt for robbing the country blind somehow; there were worse ways than Buddhism, especially if you ignored the being poor part, but kept the authenticity you gained because it was eastern. I guess picking an eastern name for your kid was chic at the time.
For me, it was just one more way for people to give me shit, but, alas, I digress. You’re probably wondering right about now how I ended up in an ambulance, screaming through the New York night like a modern day banshee, my fate resting on some underpaid and undertrained med school washout struggling to find the Naloxone.
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