It's time!!!
I want to thank you all for participating. It was great fun and wonderful to read all the awesome entries.
I also want to thank Gina again for being an awesome judge and for donating the fabulous prizes. After reading the entries, I know she must have had a hard time choosing. Gina also took the time to write a little paragraph for each winner and for the entries as a whole. Encouraging words. So...a huge round of virtual applause sent her way.
Okay, I know you are all excited. Below are the winners.
Drum roll, please......
The winners in order are:
First Place
L.J. Boldyrev for GREYSKIN. Just an amazing pitch and first page. The voice was really engaging and unique. I really wanted to get to know this main character, and thought that she could be trouble and a good time, my kind of girl! The dead girl in the trunk was such a compelling element. How could you not keep reading. Great entry!
Second Place
Kalen O'Donnell for DUST TO DUST. Holy Toledo, talk about sibling rivalry! Having brothers trying to kill each other on sight and using all sorts of common elements, like shadows, to do it, while having your main character be able to conjure, um, dust storms ?! was funny and yet compelling. The attack in the opening page got us right into the story. Pace like a freight train, and great lively teen voice.
Third Place
Aheila for OIL AND BOILING WATER. Spunky heroine doesn't even begin to describe your main character. Who wouldn't root for her? She's remarkable and brave and determined, and the voice perfectly suits the genre. I had to detract a few points for the pitch which was a little too vague and difficult to follow. You could have done more with the space. Overall, very good job!
Fourth Place
Jackie Felger, BREATHE FOR ME. Terrific, well-explained concept and tough, feisty main character readers will enjoy. Cage fighting with their talents? Great idea! Your MC's fierce nature obviously makes us think she's a survivor. I'm sure you'll find lots of fans!
I was tremendously impressed with the talent and skill all the entries displayed. Choosing winners was more difficult than I had ever imagined. Time and again, I found myself disappointed when the sample ended because I wanted to keep reading! It was hard, too, only have four winning positions, since I also found a lot of entries that deserved special honorary mentions. Among those I wanted to mention are...
Chersti Nieveen for THE LAST ONSET
Robin Weeks for GEAS
AE Martin for RAVENOUS DESK
Elizabeth Mierek for TABITHA'S DEATH
The tremendous number of entries showed such imagination, creativity and love for the craft of writing, that I hate to leave anyone out! All of them were an enjoyable read, and so many of them I read over and over again. I want to encourage everyone who entered, since you are such an incredibly talented group. I hope I'll soon be seeing all of you on the bookshelves!
Further instructions:
I will contact each of the winners with instructions. Oh....and for the honorable mentions, I will contact you too. I've decided to give each of you a $5 B&N card.
Thank you all so much for making this contest a success.
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.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Writing Contest
Hi all,
As you all know, I'm all about learning. One of the most important aspects of writing is to stay on the learning roller coaster.
Part of learning is participating in contests, staying up on blogs, and networking with fellow writers.
So guess what I got for you? Yep, a super cool contest hosted by Rachel McClellan. Please stop by and check it out here. Rachel and some writing friends will be judging.
This is a chance to get some additional feedback for your first three pages to really make your manuscript shine. And not only that, but you might win a book of your choice.
As you all know, I'm all about learning. One of the most important aspects of writing is to stay on the learning roller coaster.
Part of learning is participating in contests, staying up on blogs, and networking with fellow writers.
So guess what I got for you? Yep, a super cool contest hosted by Rachel McClellan. Please stop by and check it out here. Rachel and some writing friends will be judging.
This is a chance to get some additional feedback for your first three pages to really make your manuscript shine. And not only that, but you might win a book of your choice.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Interview With Nancy Holzner
I’m very lucky to have Nancy Holzner, author of DEADTOWN and HELLFORGED, visit my blog today. You can be all stalker(ish) and follow Nancy on twitter, facebook, and her blog.
The winner from the Pitch and 250 Word Contest will be winning both of these books, signed. An awesome prize to go along with the full manuscript critique.
Nancy is represented by Gina Panettieri-follower her on twitter and facebook, President of Talcott Notch Literary. I interviewed Gina and you can check out that interview here.
Now, let’s get to know Nancy….
Tell us a little about yourself…
First, thanks so much for inviting me to stop by! I appreciate the chance to chat with your readers.
I began my career as an educator, teaching English in college (I was a medievalist) and then in high school. I've also worked as a college admissions counselor, editor, and corporate trainer. Currently, I'm lucky to be able to write full time, although most of my income comes from writing nonfiction. I grew up in Massachusetts and have also lived in London, Alabama, and New York's Finger Lakes region (my current home).
What was the first novel that made you decide reading rocks?
I was hooked on reading picture books long before I knew what a novel was. J But I was a big fan of Nancy Drew mysteries when I was a kid. It was unbelievably cool that we shared a first name.
What is you most all time favorite book?
That question is impossible for me to answer! I'm not trying to avoid it, but I used to be an English professor and there's no way to narrow it down to just one. Even if I stick to the classics, I'd have to include The Canterbury Tales, King Lear, Paradise Lost, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, Frankenstein, Moby Dick, The House of Mirth . . And that barely gets me to the 20th century.
What inspired you to become a writer?
When I was a kid, writing was a natural outgrowth of my love of reading. I wrote stories, plays, and poems. I kept that up through college, writing more poetry than anything else. Later, when I decided to go to graduate school and earn a PhD, I switched my focus to academic writing. For a long time, as I was earning a degree and raising my daughter, I stopped writing creatively. But the urge to write persisted, and eventually I started taking online courses in fiction writing.
What was the first story/novel you ever wrote?
Something about elves when I was very young, I think. I've always loved fantasy and stories with magic.
First thing that pops into your mind (no cheating)
Chocolate or vanilla?
Chocolate, and the darker the better. I just had a square of Lindt 90%.
Wine or margaritas?
I live in the middle of a wine region in central NY, so I'll have to say wine.
Steak or Eggplant?
I'm a real carnivore, so steak. (There's a restaurant in my town that dry-ages its beef. Yum.)
Favorite Movie?
I'll go with an oldie: The Fisher King, starring Jeff Bridges and Robin Williams and directed by Terry Gilliam. It's a fun and thoughtful updating of the medieval legend of the Holy Grail set in contemporary New York City.
Werewolves or Zombies?
Werewolves. I have fun putting an unusual spin on the zombies in my novels, but werewolves can be very sexy that zombies could never hope to aspire to.
Please give us a teaser for DEADTOWN…
They call it Deadtown: the city’s quarantined section for its inhuman and undead residents. Most humans stay far from its borders — but Victory Vaughn, Boston’s only professional demon slayer, isn’t exactly human…
Vicky’s demanding job keeping the city safe from all manner of monsters is one reason her relationship with workaholic lawyer (and werewolf)
Alexander Kane is in constant limbo. Throw in a foolhardy zombie apprentice, a mysterious demon-plagued client, and a suspicious research facility that’s taken an unwelcome interest in her family, and Vicky’s love life has as much of a pulse as Deadtown’s citizens.
But now Vicky’s got bigger things to worry about.
The Hellion who murdered her father ten years ago has somehow broken through Boston’s magical protections. The Hellion is a ruthless force of destruction with a personal grudge against Vicky, and she’s the only one who can stop the demon before it destroys the city and everyone in it.
You can read the first chapter here.
HELLFORGED…
After Vicky banished her demon nemesis to the fiery depths of Hell, she thought life would return to normal. But considering she has a werewolf lawyer boyfriend, a zombie apprentice who’s angling to become a pop star, and an eccentric vampire roommate, what is normal, anyway?
Then the supposedly banished Hellion starts to trespass in Vicky’s dreams—just as several of Deadtown’s zombies are viciously attacked and become really dead. When Vicky realizes she’s the only connection between the victims, she suspects that the demon is somehow working through her dreams to become Deadtown’s living nightmare.
What she doesn’t know is that her old enemy brings with it a force more terrifying—and deadly—than anything she’s battled before.
Read Chapter 1 online.
What are you planning next?
BLOODSTONE, the third novel in my Deadtown series, releases on September 27, 2011. I'm currently going through copyedits for that novel and also writing Deadtown #4, which will come out next year. I also recently published an ebook edition of my mystery, PEACE, LOVE, AND MURDER, which was originally published in hardcover by a small press. Readers have asked for a sequel to that book, and I'd love to find time to write it.
Please tell us, as a writer, what is the most important aspect of the process?
When a novel is a long process, and different skills come into play at different times. In the first draft, plotting and characterization are important as you get to know your story and your characters. The second draft is all about shaping what you've roughed out, and it helps to be able to step back and get a good sense of your story's structure: pacing, story arc, which scenes advance the story and which slow it down. For me, the third draft is the polishing draft, so copyediting skills are helpful then. But really, wherever you are in writing your story, the most important thing to do is keep working on it. Write (or edit) every day. Even when it feels like you can't, keep coming back to it.
What should an aspiring writer do before they query their manuscript?
Make sure your manuscript is in the best shape you can get it. Show it to beta readers you trust to give good feedback, and listen to their input. As a writer, you have to develop a sense of which feedback helps your story and which doesn't. Do the same thing with your query letter. Read the back cover copy of similar books to get a sense of how to hook a reader—you want your query to have that kind of hook. Get feedback on your query, just as you did on your manuscript, and polish both until you're blinded by their shine.
Apparently Gina requested your manuscript after your query, and maybe some other agents. Could you share with us what your query had that made agents go, Wow! Let’s see what else she has?
You know, despite what I just wrote, I don't think my query was all that amazing. However, I really liked the opening chapter of my manuscript. So I focused on agents who'd look at the opening ten pages with the initial query. (This was back in 2006; things have changed a lot since then.)
Would you share with us some changes you had to make to get your manuscript ready for publishers?
The manuscript that got me an offer of representation from Talcott Notch was for my murder mystery, PEACE, LOVE, AND MURDER. I'd worked very hard to get that novel as polished as I could before I started looking for an agent. I didn't have to make any significant changes before it went out to editors—it went out on submission almost right away. But I did have to wait a year before it sold to the small press that bought it.
Any other advice you would like to share with us aspiring writers?
Be persistent and keep writing, always striving to make your writing the best you can. When you do that, time is on your side.
Thank you so much Nancy for visiting my blog. It’s been great fun.
It has! Thanks again for inviting me.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Pitch & 250 Word Contest Entries Up
Hi all,
First, thanks so much for all the participation and for making this contest a success.
Second, I am all about learning, as I am sure you are, when it comes to writing. No matter how much you learn there is more to learn.
I did not make this a rule, so this is going to be an on your honor system. I would like to see everyone to pick three submission and make comments on them (of course you can do more).
Please, do not be rude. There are ways to critique without being a jerk. In other words, helpful comments only.
I hate having to say that, but I have seen on writing sites and blogs some people getting a little rude.
Let's all help each other on our way to publication. We're all in this together. :)
Please note: Select entries from the side column. It has come to my attention that if you select older posts from the bottom of the page that some entries might get skipped over. I would like to make sure everyone's entries get at least a couple, if not more, comments.
If you see a mistake on your entry OR you don't see your entry at all, please let me know. You can email me or contact me on twitter or facebook. I will be more than happy to fix my mistake.
There are 88 entries. My eyes started to cross after awhile. I would be rather surprised if I didn't make a mistake somewhere.
Also, because there are 88 entries, Gina has her work cut out for her. Especially with the awesome entries we have. Please be patient while she works her way through these.
In the meantime, we have entries to read, comments to post AND I'm very lucky to have authors Wayne Simmons and Nancy Holzner come and visit my blog soon. I'm very very excited about that.
Have fun and thank you so much for making this the best contest ever. And special thanks to Gina Panettieri for donating her time to making this a success.
First, thanks so much for all the participation and for making this contest a success.
Second, I am all about learning, as I am sure you are, when it comes to writing. No matter how much you learn there is more to learn.
I did not make this a rule, so this is going to be an on your honor system. I would like to see everyone to pick three submission and make comments on them (of course you can do more).
Please, do not be rude. There are ways to critique without being a jerk. In other words, helpful comments only.
I hate having to say that, but I have seen on writing sites and blogs some people getting a little rude.
Let's all help each other on our way to publication. We're all in this together. :)
Please note: Select entries from the side column. It has come to my attention that if you select older posts from the bottom of the page that some entries might get skipped over. I would like to make sure everyone's entries get at least a couple, if not more, comments.
If you see a mistake on your entry OR you don't see your entry at all, please let me know. You can email me or contact me on twitter or facebook. I will be more than happy to fix my mistake.
There are 88 entries. My eyes started to cross after awhile. I would be rather surprised if I didn't make a mistake somewhere.
Also, because there are 88 entries, Gina has her work cut out for her. Especially with the awesome entries we have. Please be patient while she works her way through these.
In the meantime, we have entries to read, comments to post AND I'm very lucky to have authors Wayne Simmons and Nancy Holzner come and visit my blog soon. I'm very very excited about that.
Have fun and thank you so much for making this the best contest ever. And special thanks to Gina Panettieri for donating her time to making this a success.
Submission Sandra
Name: Sandra Cormier (Chumplet)
Email: sfcormier@rogers.com
Title & Genre: MALLET -- Mystery
Pitch: When Vicky & her rich boyfriend vanish while taking his plane for fish & chips, Amanda wants to worry but she's too busy staying alive.
1st 250 words:
In the short time I knew John Rouge, I rarely heard him refer to anybody by name. Sweetheart, Dude, Pal, Buddy. When Vicky introduced us, he called me Honey.
He'd made his fortune with some dot-com company, and sold it for millions before everything went bust. Now he spent his self-imposed retirement jetting around the globe, big-game fishing and building schools in Nepal. He joined two polo clubs, one in Tottenham and another in Florida.
When Vicky called to offer a seat at the sponsors' table at a local charity match, I jumped at the chance. Sitting with the fashionable set and getting free food and drinks piqued my curiosity.
On a steamy Sunday morning, I headed for the polo grounds on the Montgomery farm in Gormley. Signs with red arrows pointed the way to the venue, and I scanned for the entrance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a broken rail on a long row of cedar fencing to my left.
Someone should fix that, I thought. In the same moment a reddish-brown blur filled my vision.
"Shit!" I slammed on the brakes and struggled to keep my Toyota from spinning out of control. Gravel spit in every direction. I managed to bring the car to a halt on the narrow shoulder facing the way I had come.
When my heart and the dust settled, I searched the roadside, wondering if I'd hit the deer.
It wasn't a deer. It was a horse.
Email: sfcormier@rogers.com
Title & Genre: MALLET -- Mystery
Pitch: When Vicky & her rich boyfriend vanish while taking his plane for fish & chips, Amanda wants to worry but she's too busy staying alive.
1st 250 words:
In the short time I knew John Rouge, I rarely heard him refer to anybody by name. Sweetheart, Dude, Pal, Buddy. When Vicky introduced us, he called me Honey.
He'd made his fortune with some dot-com company, and sold it for millions before everything went bust. Now he spent his self-imposed retirement jetting around the globe, big-game fishing and building schools in Nepal. He joined two polo clubs, one in Tottenham and another in Florida.
When Vicky called to offer a seat at the sponsors' table at a local charity match, I jumped at the chance. Sitting with the fashionable set and getting free food and drinks piqued my curiosity.
On a steamy Sunday morning, I headed for the polo grounds on the Montgomery farm in Gormley. Signs with red arrows pointed the way to the venue, and I scanned for the entrance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a broken rail on a long row of cedar fencing to my left.
Someone should fix that, I thought. In the same moment a reddish-brown blur filled my vision.
"Shit!" I slammed on the brakes and struggled to keep my Toyota from spinning out of control. Gravel spit in every direction. I managed to bring the car to a halt on the narrow shoulder facing the way I had come.
When my heart and the dust settled, I searched the roadside, wondering if I'd hit the deer.
It wasn't a deer. It was a horse.
Submission Lori
Name: Lori M. Lee
Email: leemai82 at gmail dot com
Title and genre: SOUL WITHOUT A BOY - YA urban fantasy
Pitch: In a world where souls can be used as weapons, a 17-year-old boy accidentally creates a girl and learns that standing out can be deadly.
1st 250 words:
On his thirteenth lap around the block, London Howell ripped off the advertisement stapled to his neighbor's fence. There were only so many times he could read about City of London tourism before he got irrationally annoyed.
Dad used to say that naming him after the city they lived in had been a spur of the moment thing. To London, that meant Dad had looked around the hospital room, spotted a similar sign and thought, Sure, why not? He tried not to criticize. It could have been worse. He could be named Liverpool.
Anyway, he would have taken a dozen dumb jokes about the Tower of London over sprinting through his neighborhood at midnight.
He stopped to catch his breath beneath a lamppost, his hand braced against the cool iron. Groaning, he stretched out the cramp in his side. His mobile vibrated in his back pocket and, with a glance at the screen, he picked up.
"You sound like a goat on the rack," Amun said in greeting.
"How," London asked between breaths, "do you know what a tortured goat sounds like?" He shook out his legs, but it didn't help. Even running for two miles hadn't burned off the excess energy. Great. He considered just rolling into a ditch and staying there.
"Animal Sacrifices Hour. Wednesday nights at eight. Bring your own blood bucket."
"Brilliant mental image. Thanks."
"Did running work?"
"No." He didn't know what else to do. Insomnia alone he could probably endure.
Email: leemai82 at gmail dot com
Title and genre: SOUL WITHOUT A BOY - YA urban fantasy
Pitch: In a world where souls can be used as weapons, a 17-year-old boy accidentally creates a girl and learns that standing out can be deadly.
1st 250 words:
On his thirteenth lap around the block, London Howell ripped off the advertisement stapled to his neighbor's fence. There were only so many times he could read about City of London tourism before he got irrationally annoyed.
Dad used to say that naming him after the city they lived in had been a spur of the moment thing. To London, that meant Dad had looked around the hospital room, spotted a similar sign and thought, Sure, why not? He tried not to criticize. It could have been worse. He could be named Liverpool.
Anyway, he would have taken a dozen dumb jokes about the Tower of London over sprinting through his neighborhood at midnight.
He stopped to catch his breath beneath a lamppost, his hand braced against the cool iron. Groaning, he stretched out the cramp in his side. His mobile vibrated in his back pocket and, with a glance at the screen, he picked up.
"You sound like a goat on the rack," Amun said in greeting.
"How," London asked between breaths, "do you know what a tortured goat sounds like?" He shook out his legs, but it didn't help. Even running for two miles hadn't burned off the excess energy. Great. He considered just rolling into a ditch and staying there.
"Animal Sacrifices Hour. Wednesday nights at eight. Bring your own blood bucket."
"Brilliant mental image. Thanks."
"Did running work?"
"No." He didn't know what else to do. Insomnia alone he could probably endure.
Submission Tina
Name: Tina Moss
Email: tinamosswrites@gmail.com
Title & Genre: BLOOD BOND - Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Half demon, half angel, Cassie can open portals between worlds, but she must master her power or risk insanity and losing her freedom.
1st 250 words:
“There’s no flipping way I’m going in there!” Cassie planted her feet and locked her arms against the doorframe. “Do you hear what I’m saying, Zoey?”
She stiffened as her friend pushed her from behind.
“Why do you have to make this so difficult?” An exasperated Zoey gave her another shove, this time crouching and digging a shoulder into her back.
Gritting her teeth, Cassie bent her knees and sunk her weight further into the floor. She might not have the height or weight advantage, but she knew how to make her petite size count. With a smile she said, “I think all that blond on top your head has finally sunk into your brain.” Her hand released the door for a split second to sweep around the room. “Don’t you see this place? This is NOT the answer.”
Zoey jumped on the opportunity, grabbing Cassie’s free hand and dragging her into the cramped room. Crystal skulls, long tapered candles, and navy colored drapes with sequence and stars filled the space. Sickly sweet incense wafted through the air. Two desperate looking elderly women dressed in black waited their turn on a red velvet couch. The sight had Cassie spinning one hundred and eighty degrees, pulling free of Zoey’s grip and bee lining to the exit. She’d made it to the hallway, before Zoey tackled her in a bear hug and pleaded with her to stay.
“You’ve tried everything else,” Zoey said, as she tugged Cassie back through the door.
Email: tinamosswrites@gmail.com
Title & Genre: BLOOD BOND - Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Half demon, half angel, Cassie can open portals between worlds, but she must master her power or risk insanity and losing her freedom.
1st 250 words:
“There’s no flipping way I’m going in there!” Cassie planted her feet and locked her arms against the doorframe. “Do you hear what I’m saying, Zoey?”
She stiffened as her friend pushed her from behind.
“Why do you have to make this so difficult?” An exasperated Zoey gave her another shove, this time crouching and digging a shoulder into her back.
Gritting her teeth, Cassie bent her knees and sunk her weight further into the floor. She might not have the height or weight advantage, but she knew how to make her petite size count. With a smile she said, “I think all that blond on top your head has finally sunk into your brain.” Her hand released the door for a split second to sweep around the room. “Don’t you see this place? This is NOT the answer.”
Zoey jumped on the opportunity, grabbing Cassie’s free hand and dragging her into the cramped room. Crystal skulls, long tapered candles, and navy colored drapes with sequence and stars filled the space. Sickly sweet incense wafted through the air. Two desperate looking elderly women dressed in black waited their turn on a red velvet couch. The sight had Cassie spinning one hundred and eighty degrees, pulling free of Zoey’s grip and bee lining to the exit. She’d made it to the hallway, before Zoey tackled her in a bear hug and pleaded with her to stay.
“You’ve tried everything else,” Zoey said, as she tugged Cassie back through the door.
Submission Scott
Name: Scott Springer
Email: scott@scottspringer.com
Title and genre: ZTD. (ZOMBIE TRANSMITTED DISEASE): A TALE OF FATAL ATTRACTION -- YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Jenny O' looks for love but finds the half-life instead; so now it's #virtue vs. #zombie, and whichever wins, life as she knows it will end.
1st 250 words:
It's Friday evening after dinner and a girl just wants to have fun. Only instead, I'm sitting cross legged on my bed. Alone. I'm smacking on a wad of flavorless gum, my jaws chomping to the stale beat of a worn-out playlist. This sucks.
My mom peeks into my room and points to her ear. I pull one bud and tilt my head. She says, "Don't just sit there and mope, call Marcy."
Marcy's on a date, so I shrug my shoulders.
"Or call Carl. I'm sure he'd love to take you to that Zombie Fest I've heard so much about. And it's in Midtown." Her voice rises at the end like this is so exciting.
Only . . . so not.
Carl and zombies?
—are you kidding me right now?
I've known him since preschool. He used to eat his boogers. And he still laughs when he farts. So, let's just say he's not the one I'd swap my gum with.
But we are friends, so calling him is not totally out of line.
And my mom wants me to be happy. She stares at me. I stare back. You can totally tell I'm her daughter. Same skinny bones. Same sense of nerdy. We especially have the same red hair. Only, I hope I never look so earnest. She's got puppy dog eyes; but hey, Carl is not what I want. Friday night should be for love.
Email: scott@scottspringer.com
Title and genre: ZTD. (ZOMBIE TRANSMITTED DISEASE): A TALE OF FATAL ATTRACTION -- YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Jenny O' looks for love but finds the half-life instead; so now it's #virtue vs. #zombie, and whichever wins, life as she knows it will end.
1st 250 words:
It's Friday evening after dinner and a girl just wants to have fun. Only instead, I'm sitting cross legged on my bed. Alone. I'm smacking on a wad of flavorless gum, my jaws chomping to the stale beat of a worn-out playlist. This sucks.
My mom peeks into my room and points to her ear. I pull one bud and tilt my head. She says, "Don't just sit there and mope, call Marcy."
Marcy's on a date, so I shrug my shoulders.
"Or call Carl. I'm sure he'd love to take you to that Zombie Fest I've heard so much about. And it's in Midtown." Her voice rises at the end like this is so exciting.
Only . . . so not.
Carl and zombies?
—are you kidding me right now?
I've known him since preschool. He used to eat his boogers. And he still laughs when he farts. So, let's just say he's not the one I'd swap my gum with.
But we are friends, so calling him is not totally out of line.
And my mom wants me to be happy. She stares at me. I stare back. You can totally tell I'm her daughter. Same skinny bones. Same sense of nerdy. We especially have the same red hair. Only, I hope I never look so earnest. She's got puppy dog eyes; but hey, Carl is not what I want. Friday night should be for love.
Submission Marquita
Name: Marquita Hockaday
Email: marquita_hockaday@yahoo.com
Title and genre: THE BLUES- YA Contemporary Mystery
Pitch: Blake uncovers a secret high school drug scene when his pill pushing best friend turns up dead.
1st 250 words:
Thursday Morning 6:45 AM
Henry Knight was found bludgeoned to death early this morning.
I’m pretty sure I was whacking off to one of those phone sex commercials at the same moment that someone bashed his head in. I don’t know if anyone is going to miss him. Hell, I don’t know if anyone even remembers who he is. Maybe David Warren does. Especially since he’s our friendly neighborhood drug dealer. I know I remember Henry. He’s my best friend’s number one customer at school. Henry’s the main reason Kyle was able to buy me that badass skateboard for my birthday.
“Who is this kid?” Ma points to the TV.
I slurp up another spoonful of my Cocoa Krispies and shrug.
“You know him, Blake. You know everyone at that school. There’s only like twelve of you in a classroom.”
“He’s just some druggie, Ma. I don’t talk to him or anything.”
“But you know him?”
I nod.
“Oh my God. Blake.” Ma watches me for a moment and I shift my eyes back to the TV.
“Do you want to stay at home today?”
I shake my head.
Ma sighs as she buckles her belt around her waist. It barely makes it to the very last hole but she manages to get it around her. She really needs to lay off the late night snacks. Of course I would never tell her this. I mean, she’s allowed to gain weight right now.
Email: marquita_hockaday@yahoo.com
Title and genre: THE BLUES- YA Contemporary Mystery
Pitch: Blake uncovers a secret high school drug scene when his pill pushing best friend turns up dead.
1st 250 words:
Thursday Morning 6:45 AM
Henry Knight was found bludgeoned to death early this morning.
I’m pretty sure I was whacking off to one of those phone sex commercials at the same moment that someone bashed his head in. I don’t know if anyone is going to miss him. Hell, I don’t know if anyone even remembers who he is. Maybe David Warren does. Especially since he’s our friendly neighborhood drug dealer. I know I remember Henry. He’s my best friend’s number one customer at school. Henry’s the main reason Kyle was able to buy me that badass skateboard for my birthday.
“Who is this kid?” Ma points to the TV.
I slurp up another spoonful of my Cocoa Krispies and shrug.
“You know him, Blake. You know everyone at that school. There’s only like twelve of you in a classroom.”
“He’s just some druggie, Ma. I don’t talk to him or anything.”
“But you know him?”
I nod.
“Oh my God. Blake.” Ma watches me for a moment and I shift my eyes back to the TV.
“Do you want to stay at home today?”
I shake my head.
Ma sighs as she buckles her belt around her waist. It barely makes it to the very last hole but she manages to get it around her. She really needs to lay off the late night snacks. Of course I would never tell her this. I mean, she’s allowed to gain weight right now.
Submission Chersti
Name: Chersti Nieveen
Email: chersti.nieveen (at) gmail (dot) com
Title and genre: THE LAST ONSET -- YA Dystopia
Pitch:
Armageddon is imminent & Myka is elected to survive. But the natural disasters and disease are really a plot to destroy those not elected.
1st 250 words:
My first thought was of my father. How his eyes crinkled when he laughed. How he shared secretive smiles with my mother, back when she was normal. How he’d tuck me in at night and tell me his war stories.
And how I would never see him again.
Anger pushed through me, giving me courage to pull up the Military’s online database. The floorcomp projected four screens around me, like a shimmering lidless box that should’ve projected an exercise sim for my fitness class. But they never did when I could get away with it.
I licked my lips, my fingers tingling in anticipation as I began to hack. The screens flashed around me as I raced from one touch screen to another to keep the monitoring chip in my hand happy. Minutes passed as I worked through the system. As long as I kept my heart rate up, it wouldn’t notify the teacher. And I wouldn’t be Punished.
At least, I’d thought so until the soldier showed up.
I’d already prepped a destruct sequence, so a tap against the screen destroyed all evidence of my actions when the teacher called my name. I nudged the projector button with my toe, the screens dissolving around me to reveal the fitness room. Sweat trickling down my forehead and I wiped it away as I met the soldier’s black eyes. I’d still had over two minutes left to hack into the Military’s database before the Intelligence Unit even had a clue I was there—so why was this soldier here?
Email: chersti.nieveen (at) gmail (dot) com
Title and genre: THE LAST ONSET -- YA Dystopia
Pitch:
Armageddon is imminent & Myka is elected to survive. But the natural disasters and disease are really a plot to destroy those not elected.
1st 250 words:
My first thought was of my father. How his eyes crinkled when he laughed. How he shared secretive smiles with my mother, back when she was normal. How he’d tuck me in at night and tell me his war stories.
And how I would never see him again.
Anger pushed through me, giving me courage to pull up the Military’s online database. The floorcomp projected four screens around me, like a shimmering lidless box that should’ve projected an exercise sim for my fitness class. But they never did when I could get away with it.
I licked my lips, my fingers tingling in anticipation as I began to hack. The screens flashed around me as I raced from one touch screen to another to keep the monitoring chip in my hand happy. Minutes passed as I worked through the system. As long as I kept my heart rate up, it wouldn’t notify the teacher. And I wouldn’t be Punished.
At least, I’d thought so until the soldier showed up.
I’d already prepped a destruct sequence, so a tap against the screen destroyed all evidence of my actions when the teacher called my name. I nudged the projector button with my toe, the screens dissolving around me to reveal the fitness room. Sweat trickling down my forehead and I wiped it away as I met the soldier’s black eyes. I’d still had over two minutes left to hack into the Military’s database before the Intelligence Unit even had a clue I was there—so why was this soldier here?
Submission Violet
Name: Violet Ingram
Email: medennler@ameritech.net
Title & Genre: LILY’S HEART OF GLASS – Romance
Pitch: To save her home from the unscrupulous, glass artist, Lily must push away the one man she's loved. Can Lily save her home and get the guy?
1st 250 words:
Sweat poured off her body and onto the floor. Her arms and back ached from all of the physical exertion. Lily Cavanaugh was in heaven. The blowpipe rolled back and forth forming the shape that she wanted. The vibrant blues and greens swirled together to form a circular pattern. Lily had spent the past hour shaping the piece until finally deciding it was finished. She transferred it to the punty and detached it from the blowpipe. She slipped on her gloves before placing the delicate glass into the annealer to safely cool over the next several hours.
Lily stood up and stretched sore muscles. A smile spread across her flushed face. She poured all she had into each piece of glass. Which left her both euphoric and depressed after a piece was completed. She walked out of the studio and into her kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She gulped half the bottle down and was making her way back to the studio when there was a loud banging on the door. Irritated at the interruption, she considered ignoring the sound and returning to work. Unfortunately the banging had shattered her concentration. Eager to get rid of whoever had been dumb enough to interrupt her, Lily stomped over to the door.
“Alright already, hang on a second!”
It took several tugs to open the old metal door but when it finally opened, Lily found two men, dressed in fancy suits, looking down at her.
“Who died?”
Email: medennler@ameritech.net
Title & Genre: LILY’S HEART OF GLASS – Romance
Pitch: To save her home from the unscrupulous, glass artist, Lily must push away the one man she's loved. Can Lily save her home and get the guy?
1st 250 words:
Sweat poured off her body and onto the floor. Her arms and back ached from all of the physical exertion. Lily Cavanaugh was in heaven. The blowpipe rolled back and forth forming the shape that she wanted. The vibrant blues and greens swirled together to form a circular pattern. Lily had spent the past hour shaping the piece until finally deciding it was finished. She transferred it to the punty and detached it from the blowpipe. She slipped on her gloves before placing the delicate glass into the annealer to safely cool over the next several hours.
Lily stood up and stretched sore muscles. A smile spread across her flushed face. She poured all she had into each piece of glass. Which left her both euphoric and depressed after a piece was completed. She walked out of the studio and into her kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She gulped half the bottle down and was making her way back to the studio when there was a loud banging on the door. Irritated at the interruption, she considered ignoring the sound and returning to work. Unfortunately the banging had shattered her concentration. Eager to get rid of whoever had been dumb enough to interrupt her, Lily stomped over to the door.
“Alright already, hang on a second!”
It took several tugs to open the old metal door but when it finally opened, Lily found two men, dressed in fancy suits, looking down at her.
“Who died?”
Submission Susan
Name: Susan James
Email: susan.b.james@sbcglobal.net
Title and Genre: Half-truth, YA fantasy
Pitch: The tale of Edan, leader of the Clan of the Stars and Rose Woodman, the young woman who will be to Faerie what Helen was to Troy.
“Rosie? Rose! Where are you?” Uncle Ben barreled out of the barn holding the pitchfork like a spear.
“Shh. It’s all right. I’m here.” She would’ve laughed if his actions weren’t so pathetic. Sweet and brave, yes, but completely unnecessary.
His broad back sagged in relief. “I swear, Rosie, your hair blends right into the evening shadows.”
“Shh,” she said, again, pointing to the corner of the field. “Oh, it’s gone. It was a stag. Such a beautiful, beautiful creature.”
“You’re sure it was only a stag?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be too careful, Rosie.”
“I know, Uncle Ben. I know as surely as I know Gradie is only a dog.”
Her uncle nodded but couldn’t help the frown that knit his brows whenever she spoke of her unusual senses. The wolfhound’s ears had pricked at the sound of his name. She crouched down, threw her arms round his massive shoulders and buried her face in his thick gray fur. “But you’re a wonderful doggie. Oh yes, you are.” He gnawed playfully on her head.
Uncle Ben chuckled. “I don’t know, Master Miller complains every time I go to the Mill. He says Gradie is more wolf than hound.”
“Well, Master Miller is more mouse than man, so I suppose he gets a little nervous round Gradie.”
Uncle Ben laughed. “Ah, you’re funny, Rosie. But it’s the truth, and pretty impressive as you only met the man once.”
“Once was enough. Mouse indeed. The man was scared of me and I was seven years old.”
Email: susan.b.james@sbcglobal.net
Title and Genre: Half-truth, YA fantasy
Pitch: The tale of Edan, leader of the Clan of the Stars and Rose Woodman, the young woman who will be to Faerie what Helen was to Troy.
“Rosie? Rose! Where are you?” Uncle Ben barreled out of the barn holding the pitchfork like a spear.
“Shh. It’s all right. I’m here.” She would’ve laughed if his actions weren’t so pathetic. Sweet and brave, yes, but completely unnecessary.
His broad back sagged in relief. “I swear, Rosie, your hair blends right into the evening shadows.”
“Shh,” she said, again, pointing to the corner of the field. “Oh, it’s gone. It was a stag. Such a beautiful, beautiful creature.”
“You’re sure it was only a stag?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be too careful, Rosie.”
“I know, Uncle Ben. I know as surely as I know Gradie is only a dog.”
Her uncle nodded but couldn’t help the frown that knit his brows whenever she spoke of her unusual senses. The wolfhound’s ears had pricked at the sound of his name. She crouched down, threw her arms round his massive shoulders and buried her face in his thick gray fur. “But you’re a wonderful doggie. Oh yes, you are.” He gnawed playfully on her head.
Uncle Ben chuckled. “I don’t know, Master Miller complains every time I go to the Mill. He says Gradie is more wolf than hound.”
“Well, Master Miller is more mouse than man, so I suppose he gets a little nervous round Gradie.”
Uncle Ben laughed. “Ah, you’re funny, Rosie. But it’s the truth, and pretty impressive as you only met the man once.”
“Once was enough. Mouse indeed. The man was scared of me and I was seven years old.”
Submission Nicole W.
Name: Nicole Wolverton
Email: nicole.wolverton@gmail.com
Title and genre: THE TRAJECTORY OF DREAMS -- Psychological Fiction
Pitch: A woman traumatized as a child by a space shuttle disaster breaks into astronauts' homes, studying their sleep habits to stop another mishap.
1st 250 words: The bulbous head of the tiny, ceramic tchotchke stared at me with the wide, innocent eyes of a horse caught cribbing the wood of his stall. Except the statue’s cheeks puffed out as though it had contracted an eternal case of the mumps, something very unhorse-like. It seemed like a stupid thing for a woman of science to have in her apartment. It seemed too frivolous, too child-like.
I used to dream of seeing my name on an astronaut uniform when I was a child, “Lela White” embroidered in white on the patch. My career interests had changed, although it still mattered to me who wore the NASA jumpsuit, and this woman . . . well, she wore Smurf pajamas as an adult. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with cartoon sleepwear, but it didn’t seem right for a serious person. The space shuttle couldn’t possibly be safe in her care. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration testing must be lacking in some way to let someone like that through.
She’d been chosen as part of the crew for the upcoming Empire mission, for the love of God. I’d expected more dignity until I’d gotten to know her a little bit through my observations. Now I thought it likely she’d own cutesy socks with bunnies and puppies on them. It would have been okay for anyone else to wear them, but an astronaut?
----- note: Thanks to you and all involved!
Email: nicole.wolverton@gmail.com
Title and genre: THE TRAJECTORY OF DREAMS -- Psychological Fiction
Pitch: A woman traumatized as a child by a space shuttle disaster breaks into astronauts' homes, studying their sleep habits to stop another mishap.
1st 250 words: The bulbous head of the tiny, ceramic tchotchke stared at me with the wide, innocent eyes of a horse caught cribbing the wood of his stall. Except the statue’s cheeks puffed out as though it had contracted an eternal case of the mumps, something very unhorse-like. It seemed like a stupid thing for a woman of science to have in her apartment. It seemed too frivolous, too child-like.
I used to dream of seeing my name on an astronaut uniform when I was a child, “Lela White” embroidered in white on the patch. My career interests had changed, although it still mattered to me who wore the NASA jumpsuit, and this woman . . . well, she wore Smurf pajamas as an adult. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with cartoon sleepwear, but it didn’t seem right for a serious person. The space shuttle couldn’t possibly be safe in her care. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration testing must be lacking in some way to let someone like that through.
She’d been chosen as part of the crew for the upcoming Empire mission, for the love of God. I’d expected more dignity until I’d gotten to know her a little bit through my observations. Now I thought it likely she’d own cutesy socks with bunnies and puppies on them. It would have been okay for anyone else to wear them, but an astronaut?
----- note: Thanks to you and all involved!
Submission Eliza
Name: Eliza Tilton
email: Elizafaith13@gmail.com
Title/Genre: Broken Forest: A Keening Blade Novel YA Fantasy
Pitch: 17yr old Avikar thought he was rescuing his sister from bandits, not a reptilian lord planning a world invasion.
1st 250 words:
The blueberry patch looked like a grisly crime scene. Avikar’s stomach turned as he studied the red and blue stains, covering the ground in a sloppy mess. He knelt down, swiped his pointer across the sticky substance and smelled it. Raspberries, he concluded. Thank goodness, it’s not blood. Footprints smeared the grass in a tangling design. Calli’s were the easiest to spot. He tracked her steps to where he saw two wicker baskets. One had been smashed into splinters.
Derrick stared down at the last place Jeslyn had been. “Do you think that she’s still…I mean she has to be okay.” His hand grasped the wooden emblem that dangled from his neck.
Avikar turned to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what it is, but I know she’s still alive. We’re going to find her.”
Derrick’s chin quivered, but he held his ground. “Let’s hurry, then.”
Avikar traced each step, imagining how the attack unfolded. He pictured the men his five-year-old sister, Calli, described. He was still amazed she managed to escape. The kidnappers would have headed west towards the main trade road.
His eyes spotted a red silk ribbon stuck on a tree branch, swaying in the wind. He grabbed it and held it in his hands.
“Find anything?” Derrick asked.
Avikar nodded and handed over the soft material.
Derrick’s face paled. He slowly wrapped the precious item around his wrist. “I gave this to her yesterday,” he replied in a strained tone.
email: Elizafaith13@gmail.com
Title/Genre: Broken Forest: A Keening Blade Novel YA Fantasy
Pitch: 17yr old Avikar thought he was rescuing his sister from bandits, not a reptilian lord planning a world invasion.
1st 250 words:
The blueberry patch looked like a grisly crime scene. Avikar’s stomach turned as he studied the red and blue stains, covering the ground in a sloppy mess. He knelt down, swiped his pointer across the sticky substance and smelled it. Raspberries, he concluded. Thank goodness, it’s not blood. Footprints smeared the grass in a tangling design. Calli’s were the easiest to spot. He tracked her steps to where he saw two wicker baskets. One had been smashed into splinters.
Derrick stared down at the last place Jeslyn had been. “Do you think that she’s still…I mean she has to be okay.” His hand grasped the wooden emblem that dangled from his neck.
Avikar turned to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what it is, but I know she’s still alive. We’re going to find her.”
Derrick’s chin quivered, but he held his ground. “Let’s hurry, then.”
Avikar traced each step, imagining how the attack unfolded. He pictured the men his five-year-old sister, Calli, described. He was still amazed she managed to escape. The kidnappers would have headed west towards the main trade road.
His eyes spotted a red silk ribbon stuck on a tree branch, swaying in the wind. He grabbed it and held it in his hands.
“Find anything?” Derrick asked.
Avikar nodded and handed over the soft material.
Derrick’s face paled. He slowly wrapped the precious item around his wrist. “I gave this to her yesterday,” he replied in a strained tone.
Submission Annie
Name: Annie McElfresh
Email: amcelfresh@hotmail.com
Title and genre: Demon At My Door—YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Outcast Natalie Sugarman bartered her soul to a demon-boy. To win it back, she must damn five other souls to take her place.
1st 250 words:
Someone in this room is about to die. The hum, deep in my bones, is undeniable. Shockwaves roll through me whenever I’m near a person who is about to bite the big one. I feel it now and I hope like hell it’s not me. But it’s definitely going to happen right here in the Upper-Arlington Country Club. Soon.
I scoot back further in my seat and slouch down, trying to block out the incessant hum in my skull. I don’t know why Mom drags me here all the time.
Mom’s in deep discussion with a lady in a black dress suit near the exit about ten feet away. She’s perfect, as always, in her pretty politician look. A girl around my age walks up to them. Mom’s mouth tugs down a bit, slightly annoyed by the interruption. A long, golden strand of hair falls into the girl’s face and the woman, whom I assume is her mother, tucks it behind her ear. They smile at each other for a brief second. I can’t even imagine having that kind of mother-daughter relationship.
“Natalie, sit up straight,” Mom barks at me while she smoothes back her perfect brown hair. My thoughts fade. “Say hello to Dr. Lilim Fletcher.”
Great. My new court-appointed therapist frequents Mom’s favorite hang out.
I stiffen my shoulders and hold the pose. A forced smile fills my face as I say hello. Mom glares, inspecting every inch of my all black outfit. When they look away, I slouch in my chair again.
Email: amcelfresh@hotmail.com
Title and genre: Demon At My Door—YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: Outcast Natalie Sugarman bartered her soul to a demon-boy. To win it back, she must damn five other souls to take her place.
1st 250 words:
Someone in this room is about to die. The hum, deep in my bones, is undeniable. Shockwaves roll through me whenever I’m near a person who is about to bite the big one. I feel it now and I hope like hell it’s not me. But it’s definitely going to happen right here in the Upper-Arlington Country Club. Soon.
I scoot back further in my seat and slouch down, trying to block out the incessant hum in my skull. I don’t know why Mom drags me here all the time.
Mom’s in deep discussion with a lady in a black dress suit near the exit about ten feet away. She’s perfect, as always, in her pretty politician look. A girl around my age walks up to them. Mom’s mouth tugs down a bit, slightly annoyed by the interruption. A long, golden strand of hair falls into the girl’s face and the woman, whom I assume is her mother, tucks it behind her ear. They smile at each other for a brief second. I can’t even imagine having that kind of mother-daughter relationship.
“Natalie, sit up straight,” Mom barks at me while she smoothes back her perfect brown hair. My thoughts fade. “Say hello to Dr. Lilim Fletcher.”
Great. My new court-appointed therapist frequents Mom’s favorite hang out.
I stiffen my shoulders and hold the pose. A forced smile fills my face as I say hello. Mom glares, inspecting every inch of my all black outfit. When they look away, I slouch in my chair again.
Submission Larisa
Name: Larissa Hardesty
Email: lchardesty at yahoo dot com
Title and Genre: LURE -- YA Paranormal
Pitch: Entire SD town is reading to death--literally. Mitch's hatred of reading saved him, but can he embrace his Lakota heritage & save the town?
First 250 Words:
*You have got to be kidding me.*
“Pssst. Mitch.” Melissa jabbed something pointy into my shoulder.
For the fifth time this period.
I sighed and reached back for the note. If I didn’t, she’d just keep poking me with the dang thing until I took it. I probably had a bruise already from the first couple of times when I tried to ignore her. An encounter with Melissa was the first item on my To-Don’t list.
I glanced down at the note she’d passed me. Chris. Forward and to the left. I wondered if I could pass this one left and have Nikki pass it to Chris, but when I turned to Nikki, she was engrossed in some stupid novel, reading it under her desk. I scowled. Mr. Rose seemed oblivious as he enthusiastically explained complementary angles, but I was sure he’d notice me passing a note that far.
Melissa shoved my shoulder. “Come on!”
I stifled the urge to turn around and punch her. Every time she touched me, my stomach rolled and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.
“Pssst. Chris,” I whispered, leaning forward.
Chris turned, and I held the note out.
And Mr. Rose took it.
Crap.
“Mitch. I’m surprised at you. I know you don’t exactly struggle with this subject, but I expect you to be respectful enough not to pass notes in my class.”
My body flushed. Damn Melissa and her stupid notes.
Email: lchardesty at yahoo dot com
Title and Genre: LURE -- YA Paranormal
Pitch: Entire SD town is reading to death--literally. Mitch's hatred of reading saved him, but can he embrace his Lakota heritage & save the town?
First 250 Words:
*You have got to be kidding me.*
“Pssst. Mitch.” Melissa jabbed something pointy into my shoulder.
For the fifth time this period.
I sighed and reached back for the note. If I didn’t, she’d just keep poking me with the dang thing until I took it. I probably had a bruise already from the first couple of times when I tried to ignore her. An encounter with Melissa was the first item on my To-Don’t list.
I glanced down at the note she’d passed me. Chris. Forward and to the left. I wondered if I could pass this one left and have Nikki pass it to Chris, but when I turned to Nikki, she was engrossed in some stupid novel, reading it under her desk. I scowled. Mr. Rose seemed oblivious as he enthusiastically explained complementary angles, but I was sure he’d notice me passing a note that far.
Melissa shoved my shoulder. “Come on!”
I stifled the urge to turn around and punch her. Every time she touched me, my stomach rolled and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.
“Pssst. Chris,” I whispered, leaning forward.
Chris turned, and I held the note out.
And Mr. Rose took it.
Crap.
“Mitch. I’m surprised at you. I know you don’t exactly struggle with this subject, but I expect you to be respectful enough not to pass notes in my class.”
My body flushed. Damn Melissa and her stupid notes.
Submission Angela F.
Name: Angela Fleming
Email: Angelanbobby01@aol.com
Title & Genre: ENVY (YA Urban Fantasy)
Pitch:
Envy Zane is the only half-Atlantean in existence and survival of The Lost City of Atlantis depends solely on her. The problem is she doesn’t know it even exists… yet.
First 250:
Ok, I thought to myself, the water isn’t that scary. One toe edged closer to the gray-tinted waves crashing onto the beach. In the early morning, the entire world still seemed to be sleeping, other than the waves, of course . They were lively, dancing across the horizon in restless ripples. When those ripples reached the sand in front of me I was tempted to take a gigantic step back. My dad was terrified of the ocean, even though he’d grown up on the island. I guess he thought it might eat him or something equally illogical, considering he was a man of medicine. Doctors should be more rational, right?
Still, he’d shipped me to the island, but not without a stern, pointed-finger warning that I was to go nowhere near the water. Period. Even if I happened to be on fire I should find anything besides the ocean to put myself out.
Sure thing, Dad. Where is this hypothetical fire supposed to come from anyway? Spontaneous combustion induced by being socially impaired?
With a slightly guilty conscience— because I’d wholeheartedly sworn to stay away, even if the sea was practically in my front yard—I eased closer until floating particles of sand tickled the tops of my feet. I was afraid too, but I wouldn’t let it stop me. Hundreds of thousands of people flocked to the beach for the sole purpose of swimming. What was so wrong with me that I could hardly manage a toe without hyperventilating?
Email: Angelanbobby01@aol.com
Title & Genre: ENVY (YA Urban Fantasy)
Pitch:
Envy Zane is the only half-Atlantean in existence and survival of The Lost City of Atlantis depends solely on her. The problem is she doesn’t know it even exists… yet.
First 250:
Ok, I thought to myself, the water isn’t that scary. One toe edged closer to the gray-tinted waves crashing onto the beach. In the early morning, the entire world still seemed to be sleeping, other than the waves, of course . They were lively, dancing across the horizon in restless ripples. When those ripples reached the sand in front of me I was tempted to take a gigantic step back. My dad was terrified of the ocean, even though he’d grown up on the island. I guess he thought it might eat him or something equally illogical, considering he was a man of medicine. Doctors should be more rational, right?
Still, he’d shipped me to the island, but not without a stern, pointed-finger warning that I was to go nowhere near the water. Period. Even if I happened to be on fire I should find anything besides the ocean to put myself out.
Sure thing, Dad. Where is this hypothetical fire supposed to come from anyway? Spontaneous combustion induced by being socially impaired?
With a slightly guilty conscience— because I’d wholeheartedly sworn to stay away, even if the sea was practically in my front yard—I eased closer until floating particles of sand tickled the tops of my feet. I was afraid too, but I wouldn’t let it stop me. Hundreds of thousands of people flocked to the beach for the sole purpose of swimming. What was so wrong with me that I could hardly manage a toe without hyperventilating?
Submission Jen D.
Name: Jen Duffey
Email: jenduffey81@gmail.com
Title and Genre: BOYFRIENDS, SPIES, AND LIES- YA Contemporary
Pitch: Art school seems like Carissa’s perfect escape--until she finds out her parents are paying her boyfriend to be her bodyguard
“Ms.Stein”. Mr. Jurgensmeyer, our art history teacher, eyed me with irritation. It was the third time that day I’d slipped into a daydream and missed his question. I knew if I did it again he’d blow up.
I shook my head hoping to clear my thoughts and focus on what he’d written on the board in front of us. “I’m sorry, what was the question?” I asked again.
Mr. Jurgensmeyer repeated the question and somehow I bullshitted my way through the answer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eric’s shoulders move up and down with laughter. We shared our first class and sat next to each other. Usually he kept me awake and alert; today he’d fallen down on the job. I knew I’d have to give him a hard time after class.
Eric packed up his bag and ran out of the room before I had my books packed. I chased after him in the hall.
Not realizing he stopped, I slammed into his back. “Damnit.” He chuckled.
“You know if you’d slow down you wouldn’t have run into me.” He turned and steadied me.
“Bastard.” I punched him in the shoulder. True to Eric, he didn’t even flinch. Then again I couldn’t put much force behind it while standing on my toes to reach him. I should have gone for the stomach instead. “Why didn’t you help me out today?”
Eric shrugged. “Things on my mind I guess.” With that he sauntered off down the hall.
Email: jenduffey81@gmail.com
Title and Genre: BOYFRIENDS, SPIES, AND LIES- YA Contemporary
Pitch: Art school seems like Carissa’s perfect escape--until she finds out her parents are paying her boyfriend to be her bodyguard
“Ms.Stein”. Mr. Jurgensmeyer, our art history teacher, eyed me with irritation. It was the third time that day I’d slipped into a daydream and missed his question. I knew if I did it again he’d blow up.
I shook my head hoping to clear my thoughts and focus on what he’d written on the board in front of us. “I’m sorry, what was the question?” I asked again.
Mr. Jurgensmeyer repeated the question and somehow I bullshitted my way through the answer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eric’s shoulders move up and down with laughter. We shared our first class and sat next to each other. Usually he kept me awake and alert; today he’d fallen down on the job. I knew I’d have to give him a hard time after class.
Eric packed up his bag and ran out of the room before I had my books packed. I chased after him in the hall.
Not realizing he stopped, I slammed into his back. “Damnit.” He chuckled.
“You know if you’d slow down you wouldn’t have run into me.” He turned and steadied me.
“Bastard.” I punched him in the shoulder. True to Eric, he didn’t even flinch. Then again I couldn’t put much force behind it while standing on my toes to reach him. I should have gone for the stomach instead. “Why didn’t you help me out today?”
Eric shrugged. “Things on my mind I guess.” With that he sauntered off down the hall.
Submission Meredith
Name: Meredith Allen Conner
email: mmconner@silverstar.com
Title: Tall, Dark and Furry - paranormal romance
Pitch: Sela must learn to control her Element, find her sisters and trust a werewolf to find her happily-ever-after.
1st 250: I’m going to die tonight.
Sela shivered. The chill permeated every cell in her body, even her bones felt frozen. She hated the cold. And wet. Right now she was both.
Gulping in air, she twisted her head from side to side, as she strained to hear any movement, any hint of her pursuers. Nothing. She couldn’t hear a thing. Her pulse thundered and pounded in her ears. She couldn’t see through the dark shadows of the woods. How far back were they?
Damn those fanatical bastards.
She took another step. Her foot slammed into a large branch, throwing her off balance. She wobbled, and barely had time to thrust her hands out as she toppled head first. The rough bark dug into her skin, blood welled in tiny droplets. Sela bit back a moan. She clenched her fists on the pain. Rough splinters clung to the blood on her palms.
Head down, breathing heavily, she ran a quick inventory. Nothing broken, a few more scrapes and bruises, but nothing to keep her down. The wind rustled the canopy of leaves above. A sliver of moonlight broke through. Her long sleeves rode up on her arms, exposing the complex circular tattoo on her inner right wrist.
In the moonlight the mark appeared to glow.
Glaring at the mark, Sela hissed, “Some help you are! Do something! Help me!”
Of course nothing happened. The mark never did anything.
email: mmconner@silverstar.com
Title: Tall, Dark and Furry - paranormal romance
Pitch: Sela must learn to control her Element, find her sisters and trust a werewolf to find her happily-ever-after.
1st 250: I’m going to die tonight.
Sela shivered. The chill permeated every cell in her body, even her bones felt frozen. She hated the cold. And wet. Right now she was both.
Gulping in air, she twisted her head from side to side, as she strained to hear any movement, any hint of her pursuers. Nothing. She couldn’t hear a thing. Her pulse thundered and pounded in her ears. She couldn’t see through the dark shadows of the woods. How far back were they?
Damn those fanatical bastards.
She took another step. Her foot slammed into a large branch, throwing her off balance. She wobbled, and barely had time to thrust her hands out as she toppled head first. The rough bark dug into her skin, blood welled in tiny droplets. Sela bit back a moan. She clenched her fists on the pain. Rough splinters clung to the blood on her palms.
Head down, breathing heavily, she ran a quick inventory. Nothing broken, a few more scrapes and bruises, but nothing to keep her down. The wind rustled the canopy of leaves above. A sliver of moonlight broke through. Her long sleeves rode up on her arms, exposing the complex circular tattoo on her inner right wrist.
In the moonlight the mark appeared to glow.
Glaring at the mark, Sela hissed, “Some help you are! Do something! Help me!”
Of course nothing happened. The mark never did anything.
Submission L. J.
Name: L.J. Boldyrev
Email: ljb (at) ljboldyrev (dot) com
Title & Genre: GREYSKIN-YA Paranormal
Pitch: Charlie just wants Jack. Not the dead girl in the trunk, the hellhounds on her heels, or a murderous voodoo sorcerer as her enemy.
First 250:
There’s a dead girl in the trunk and all I can think about is how white the trees are. There are no street lamps on this stretch of road, but still the trees glow like they’re lit from the ground up.
“Not much farther,” Jack says. I want to tell him he’s driving too fast, to slow down so I can get a better look at the trees, but I know we've got to hurry. This dead girl won’t stay dead for long.
“Hey.” Jack grabs my knee and squeezes it. I like the way his hand feels there, but I can’t tell him so. He’s five years older than me and Mama says it ain’t right, me and Jack together. But I like him, and I like the way his hand feels on my knee.
“You okay, Charlie?”
I tip my head down and smile because he calls me Charlie, and not Charlene. Charlene never did fit me, but only he gets that. “Yeah, Jacky. I’m all right.” My fingers itch to reach out and grab his, but I can’t. Ain’t right, Mama says. And I don’t know how Jack would react.
That’s the worst part.
“You done good tonight. Couldn’t have done it without you.” It’s dark in the car but his smile, lazy and a little crooked on one side, is lit up by the dash lights. Jacky puts his hand back on the wheel, the ghost of his touch still lingering on my skin.
Email: ljb (at) ljboldyrev (dot) com
Title & Genre: GREYSKIN-YA Paranormal
Pitch: Charlie just wants Jack. Not the dead girl in the trunk, the hellhounds on her heels, or a murderous voodoo sorcerer as her enemy.
First 250:
There’s a dead girl in the trunk and all I can think about is how white the trees are. There are no street lamps on this stretch of road, but still the trees glow like they’re lit from the ground up.
“Not much farther,” Jack says. I want to tell him he’s driving too fast, to slow down so I can get a better look at the trees, but I know we've got to hurry. This dead girl won’t stay dead for long.
“Hey.” Jack grabs my knee and squeezes it. I like the way his hand feels there, but I can’t tell him so. He’s five years older than me and Mama says it ain’t right, me and Jack together. But I like him, and I like the way his hand feels on my knee.
“You okay, Charlie?”
I tip my head down and smile because he calls me Charlie, and not Charlene. Charlene never did fit me, but only he gets that. “Yeah, Jacky. I’m all right.” My fingers itch to reach out and grab his, but I can’t. Ain’t right, Mama says. And I don’t know how Jack would react.
That’s the worst part.
“You done good tonight. Couldn’t have done it without you.” It’s dark in the car but his smile, lazy and a little crooked on one side, is lit up by the dash lights. Jacky puts his hand back on the wheel, the ghost of his touch still lingering on my skin.
Submission Bronwyn
Name: Bronwyn Scott-McCharen
Email: bscottmcc (at) gmail (dot) com
Title and genre: ALL THAT GLITTERS--YA Paranormal
Pitch: Belén never believed in spirits. Until she meets the ghost of a girl who wants to see justice for her killer, Belén's former neighbor.
1st 250 words:
Until now, I never knew that ‘peso devaluation’ was a code for ‘moving to the other side of the city’ or that ‘the crisis’ meant ‘switching schools and spending my last year as a high school student away from my best friends.’ I never paid attention to the news headlines that constantly spoke of the shaky and fickle Argentine economy. That wasn’t my world. I didn’t care. It didn’t affect me. It wouldn’t affect me.
Or so I thought.
“This place is quite…bohemian.” My mother remarks.
“It’s nice enough.” My father sighs and puts his hands on his hips. He glances around our tiny new living room, while my mother cuts open one of the many cardboard boxes that lay on the dusty, hardwood floor. “You shouldn’t complain when we could be homeless.”
My mother frowns. “Not like this is any better,” she mumbles.
“At least I don’t have to share a room with Belén!” my younger brother Facundo shouts as he runs into the hallway. He surges through the open door and plops down on his bed. “She snores!”
I roll my eyes. “Belén, your room is over there.” My mother points to an open door at the far end of the hallway. She turns to my brother. “Facundo, quit it.”
Why not? I shrug my shoulders and decide to explore my new surroundings, my own private oasis where I can sit alone and read, or listen to music, or just think. Solitude is a virtue.
Email: bscottmcc (at) gmail (dot) com
Title and genre: ALL THAT GLITTERS--YA Paranormal
Pitch: Belén never believed in spirits. Until she meets the ghost of a girl who wants to see justice for her killer, Belén's former neighbor.
1st 250 words:
Until now, I never knew that ‘peso devaluation’ was a code for ‘moving to the other side of the city’ or that ‘the crisis’ meant ‘switching schools and spending my last year as a high school student away from my best friends.’ I never paid attention to the news headlines that constantly spoke of the shaky and fickle Argentine economy. That wasn’t my world. I didn’t care. It didn’t affect me. It wouldn’t affect me.
Or so I thought.
“This place is quite…bohemian.” My mother remarks.
“It’s nice enough.” My father sighs and puts his hands on his hips. He glances around our tiny new living room, while my mother cuts open one of the many cardboard boxes that lay on the dusty, hardwood floor. “You shouldn’t complain when we could be homeless.”
My mother frowns. “Not like this is any better,” she mumbles.
“At least I don’t have to share a room with Belén!” my younger brother Facundo shouts as he runs into the hallway. He surges through the open door and plops down on his bed. “She snores!”
I roll my eyes. “Belén, your room is over there.” My mother points to an open door at the far end of the hallway. She turns to my brother. “Facundo, quit it.”
Why not? I shrug my shoulders and decide to explore my new surroundings, my own private oasis where I can sit alone and read, or listen to music, or just think. Solitude is a virtue.
Submission Nicole Z.
Name: Nicole Zoltack
Email: Nicole.Zoltack@gmail.com
Title & Genre: RIONA'S PEN -- YA Fantasy
Pitch: When fifteen-year-old nerdy Riona uses a cursed magical pen, her people turn into demons - the very thing she is trying to save them from.
1st 250 words:
Mr. McMichaels hated me ever since he confiscated a story I wrote during class last week. A story about an evil goblin warlord. Named McMichaels.
I guess I can't blame him, but wouldn't most English teachers love students who wanted to be authors? But no. I was lucky he only threatened me with detention.
I took my time walking to English class, seeing no need to rush. The crowded hallway slowly thinned out as kids ducked into their classrooms. The scent of mold and putrid gym clothes wafted toward me when a junior slammed his puke-green locker shut, and I gagged.
"Riona?" someone called.
I turned and spotted Artex, the new guy. He smiled and waved a piece of paper in his hand. Wow, were his teeth white! "Hi." I smiled back, unsure why he was talking to me. After all, I was decidedly unpopular. I refrained from shuffling my feet.
Good-looking boys always made me nervous.
He jogged down the hall, and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, giving him a messy but dreamy look. "I think this is yours." He handed me the story I had started in Spanish class.
"Thanks." I shoved it into a notebook. "I guess I accidentally left it behind."
"You really wrote poor Roderick into a tight spot. Those bloody pirates are more than he can handle." He fell into step beside me.
My cheeks grew hot. "You read it?"
Email: Nicole.Zoltack@gmail.com
Title & Genre: RIONA'S PEN -- YA Fantasy
Pitch: When fifteen-year-old nerdy Riona uses a cursed magical pen, her people turn into demons - the very thing she is trying to save them from.
1st 250 words:
Mr. McMichaels hated me ever since he confiscated a story I wrote during class last week. A story about an evil goblin warlord. Named McMichaels.
I guess I can't blame him, but wouldn't most English teachers love students who wanted to be authors? But no. I was lucky he only threatened me with detention.
I took my time walking to English class, seeing no need to rush. The crowded hallway slowly thinned out as kids ducked into their classrooms. The scent of mold and putrid gym clothes wafted toward me when a junior slammed his puke-green locker shut, and I gagged.
"Riona?" someone called.
I turned and spotted Artex, the new guy. He smiled and waved a piece of paper in his hand. Wow, were his teeth white! "Hi." I smiled back, unsure why he was talking to me. After all, I was decidedly unpopular. I refrained from shuffling my feet.
Good-looking boys always made me nervous.
He jogged down the hall, and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, giving him a messy but dreamy look. "I think this is yours." He handed me the story I had started in Spanish class.
"Thanks." I shoved it into a notebook. "I guess I accidentally left it behind."
"You really wrote poor Roderick into a tight spot. Those bloody pirates are more than he can handle." He fell into step beside me.
My cheeks grew hot. "You read it?"
Submission Ruthanne
Name: Ruthanne Reid
Email: ruthanne@ruthannereid.com
Title and genre: THE SUNDERED--Speculative YA
Pitch: A world that hates you is bad; slavery is worse; but nothing tops having to choose the survival of someone else's species... or your own.
1st 250 words:
-------------
The world I know is flooded.
I believe it wasn’t always that way, but that doesn’t set me apart. All we know now is swamp, tufts of land here and there, occasionally islands or muddy peaks big enough to sleep or build on. Everybody knows, though, that the water wasn’t there before. That there used to be dry land all over the place. What sets me apart, makes me different, is I believe it can go back to that.
We walk on the tufts, knob-sized things that stick out of the water with limp grass all over them. When there are a lot of them, we have to carry the boats. The water’s black.
You don’t go in the water. You don’t touch it. If you do, it will get you, drag you down, and you’re gone. The only safe way to interact with the black water is in a boat or inside the nets, at least if you’re a human. The Sundered can do anything they want in the water. Who knows why.
Maybe that’s one of the things I’ll learn when I find the Hope. It’s supposed to have all the answers.
“Hey, Harry!” Toddy, one of my younger travelers, is pointing at something. He straddles the black water, each boot on a different tuft, standing with the easy balance we all must learn or else we die. “There’s something over there!”
The Hope. I have to find the Hope. Whatever he wants to show me, it’s not the Hope, but I’m young, and I can fake interest.
Email: ruthanne@ruthannereid.com
Title and genre: THE SUNDERED--Speculative YA
Pitch: A world that hates you is bad; slavery is worse; but nothing tops having to choose the survival of someone else's species... or your own.
1st 250 words:
-------------
The world I know is flooded.
I believe it wasn’t always that way, but that doesn’t set me apart. All we know now is swamp, tufts of land here and there, occasionally islands or muddy peaks big enough to sleep or build on. Everybody knows, though, that the water wasn’t there before. That there used to be dry land all over the place. What sets me apart, makes me different, is I believe it can go back to that.
We walk on the tufts, knob-sized things that stick out of the water with limp grass all over them. When there are a lot of them, we have to carry the boats. The water’s black.
You don’t go in the water. You don’t touch it. If you do, it will get you, drag you down, and you’re gone. The only safe way to interact with the black water is in a boat or inside the nets, at least if you’re a human. The Sundered can do anything they want in the water. Who knows why.
Maybe that’s one of the things I’ll learn when I find the Hope. It’s supposed to have all the answers.
“Hey, Harry!” Toddy, one of my younger travelers, is pointing at something. He straddles the black water, each boot on a different tuft, standing with the easy balance we all must learn or else we die. “There’s something over there!”
The Hope. I have to find the Hope. Whatever he wants to show me, it’s not the Hope, but I’m young, and I can fake interest.
Submission Darcy
Name: Darcy Drake
Email: drcy.drke@gmail.com
Title & Genre: WHEN THE SAINTS GO MARCHING DEAD --- Post-Zombie-Apocalyptic Mystery
Pitch: A superhuman optimist battles zombie packs, charms bow-wielding strangers, and solves murders while showing survivors how to truly live.
First 250 Words:
After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.
Smoothing out her inventory book's ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week's menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern's meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.
A pained moan came through the barred door of her bedroom.
Her hand shook as the sound chilled her straight through. 'Corned Beef' now read more like 'Corned Beaks.'
“Might leave that one,” Philena muttered. “Served worst.”
The door rattled.
“Quit that, Harry!” Philena knew there was no point in yelling at her husband. Five hours ago the man she'd loved for near forty-seven years had gone. His body was still there, but he wasn't. Telling him to stop shuffling and moaning wasn't going to do any good.
Her poor Harry was just another zombie now.
Email: drcy.drke@gmail.com
Title & Genre: WHEN THE SAINTS GO MARCHING DEAD --- Post-Zombie-Apocalyptic Mystery
Pitch: A superhuman optimist battles zombie packs, charms bow-wielding strangers, and solves murders while showing survivors how to truly live.
First 250 Words:
After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.
Smoothing out her inventory book's ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week's menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern's meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.
A pained moan came through the barred door of her bedroom.
Her hand shook as the sound chilled her straight through. 'Corned Beef' now read more like 'Corned Beaks.'
“Might leave that one,” Philena muttered. “Served worst.”
The door rattled.
“Quit that, Harry!” Philena knew there was no point in yelling at her husband. Five hours ago the man she'd loved for near forty-seven years had gone. His body was still there, but he wasn't. Telling him to stop shuffling and moaning wasn't going to do any good.
Her poor Harry was just another zombie now.
Submissio Nicole
Name: Nicole Green
Email: niki.g82@gmail.com
Title & Genre: KISS VIRGIN, YA Contemporary/Realistic
Pitch: Chrys Jameson loses her sex virginity, but not her kiss virginity, during a beach week trip gone horribly wrong.
First 250 words:
I had to stop. He was going to catch me staring. Then I’d have to explain myself.
Danny and I sat in my kitchen with our school stuff strewn over the table. Our papers were weighed down by books so the fan wouldn’t blow them away.
Time to go back to pretending to read my AP Government class notes. Hopefully he wasn’t paying attention to the fact that I hadn’t flipped the page in a while.
I needed to stop obsessing over it. If he’d gotten the email, and he was interested, he would’ve said something. Asking about it would make me look extra creepy. And if he hadn’t gotten it, maybe that was for the best. I was starting to regret writing it in the first place.
Giving up, I put my hands over my face and said, “Why can’t I just learn things by osmosis?” The heat—among other things—was making it impossible to concentrate.
I heard the grin in his voice. “It’s not so bad.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re addicted to this stuff.” I pushed my chair away from the table and stood in the path of the fan that circulated in the corner. Unfortunately, turning on the air conditioning in my house was verboten until June. “I need juice. You want anything?”
Danny studied one of the flashcards we’d made. “Nah.” His curly, blond hair hid half his face as usual. I wish his eyes weren’t hidden behind it most of the time.
Email: niki.g82@gmail.com
Title & Genre: KISS VIRGIN, YA Contemporary/Realistic
Pitch: Chrys Jameson loses her sex virginity, but not her kiss virginity, during a beach week trip gone horribly wrong.
First 250 words:
I had to stop. He was going to catch me staring. Then I’d have to explain myself.
Danny and I sat in my kitchen with our school stuff strewn over the table. Our papers were weighed down by books so the fan wouldn’t blow them away.
Time to go back to pretending to read my AP Government class notes. Hopefully he wasn’t paying attention to the fact that I hadn’t flipped the page in a while.
I needed to stop obsessing over it. If he’d gotten the email, and he was interested, he would’ve said something. Asking about it would make me look extra creepy. And if he hadn’t gotten it, maybe that was for the best. I was starting to regret writing it in the first place.
Giving up, I put my hands over my face and said, “Why can’t I just learn things by osmosis?” The heat—among other things—was making it impossible to concentrate.
I heard the grin in his voice. “It’s not so bad.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re addicted to this stuff.” I pushed my chair away from the table and stood in the path of the fan that circulated in the corner. Unfortunately, turning on the air conditioning in my house was verboten until June. “I need juice. You want anything?”
Danny studied one of the flashcards we’d made. “Nah.” His curly, blond hair hid half his face as usual. I wish his eyes weren’t hidden behind it most of the time.
Submissio Shallee
Name: Shallee McArthur
Email: shallee.mcarthur [at] gmail [dot] com
Title and Genre: Devolutionaries -- YA dystopian
Pitch: Ash must sacrifice his ability to talk in order to hone his telepathy and save his grandad from a Government experiment on thought control.
250 words: Grandad lied to me a lot. I’d known that for a long time. But standing at the counter at the Distribution Center, I decided everybody lied.
“You only gave me four potatoes,” I said.
“Well, you only gave me four Produce coupons.” The clerk tossed her braid behind her shoulder. She smiled, making her pox scars wrinkle across her face. Was she flirting with me while she cheated me?
I ignored the smile. My eyes went to the shelves that stretched behind the counter, piled high with tin cans and semi-fresh produce. Including two more potatoes that should be mine.
“I gave you six coupons.” I glared at her through the damp brown hair hanging in my eyes. The ceiling fans circled above me, totally useless.
Her smile faded. “Maybe you dropped some. I only counted four.”
“Look, my boss doesn’t give me enough—“ I clamped my mouth shut.
Working in Kessler’s bike repair shop should have given me more coupons than it did, but Scavengers had an unspoken rule. We didn’t rat each other out to the Government. I didn’t want Kessler’s death on my head.
I glanced toward one of the military policemen in his blue uniform. He scanned the silent line of people that trailed out the door and bounced the butt of his automatic rifle in his pox-scarred hands like he was bored. Nobody made a sound under his watch. We knew the rules: silence and order. We knew the punishment, too. That gun was loaded.
Email: shallee.mcarthur [at] gmail [dot] com
Title and Genre: Devolutionaries -- YA dystopian
Pitch: Ash must sacrifice his ability to talk in order to hone his telepathy and save his grandad from a Government experiment on thought control.
250 words: Grandad lied to me a lot. I’d known that for a long time. But standing at the counter at the Distribution Center, I decided everybody lied.
“You only gave me four potatoes,” I said.
“Well, you only gave me four Produce coupons.” The clerk tossed her braid behind her shoulder. She smiled, making her pox scars wrinkle across her face. Was she flirting with me while she cheated me?
I ignored the smile. My eyes went to the shelves that stretched behind the counter, piled high with tin cans and semi-fresh produce. Including two more potatoes that should be mine.
“I gave you six coupons.” I glared at her through the damp brown hair hanging in my eyes. The ceiling fans circled above me, totally useless.
Her smile faded. “Maybe you dropped some. I only counted four.”
“Look, my boss doesn’t give me enough—“ I clamped my mouth shut.
Working in Kessler’s bike repair shop should have given me more coupons than it did, but Scavengers had an unspoken rule. We didn’t rat each other out to the Government. I didn’t want Kessler’s death on my head.
I glanced toward one of the military policemen in his blue uniform. He scanned the silent line of people that trailed out the door and bounced the butt of his automatic rifle in his pox-scarred hands like he was bored. Nobody made a sound under his watch. We knew the rules: silence and order. We knew the punishment, too. That gun was loaded.
Submission Jay
Name: Jay Eckert
EMail: eckertnj [at] gmail [dot] com
Title & Genre: URBAN MYTHOS, YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: When teenage Zydeco's friends disappear, the transformed Griffin unravels a plot to send fellow ex-mythological creatures to their death.
First 250 Words:
"My name is Zydeco, and I am a recovering mythological creature." I stood at the makeshift podium and looked out over the musty, high ceilinged room, my fingers clutching the stone hanging on the black rope around my neck.
It was Tuesday, which meant two things. First, this clandestine support group meeting, for which it was my turn to speak, and second, chemistry homework with that done-at-midnight quality. Moments ago, the regulars had finished up their conversations and hunkered down into the rows of folding chairs with stale donuts in hand. Some newbies continued to mill about the cramped YMCA gymnasium, their eyes darting around nervously. This was the most popular group of its kind in the city, and as a result everyone sat in rows instead of a circle.
As one out of tune voice, they answered, "Hello, Zydeco."
The canned response didn't always make me crack up, but after hearing it about eight hundred times, I couldn't help but chuckle a little. I swear, sometimes I thought they were sheep -- the weird, legendary kind that flies and craps rubies. Don't get me wrong, these guys were great and everything. They had done the human thing for a heck of a lot longer than I had.
Octavio, the support group organizer, bustled to the front row, shushing everyone and motioning the stragglers to their seats. As usual, when he parked himself, coffee slopped over the edge of the styrofoam cup and onto his yellow tie.
EMail: eckertnj [at] gmail [dot] com
Title & Genre: URBAN MYTHOS, YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch: When teenage Zydeco's friends disappear, the transformed Griffin unravels a plot to send fellow ex-mythological creatures to their death.
First 250 Words:
"My name is Zydeco, and I am a recovering mythological creature." I stood at the makeshift podium and looked out over the musty, high ceilinged room, my fingers clutching the stone hanging on the black rope around my neck.
It was Tuesday, which meant two things. First, this clandestine support group meeting, for which it was my turn to speak, and second, chemistry homework with that done-at-midnight quality. Moments ago, the regulars had finished up their conversations and hunkered down into the rows of folding chairs with stale donuts in hand. Some newbies continued to mill about the cramped YMCA gymnasium, their eyes darting around nervously. This was the most popular group of its kind in the city, and as a result everyone sat in rows instead of a circle.
As one out of tune voice, they answered, "Hello, Zydeco."
The canned response didn't always make me crack up, but after hearing it about eight hundred times, I couldn't help but chuckle a little. I swear, sometimes I thought they were sheep -- the weird, legendary kind that flies and craps rubies. Don't get me wrong, these guys were great and everything. They had done the human thing for a heck of a lot longer than I had.
Octavio, the support group organizer, bustled to the front row, shushing everyone and motioning the stragglers to their seats. As usual, when he parked himself, coffee slopped over the edge of the styrofoam cup and onto his yellow tie.
Submission Solomon
Name: Solomon J. Inkwell (James Grea)
Email: jgrea@solomoninkwell.com
Title/Genre: HAUNTING THELMA THIMBLEWHISTLE: THE CHRONICLES OF DEAD ANNA (Young Adult—Horror)
Pitch:
Thelma Thimblewhistle must complete two tasks: pass the sixth grade…and kill the boogeyman. Dead people think they know everything!
1st 250:
Now that the worst has passed, I believe I can begin. As I write here in the darkened library with the flicker of the dancing firelight to guide me, I realize the task which I have been charged with is not a simple one, mind you, not simple at all. Nevertheless, it is a necessary duty bestowed upon me by Ms. Anna Peterson, or “Dead Anna” as she likes to be called. Wretched name, really, but you know Anna has a flair for the dramatic.
Or maybe, you do not know Anna. Ah, but you will very soon, I am sure. You see, her tale is a fascinating one. Of course, it was not always fascinating. For many years, she was simply your standard ghost in the Neither Realm, spooking her way around, avoiding duties assigned to her. She was, how would you say…a slacker. However, when Anna was placed in charge of a certain special girl, well, the adventures began for all of us, and now for you.
It is common knowledge that vanquishing a Boogey Man is a very difficult thing to do—something that we of the Neither Realm believed a mere child could never accomplish. Is the Boogey Man real? Yes, indeed! At any given time, there could be hundreds of Boogey Men roaming the closets of terrified children all over the world. So, what is a Boogey Man, really? Your standard Boogey Man begins as a nuisance. The threat lies in what it can become.
Email: jgrea@solomoninkwell.com
Title/Genre: HAUNTING THELMA THIMBLEWHISTLE: THE CHRONICLES OF DEAD ANNA (Young Adult—Horror)
Pitch:
Thelma Thimblewhistle must complete two tasks: pass the sixth grade…and kill the boogeyman. Dead people think they know everything!
1st 250:
Now that the worst has passed, I believe I can begin. As I write here in the darkened library with the flicker of the dancing firelight to guide me, I realize the task which I have been charged with is not a simple one, mind you, not simple at all. Nevertheless, it is a necessary duty bestowed upon me by Ms. Anna Peterson, or “Dead Anna” as she likes to be called. Wretched name, really, but you know Anna has a flair for the dramatic.
Or maybe, you do not know Anna. Ah, but you will very soon, I am sure. You see, her tale is a fascinating one. Of course, it was not always fascinating. For many years, she was simply your standard ghost in the Neither Realm, spooking her way around, avoiding duties assigned to her. She was, how would you say…a slacker. However, when Anna was placed in charge of a certain special girl, well, the adventures began for all of us, and now for you.
It is common knowledge that vanquishing a Boogey Man is a very difficult thing to do—something that we of the Neither Realm believed a mere child could never accomplish. Is the Boogey Man real? Yes, indeed! At any given time, there could be hundreds of Boogey Men roaming the closets of terrified children all over the world. So, what is a Boogey Man, really? Your standard Boogey Man begins as a nuisance. The threat lies in what it can become.
Submission Shannon
Name: Shannon MacDougall
Email: butterflyvader@gmail.com
Title & Genre: TALON’S REACH – YA Dystopian
Pitch
In a future America, rival camps vie for control before the Second Civil War and Lillie Forester trades a fast-food spatula for a Revolver.
1st 250 words
Chapter 1: Whatever
“Anthony, you can kish my saggy, white ash …” Jeanne cackled a drunken laugh.
“ASH!” She yelled the word, as if it would help her form it better. “You … you lef! Ah’m sill HEER!”
She pointed at her bed, but her hand slipped. Her face hit the pillow and her hysterical laughter was muffled for a precious moment. She pulled her makeup-smeared face off the pillow and blinked in slow motion trying to keep me in focus.
I didn’t respond.
She wasn’t talking to me.
I finished shoving her right leg and arm under her covers, careful to make sure she was on her side. I placed her trash can in easy barfing distance and closed her door. Her vibrato of incoherent slurs wafted down the hall as I headed for the kitchen.
I waited for my oatmeal to warm up and watched my dog’s dark shadow sniff around our tiny backyard. The darkness engulfed her for a moment until she took off after something white.
The morning note. “Lillie.”
“That’s me.” I sighed.
“We need bread. Get me some Quervo too. You got paid yesterday. Mom.”
I shoved the note in my pocket and grabbed my backpack. ‘Mom’ was the least used word to identify Jeanne.
My pace would have put a speed-walker to shame. The autumn mornings were my favorite, but I wasn’t stupid.
Email: butterflyvader@gmail.com
Title & Genre: TALON’S REACH – YA Dystopian
Pitch
In a future America, rival camps vie for control before the Second Civil War and Lillie Forester trades a fast-food spatula for a Revolver.
1st 250 words
Chapter 1: Whatever
“Anthony, you can kish my saggy, white ash …” Jeanne cackled a drunken laugh.
“ASH!” She yelled the word, as if it would help her form it better. “You … you lef! Ah’m sill HEER!”
She pointed at her bed, but her hand slipped. Her face hit the pillow and her hysterical laughter was muffled for a precious moment. She pulled her makeup-smeared face off the pillow and blinked in slow motion trying to keep me in focus.
I didn’t respond.
She wasn’t talking to me.
I finished shoving her right leg and arm under her covers, careful to make sure she was on her side. I placed her trash can in easy barfing distance and closed her door. Her vibrato of incoherent slurs wafted down the hall as I headed for the kitchen.
I waited for my oatmeal to warm up and watched my dog’s dark shadow sniff around our tiny backyard. The darkness engulfed her for a moment until she took off after something white.
The morning note. “Lillie.”
“That’s me.” I sighed.
“We need bread. Get me some Quervo too. You got paid yesterday. Mom.”
I shoved the note in my pocket and grabbed my backpack. ‘Mom’ was the least used word to identify Jeanne.
My pace would have put a speed-walker to shame. The autumn mornings were my favorite, but I wasn’t stupid.
Submission Neal
Name: Neal Wollenberg
Email: nealw@ksu.edu
Title/Genre: 13TH SUMMER -- Middle Grade Realistic Fiction
Pitch: A Halloween prank gone way wrong, a stolen truck and the bully with a death wish… yours. Where’s summer break when you need it?
1st 250: Bing Stanley and his best friend Hayden Carter raced through the darkness along the deserted street. Each step carried them first through pools of illumination from streetlamps then the darkness between. They finally stopped to catch their breath underneath one lamp’s phosphorescent glow.
“Bing, I think they saw us!” said Hayden.
“No way. It was just the automatic lights on the garage that came on.” Bing hissed each word between ragged breaths. “We got away.”
His laughter began deep along his sides, silent at first then bursting from between his lips in gales. Within seconds Hayden’s laughter blended with Bing’s and soon the two were clutching the lamppost in order to stay upright.
“When you said you wanted to fork someone’s yard, I didn’t know it would take that long!” Bing hiccupped and tried to stifle more laughter.
A low rumble interrupted Hayden before he could respond. Both boys froze.
“Hey peckers!”
The Camaro crept down the street and slowed to a stop beside the boys.
“I said, ‘Hey peckers!’ Don’t flippin’ ignore me.” Chad Craven rested against the inside of the driver’s side door. His left arm hung from the window, and an amber long-neck bottle dangled from his fingertips.
Bing’s breath came slow and shallow. He was nervous, but tried to cover it. “Hey Chad, ‘sup?”
Chad’s passenger yelled, “The sky!” then erupted in shrieks of laughter.
“Shut up, Evan, you idiot. I’m talkin’ here.” He leaned out of the window. “Why you ‘tards out so late?”
Email: nealw@ksu.edu
Title/Genre: 13TH SUMMER -- Middle Grade Realistic Fiction
Pitch: A Halloween prank gone way wrong, a stolen truck and the bully with a death wish… yours. Where’s summer break when you need it?
1st 250: Bing Stanley and his best friend Hayden Carter raced through the darkness along the deserted street. Each step carried them first through pools of illumination from streetlamps then the darkness between. They finally stopped to catch their breath underneath one lamp’s phosphorescent glow.
“Bing, I think they saw us!” said Hayden.
“No way. It was just the automatic lights on the garage that came on.” Bing hissed each word between ragged breaths. “We got away.”
His laughter began deep along his sides, silent at first then bursting from between his lips in gales. Within seconds Hayden’s laughter blended with Bing’s and soon the two were clutching the lamppost in order to stay upright.
“When you said you wanted to fork someone’s yard, I didn’t know it would take that long!” Bing hiccupped and tried to stifle more laughter.
A low rumble interrupted Hayden before he could respond. Both boys froze.
“Hey peckers!”
The Camaro crept down the street and slowed to a stop beside the boys.
“I said, ‘Hey peckers!’ Don’t flippin’ ignore me.” Chad Craven rested against the inside of the driver’s side door. His left arm hung from the window, and an amber long-neck bottle dangled from his fingertips.
Bing’s breath came slow and shallow. He was nervous, but tried to cover it. “Hey Chad, ‘sup?”
Chad’s passenger yelled, “The sky!” then erupted in shrieks of laughter.
“Shut up, Evan, you idiot. I’m talkin’ here.” He leaned out of the window. “Why you ‘tards out so late?”
Submission Brenda
Name: Brenda Corey Dunne
Email: tbdunne01@hotmail.com
Title/Genre: TREASURE IN THE FLAME/ YA-Historical Fiction-Fantasy
Pitch: Aminda's father lies in a cursed sleep. She's seeing visions. The villagers are pointing fingers. Can she trust a treasure map to save her?
First 250:
The opportunity had presented itself in the form of a map. Just a piece of parchment on the ale-soaked wooden floor of a Ste Anne’s pub. More than likely dropped by a drunkard on his way home to his hungry wife. Finder’s keepers, Jonas had told himself as he scooped down and picked it up.
It was a treasure map.
Not just any treasure map, but the Treasure Map. The one he had heard so much about. Slurred whispers in the candlelight of maps, gold and curses. Of treasure and death on the Koac stream.
He had fished there before, ignoring the superstitions. There was nothing on that stream but fat fish and a beautiful waterfall. Yet Jonas had to admit that the place had made him uneasy. He was not a superstitious man, but he swore he had felt eyes on his back.
The map had a stream that wound in a wide S, just like the Koac. There was an X on a path—just beyond a waterfall. Even solid, hard-working Jonas couldn’t deny the pull of curiosity. Was the parchment really a treasure map? Could the rumours be true? Could this be his opportunity to give his daughter a life he’d been working so hard to provide?
She was so brave. So beautiful. He owed her the chance.
And so, as Jonas Ingerham walked into the blackness of the new moon, he had only his daughter’s best intentions in mind.
Email: tbdunne01@hotmail.com
Title/Genre: TREASURE IN THE FLAME/ YA-Historical Fiction-Fantasy
Pitch: Aminda's father lies in a cursed sleep. She's seeing visions. The villagers are pointing fingers. Can she trust a treasure map to save her?
First 250:
The opportunity had presented itself in the form of a map. Just a piece of parchment on the ale-soaked wooden floor of a Ste Anne’s pub. More than likely dropped by a drunkard on his way home to his hungry wife. Finder’s keepers, Jonas had told himself as he scooped down and picked it up.
It was a treasure map.
Not just any treasure map, but the Treasure Map. The one he had heard so much about. Slurred whispers in the candlelight of maps, gold and curses. Of treasure and death on the Koac stream.
He had fished there before, ignoring the superstitions. There was nothing on that stream but fat fish and a beautiful waterfall. Yet Jonas had to admit that the place had made him uneasy. He was not a superstitious man, but he swore he had felt eyes on his back.
The map had a stream that wound in a wide S, just like the Koac. There was an X on a path—just beyond a waterfall. Even solid, hard-working Jonas couldn’t deny the pull of curiosity. Was the parchment really a treasure map? Could the rumours be true? Could this be his opportunity to give his daughter a life he’d been working so hard to provide?
She was so brave. So beautiful. He owed her the chance.
And so, as Jonas Ingerham walked into the blackness of the new moon, he had only his daughter’s best intentions in mind.
Submission Robin
Name: Robin Weeks
Email: robinweekswriter at gmail dot com
Title/Genre: GEAS / YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch:
When rebels use human-pixie hybrid Brina in their bid for power, she must choose: tradition or freedom, safety or justice… humans or pixies.
First 250 (well, 258):
Brina’s only warning was a light brush on her upper left wing. A second later, an elaborately folded magazine cover landed in her lap: a pterodactyl this time. Original. The complex folds obscured the picture, but Brina already knew that her face was lost somewhere inside. It had been taped to her locker (marked over with devil horns and a forked tail), stuck to the bathroom wall (with bat wings and fangs), and slipped inside her Biology book (with blacked out teeth and crossed eyes). It had been folded into airplanes and rolled into spit-wad shooters. It had been scribbled over with slurs of every kind. An anti-tribute to the only human-pixie hybrid in the world.
After the first ten, she’d stopped smiling and thanking the sender. After the first twenty, she’d stopped feeling sick every time and settled for numb. By 3:30, she had a collection of fifty or more. Us Magazine must be making a killing.
Without taking her eyes off the stage, Moira reached over, snatched the newest offering, viciously crumpled it, and jammed it into her backpack.
“Nice picture, freak,” hissed a voice behind them.
Moira’s face hardened, but Brina shook her head. “Not worth it.”
In the dim light of the high school auditorium, thirty minutes into auditions for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Brina was too nervous to care anymore. Moira flashed a one-finger salute to the rear, Brina sighed, and they both went back to watching the stage.
Until the jerk behind them yanked on Brina’s glowing White wing, making her yelp.
Email: robinweekswriter at gmail dot com
Title/Genre: GEAS / YA Urban Fantasy
Pitch:
When rebels use human-pixie hybrid Brina in their bid for power, she must choose: tradition or freedom, safety or justice… humans or pixies.
First 250 (well, 258):
Brina’s only warning was a light brush on her upper left wing. A second later, an elaborately folded magazine cover landed in her lap: a pterodactyl this time. Original. The complex folds obscured the picture, but Brina already knew that her face was lost somewhere inside. It had been taped to her locker (marked over with devil horns and a forked tail), stuck to the bathroom wall (with bat wings and fangs), and slipped inside her Biology book (with blacked out teeth and crossed eyes). It had been folded into airplanes and rolled into spit-wad shooters. It had been scribbled over with slurs of every kind. An anti-tribute to the only human-pixie hybrid in the world.
After the first ten, she’d stopped smiling and thanking the sender. After the first twenty, she’d stopped feeling sick every time and settled for numb. By 3:30, she had a collection of fifty or more. Us Magazine must be making a killing.
Without taking her eyes off the stage, Moira reached over, snatched the newest offering, viciously crumpled it, and jammed it into her backpack.
“Nice picture, freak,” hissed a voice behind them.
Moira’s face hardened, but Brina shook her head. “Not worth it.”
In the dim light of the high school auditorium, thirty minutes into auditions for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Brina was too nervous to care anymore. Moira flashed a one-finger salute to the rear, Brina sighed, and they both went back to watching the stage.
Until the jerk behind them yanked on Brina’s glowing White wing, making her yelp.
Submission Haley
Name: Haley Whitehall
Email: unionadvance4ever@gmail.com
Title/Genre: SHADES OF WHITE / YA historical fiction with crossover potential
Pitch:
In antebellum south, after Zach is sold, he pretends to be white and battles his faith and a manipulative lover, all to protect his family.
First 250:
Michael grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him aside. “Yuh tryin to get yo’self sold or worse?” he growled.
Zachariah’s eyes widened. He shook his head vigorously. “Nosuh.”
“Coulda fooled me. De way yuh been talkin,” Michael whispered as his gaze narrowed into a hard stare.
Zachariah swallowed. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He hated getting in trouble by the man he thought of as his pa. He pulled his arm back in an attempt to free his arm from Michael’s firm grasp but was unable to.
Michael used his free hand to pull up his left pant leg.
Zachariah’s jaw dropped as his eyes caught a glimpse of the disfigured flesh.
“Look real close, boy.”
There was a gouge in Michael’s calf as big as his fist. Zachariah had always wondered why the man walked with a limp. Looking at the scar turned Zachariah's stomach.
“Dog bit me,” Michael explained. “Dat ain’t de only place neider. I was talkin freedom when I’s bout yo age. Den one day I let out. Dam dogs caught ma scent right off. I spent dat nigh in chains in de barn. In de mornin dey took me to de market an had me whipped fo’ all to see. De jailer was awful mean bout it. Massah say he needed to teach me a lesson I ain’t gwine to forget.”
Michael paused. He saw the horror gradually sink into Zachariah’s blue eyes.
Zachariah opened his mouth then quickly shut it.
Email: unionadvance4ever@gmail.com
Title/Genre: SHADES OF WHITE / YA historical fiction with crossover potential
Pitch:
In antebellum south, after Zach is sold, he pretends to be white and battles his faith and a manipulative lover, all to protect his family.
First 250:
Michael grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him aside. “Yuh tryin to get yo’self sold or worse?” he growled.
Zachariah’s eyes widened. He shook his head vigorously. “Nosuh.”
“Coulda fooled me. De way yuh been talkin,” Michael whispered as his gaze narrowed into a hard stare.
Zachariah swallowed. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He hated getting in trouble by the man he thought of as his pa. He pulled his arm back in an attempt to free his arm from Michael’s firm grasp but was unable to.
Michael used his free hand to pull up his left pant leg.
Zachariah’s jaw dropped as his eyes caught a glimpse of the disfigured flesh.
“Look real close, boy.”
There was a gouge in Michael’s calf as big as his fist. Zachariah had always wondered why the man walked with a limp. Looking at the scar turned Zachariah's stomach.
“Dog bit me,” Michael explained. “Dat ain’t de only place neider. I was talkin freedom when I’s bout yo age. Den one day I let out. Dam dogs caught ma scent right off. I spent dat nigh in chains in de barn. In de mornin dey took me to de market an had me whipped fo’ all to see. De jailer was awful mean bout it. Massah say he needed to teach me a lesson I ain’t gwine to forget.”
Michael paused. He saw the horror gradually sink into Zachariah’s blue eyes.
Zachariah opened his mouth then quickly shut it.
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