tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58483846354525544532024-03-14T07:39:13.268-04:00Writerly RejectsThe Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.comBlogger239125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-36106192054111839542013-11-01T12:25:00.002-04:002013-11-01T12:25:23.240-04:00NaNoWriMo Tips<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Hello NaNo-Nerds! It’s that time
again. Beginning today, our veins will be over run with caffeine and all types
of sugar in order to keep us tapping away at the silicone keyboards. Since finishing
a book during this time-frame is extremely difficult, this post is going to be
really short.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">1.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Outline
the basics.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Come up with one or two sentences
that will express the idea of the book. Then create a small outline consisting
of just basic information. Outline should have, at minimum, the opening,
middle, and climax of the story. Use these to keep the story on target, but
also allowing creativity to flow easily.</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">2.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Create
multiple character sheets.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Write down some basic attributes for the
main characters. Things like the color of their eyes and hair, height, weight, personality,
and some sample favorites of the character. I have mine on a dry erase board
that hangs over my writing desk. Feel free do come up with another way that’ll
work best for you.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">3.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Set
up deadlines.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Create goals with everything. Make them
small ones like write 2 to 3 scenes or 1k of words a day. Then stick to it. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">4.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Reward
your self.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When you complete a task, give
yourself something special. The more difficult the goal, the better the reward.
They can be anything. Maybe an hour of your favorite TV show, or indulge in
some sinfully wonderful dark chocolate. </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">5.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Get
help!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I can’t stress it enough. The stress is
going to be bad. Find help and lean on them when you need it the most. Lots of
time, a good Nano supporter will know when we’re stressing too much and nip it
in the bud.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">6.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Write
and have fun.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is perhaps the most important tip I can
give anyone. Sit your ass down, get writing, and have fun doing it. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If anyone else has tips, we’d love
to hear them. Till next time, have a happy NaNo! </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Auzy</span></span></div>
</div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-45605466397827598632013-10-24T20:52:00.002-04:002013-10-24T20:52:46.724-04:00Stab In the Dark Results<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Well our murderific agent contest has officially come to a
close and I hope everyone had a bloody good time. Big thanks goes out to our
agents for participating. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">In case anyone was wondering, there was a lot of requests
made. See below for who got Sliced, Stabbed, and Killed! Congrats to everyone!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></o:p></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;">Auzy</span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Name:
Sonia Hartl <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title:
The Cry House<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: YA Gothic Romance<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Slice <o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Name:
Patrice Caldwell<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title:
ALEX DE VEGA AND PANDORA’S BOX<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: MG Thriller<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Slice<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></span></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></span></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Name:
Theresa Milstein<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title:
SAVING DANGER<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Gener: Upper Middle
Grade Contemporary<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Slice<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Name:</span> Stacey Trombley<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Title:</span> DARCY DARKLING
AND THE FORGOTTEN CITY<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Genre:</span> MG urban fantasy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u>Stab</u><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Slice<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="background: white; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Name:
Lisa Gail Green</span><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title:
BENEATH<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: YA Sci-fi/thriller<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kill</span></u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Slice<o:p></o:p></u></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></span></o:p></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Name: Annie
Sullivan<br />
Title: Goldilocks<br />
Genre: YA Fantasy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u>Stab</u><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>Slice</u><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><u>Slice</u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Name:
Carl Hackman<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title:
GERALD AND THE AMULET OF ZONRACH<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Upper MG,
Humorous Fantasy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Slice</span></u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Name: Rebecca
Waddell<br />
Title: Behind the Tangle Trees<br />
Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy/Sci Fi<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u>Slice</u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Name: Carol Ayer<br />
Title: Haunted Ever After<br />
Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u>Stab</u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Name:
FishOutOfWater<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title:
OBLIVIOUS<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Adult
Thriller/Detective Fiction<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Slice</span></u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Name: Katie Teller<br />
Title: Dancing in the Athenian Rain<br />
Genre: NA Romantic Time Travel<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><u><span style="background: white;">Stab</span></u><span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="background: white;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Name:
Aidan Larson<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Title:
FRENCH FLAVORED LIFE<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Genre: Women’s Fiction<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<u><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Stab<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-26457272727162609352013-10-24T09:16:00.000-04:002013-10-24T09:16:38.092-04:00The Stab in the Dark Contest Has Come to a CloseHi all!<br />
<br />
Thank you very much for taking the time to participate in our Halloween A Stab in the Dark Agent Contest! For those with requests, congratulations and go on and shoot them off to your respective agents (proofread first! ya know, just in case). Thank you again to all those who participated and put their work out there. Never an easy feat.<br />
<br />
A big thank you to our agents <a href="http://www.kimberleycameron.com/pooja-menon.php">Pooja Menon</a>, <a href="http://forewordliterary.com/foreword/danielle-smith/">Danielle Smith</a> and <a href="http://therightsfactory.com/olgamail.html">Olga Filina</a>. Feel free to query them through the regular channels.<br />
<br />
Cheers,<br />
<br />
~LizElizabeth Pratshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13007847710513283552noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-44884983677809452212013-10-21T08:51:00.001-04:002013-10-21T08:51:08.941-04:00Heads up! Hello lovelies,<br />
<br />
I'm sure some of you are wondering why you haven't seen anymore requests as of late. Well, one of our resident agents had something urgent come up so in order to give her a chance to make requests we're extending the contest until Wednesday at Midnight! (I figured ya'll wouldn't mind seeing as how she's planning to make requests) ;)<br />
<br />
Thanks for your patience lovelies.<br />
<br />
~LizElizabeth Pratshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13007847710513283552noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-65733564997625202932013-10-17T09:00:00.025-04:002013-10-17T09:00:10.153-04:00#24 ENCIRCLED - YA Magical Realism<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Name:</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Summer Spence<br />Title:</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> ENCIRCLED<br />Genre:</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> YA Magical Realism<br /><br />Pitch:</span></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">16-year-old Elisabeth Bell Pierce is stuck in a castle that's frozen in the past. But when she finds the Lost Prince of England bewitched deep beneath the castle walls, a love-is-blind romance ignites in the enchanted darkness. Now, she's determined to bring the past into the present, to build a future together -- but not everything that's lost wants to be found.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500:<br /></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 32px; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I could smell hot metal and the tang of blood. My labored breath sounded harsh in the crushed space. In. Out. In. Out. I focused on the rhythm against the too-still dark. A small sound joined in; something was dripping somewhere. Plink. Plink. Plink. In-Plink-Out-Plink. I pushed the wet tangle of hair from my face and pressed a shaking hand to my forehead, where a crazy pressure was mounting. I twisted, but couldn't right myself: I was upside-down. I craned my head to the right, a slow motion trip to hell. My breath caught in my throat; the comforting rhythm died. I licked my lips, tried to find my voice, but found my hand first instead. I pushed at the quiet form next to me, my seatbelt catching and straining to keep me still.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 32px; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "Momma," I croaked out in the barest whisper, the night shattering into pieces around me. She didn't answer. I found her hand and held it in mine. I thought it twitched a bit. Just a bit, but it did. A tear rolled to the tip of my nose and clung on for dear life. And then, her eyes opened -- the grey-brown irises wide against pain and darkness. Her lips moved soundlessly. A thin beam of moonlight broke through the window and lit her haunted face, and a dull roar started in my head, the scream of blood and fear. I looked into my mother's fading eyes and wished to be somewhere, anywhere but here.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then I was gone. I was little again, so little, snuggled down into the blanket my mom had made me, watching the moonlight that peeked through my pale curtains, the window glass foggy against the cold blue night. The wind whistled, ghosts of the winter season screaming for entry to our cozy home. My mom gently stroked my cheek, her soothing British alto warming the night around me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"One more story, Elisabeth, and that's all, love. It's time for sleep," she crooned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She played with a stray strand of my hair and stared out into nightfall, where a thousand million stars burned, then began as she always did. I snuggled in closer, spooked already.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"On a cold, cold night -- much like this one -- a small girl hunched against the inky-black darkness. A low and menacing sound drew closer, ever closer, echoing from deep within the ancient stone walls that surrounded her. The girl trembled under her bedclothes, searching the darkness for the thing that drew near. She breathed in the smallest breaths, trying not to make a noise, hoping it would pass her by. But it scraped and scrabbled through the walls, its skittering echo filling the room. <i>It was coming for her. </i>And when it found her, the little girl knew the thing would claim her, and she would be lost forever…"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sleep tugged at my little eyes and the words blurred and chased me into dreams of a far-away castle shrouded in <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_702999158" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">midnight</span></span> dread, where a small voice called me to come into the dark, to rescue what had been lost.</span></div>
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The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-83110751842746676642013-10-17T09:00:00.024-04:002013-10-17T09:00:08.026-04:00#23 DEATH BY HIGH HEELS - Adult Mystery<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Violet Ingram</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: DEATH BY HIGH HEELS </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: Mystery</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">PI Kimberly Murphy is caught standing over a dead body, again, only this time it wasn’t her fault.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To clear her slightly tarnished name, Kim goes after a killer while avoiding a hot cop determined to put her in handcuffs – and not the pink, fuzzy kind. Kim’s efforts lead to dead ends and even more dead bodies. Kim will need skills, luck, and a miracle to avoid a killer desperate to end her meddling – permanently.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 words:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cops hate it when you vomit all over their crime scene – a mistake I had no desire to repeat. Then again, the fact that I’d just trampled all over this scene was probably a whole new mistake I should have avoided. I stared at the corpse and fought the urge to hurl. If only I hadn’t answered the door, I’d be eating dinner instead of standing in my neighbor’s apartment looking at a dead guy. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Said dead guy was just sitting there in the chair. You would think he was asleep – if not for all the blood and guts spilled onto his lap. I tore my eyes from him and asked the question I most wanted the answer to.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What the heck did you hit him with?” <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lindsay dropped the strand of blonde hair she’d been twirling and glanced down at the floor. “My shoe.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Huh?”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’ve already told you. Twice. I hit him with <i>my shoe</i>.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Damn it, Lindsay, you can’t kill someone with a shoe!” <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<i>Hello</i>, they’re Via Spiga.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ugh.” I glared. There was no way in hell she had done this kind of damage with a shoe. If she had, women would soon be saying goodbye to their much-beloved accessory. Men-even NRA members- would insist on an instant ban of the deadly yet sexy weapon.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I set my hands on my hips. “Any idea how he got this giant hole in his stomach?” <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What? No, I hit him and ran.” Lindsay’s face paled and she leaned against the doorframe. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Come here and see if you recognize him.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Gross, no way. Besides you’re the detective you figure out who he is.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Technically, I was a private investigator, a fact that had continually escaped my neighbor.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Get over here!” I turned towards her and spotted Lakeview, Ohio’s oldest beat cop standing behind her, his gun drawn. It would have been scary if only he didn’t look like Santa Claus dressed as a cop for Halloween. With the beginnings of a snow white beard and a pot belly in the making. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ah hell,” I muttered. “Hey Duncan.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Kim Murphy. Oh man the Chief’s gonna be pissed,” Officer Duncan said.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We don’t really have to tell him, do we?”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You don’t think he’s gonna find out his daughter got herself mixed up with another dead guy? You didn’t kill this one too did you? Wait, don’t answer that.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I didn’t kill him. Jeez.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The last time I’d been caught standing over a dead guy was because I’d shot the miserable son of a bitch. It was self-defense and besides, the guy deserved it. Thankfully there were several witnesses and the Grand Jury had dropped the matter. Which was why I was enjoying the comforts of my own apartment when Lindsay came banging on my door.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Duncan looked over at her. “Now who might you be, Miss?” <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m Lindsay Pembrook.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He glanced my way. “I guess that’s the dead guy. You sure he’s dead?” Duncan asked me.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, looking away from the object of our discussion.</span> </span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-6904855574728203172013-10-17T09:00:00.023-04:002013-10-17T09:00:06.526-04:00#22 BROTHERS ON THE RIM - YA Suspense<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Karen lee hallam</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: Brothers on the Rim </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: YA suspense. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">75: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While visiting the family’s hunting lodge, brothers, Jackson 15 and Arthur Bower 13 go for a walk. Their father’s drinking again and he’s started in with Artie. Darkness falls and they’re lost. A cave dwelling recluse finds them, and takes them back to his cave, where they discover he’s planning a major bombing. Jackson must drag his wounded brother through the mountain, and the rains, in order to stop the bombing before it’s too late.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Artie sure was fast on his feet. You’d think the wet grass would slow him down. Not Art. What he lacked in strength he made up for in agility. I'm the one that tends to slip, but this time, caught myself before I was flat in the mud.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Artie, where you going?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Remember the short cut? Mom used to tell us to follow the trillium flowers if we ever got lost. They wind along the creek through to Mr. Potters.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Wait—hold up.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I caught up with Artie at the edge of the ravine. The white trillium flowers lined the creek, and wound their way upstream. Art stood, staring out over the drop, the cold wind wearing on his face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What’s wrong?” I asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It takes a minute for Art to figure out what to say. I know he’s thinking about Mom. “Ah--nothing.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He knows I know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And like that, I let it be. There’s an understanding between us, like a secret language we’ve had to use to conceal our communication when our father’s around. Rick has very little time for our “flights of fancy” –his words, but originally, Mom’s words.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We rambled back through the thicket of bare branches, through the buds on the verge of bursting open for the new spring. My breath floated in waves and surrounded me. Somehow I’ve gotten ahead of Artie. I turned to see if he was listening, since I’d been talking on and on. If Artie’s the quiet one, I’m the rambler. Mostly I noted the species of plants we came across. It keeps my head occupied. Keeps me from the negative thoughts and feelings that are about to hit me across the face when we get back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m supposed to keep an eye on Artie. I’m the older brother. Mom told me to watch over him, knowing our father, Rick, would have other things on his mind. Or be completely unavailable. It’s my responsibility. Artie’s only two years younger, but some days I feel years older, like an old man, really, and I’m only fifteen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s been raining for weeks. The rainy season, and should just be called the mud season. A haze of grey covered everything. The brown flowed where the water flowed. We met again with the creek, now a small brook lined with bluebell flowers and walked north, headed upstream, until we spot the Hunting Lodge. With the chimney pumping out puffs of warm smoke, the lodge looked inviting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it’s not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rick, most likely, barely noticed we were gone. It was half past a six-pack time by now, and maybe 3:00 in the afternoon. I know his drinking schedule pretty well. If Rick didn’t shoot anything today, he’s drink his weight in beer, and most likely, take it out on me, and Artie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rick doesn’t “get” Artie. He just doesn’t. I play along sometimes, with all the dude stuff. But Artie doesn’t care. He does what he feels. And he’s got big ideas. Mom used to say Artie was a dreamer. </span>The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-63053620332300766862013-10-17T09:00:00.022-04:002013-10-17T09:00:09.297-04:00#21 SWEET CITY WITH HER DREAMING SPIRES - Commercial Fiction<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Tracey S. Rosenberg</span></span></div>
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<span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: Sweet City With Her Dreaming Spires</span></span></div>
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<span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: Commercial</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">Sara Saltzer dreams about being a graduate student at Oxford University, </span><span lang="en-US">but </span><span lang="en-US">she's so worried about </span><span lang="en-US">failure </span><span lang="en-US">that she lies to the snooty college librarian. </span><span lang="en-US">To</span><span lang="en-US"> her dismay, </span><span lang="en-US">she </span><span lang="en-US">starts falling in love with him. If she doesn't write better essays, she'll flunk out, </span><span lang="en-US">but </span><span lang="en-US">how can Sara concentrate on Victorian literature when her secretive Latin-quoting roommate threatens to blow up the college, and the librarian is the only person who can help?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u>If I want to win the Busby-Gale Prize, I have to write this essay</u></span><span lang="en-US">, Sara berated herself. </span><span lang="en-US"><u>The judges will not be impressed that I have the most neatly-stacked library books of the graduating class</u></span><span lang="en-US">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the Quiet Reading Space, regularly voted the best study room on the Ward campus, the only decorations were soothing arrangements of fronded houseplants. The tall windows offered a relaxing view of snow-covered lawns. At the long tables, students were tapping on keyboards, sketching mindmaps, flipping through anthologies bristling with bookmarks and Post-It notes. Sara opened her laptop, once again marveling at how everyone else was capable of such diligent work. Writing essays always felt like gulping a lungful of air, falling into an Olympic-sized pool, and churning frantically until her hands grasped the wall. Even then, she still never felt entirely certain that she really believed her own arguments.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">Around her laptop lay everything she needed for the slog: </span><span lang="en-US"><u>The Mill on the Floss</u></span><span lang="en-US"> and </span><span lang="en-US"><u>Middlemarch</u></span><span lang="en-US">, well-annotated from Professor McCulloch’s weekly seminars; three sheets of page references listing relevant quotations (cross-referenced in orange and green highlighter); and five books of critical essays on George Eliot, one of them overdue. She vowed to return it as soon as she’d dropped off her essay at the English Literature office in seven and a half – no, closer to seven hours.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><u>In this essay, I will examine,</u></span><span lang="en-US"> she began typing, knowing it for a freshman trick, </span><span lang="en-US"><u>the ways in which George Eliot refuses to allow her female characters autonomy and agency.</u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The words vanished as a sheet of paper dropped over the screen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">WE ARE GOING TO ENGLAND. IF YOU SAY NO, I WILL BEAT YOU WITH A DICTIONARY.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">Under the words, a frowning stick figure lay crushed beneath a copy of </span><span lang="en-US"><u>Webster’s Unabridged</u></span><span lang="en-US">. “You win, Julia!” it cried in a speech bubble.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sara crossed out “win” and wrote “sound like a broken record”, then added: ESSAY CRISIS. SEE YOU TONIGHT.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<span lang="en-US">Tower of London!” Julia hissed, brandishing a travel brochure. “Stratford!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the time the room monitor looked up from his sociology textbook, Julia had grabbed Sara’s arm and was pulling her outside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<span lang="en-US">We’re graduating in four months!” she lectured, as the wood-and-glass door eased shut behind them. “We need to flirt with diplomats and sleep in train stations and get our passports stolen. The travel agent said if we want the best fares, we need to buy tickets by the end of the month! Why do you keep pretending you don’t want to go to England?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People at the table nearest to the door were turning around and squinting through the glass. One of them, Julia’s roommate from sophomore year, seemed to be laughing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<span lang="en-US">If you’re going to harangue me about this again, I want some tea.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<span lang="en-US">You drink </span><span lang="en-US"><u>tea</u></span><span lang="en-US">,” Julia proclaimed as they clattered downstairs. “Just like English people. You drink tea and you’ve been jabbering about English literature since I met you. The </span><span lang="en-US"><u>day</u></span><span lang="en-US"> I met you. ‘Hi! I’m Sara Saltzer! Have you read </span><span lang="en-US"><u>Alice in Wonderland</u></span><span lang="en-US">?’”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<span lang="en-US">I’m pretty sure that’s not how I introduced myself.”</span></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-29913413283610497192013-10-17T09:00:00.020-04:002013-10-17T09:00:10.547-04:00#19 SHATTERED - NA Fantasy<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Tiffanie Lynn<br />Title: SHATTERED<br />Genre: NA Fantasy<br /><br />75 word pitch:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Eighteen-year-old Dawn’s no thief, yet she’ll have to be if she wants to save her sisters from becoming demon chow. She’s tasked with stealing a powerful charm capable of releasing an imprisoned succubus—but first she’ll have to get past its steamy guardian, Kalan. Dawn discovers Kalan has his own agenda, though, and seducing her is the first step in his plan.</span><br /><br />First 500 words: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Don’t look, Dawn. You know what happens when you look</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked up. It was inevitable. When you tell yourself not to do something, you usually do the exact opposite.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Crap.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The park vendors swarmed me like a pack of rabid dogs. Their voices tore into me, snarling off sales pitches.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“A beautiful necklace for a beautiful—”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Would you like a subscription to <i>The Vigrith</i>—?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mini glow-in-the-dark helicopters for sale! Buy ‘em by the dozen.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What? No. Why the hell would I want twelve glowing helicopters?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn’t wait for a reply. I walked as fast as I could without drawing attention. Luckily, the tiny carts were only set up at one entrance to the park. Turning into a large clearing, I glanced around for Cassie before settling at an empty picnic table.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, I didn’t find one in the shade. The heat was bearable, but the sun had me worried. Ultraviolet rays plus white girl equaled a burn no amount of aloe vera could soothe. Hey, at least I had a gorgeous view...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who was I kidding?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One half of the park had a dried-up garden with a statue of the plump Lady Fredericton; the other side had a few trees, twice as many picnic tables and a pathetically empty sand pit—</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Power washed over me, rushing into my lungs like water. I gasped, my vision blurring. Stupid. I’d been stupid. Letting my mental barriers down was the epitome of stupid. The intruder left almost as soon as they came, but I still sensed them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I threw up my shield before searching. All I’d felt was curiosity, but underneath that was a staggering amount of power. No one I knew in Vigrith was that strong. I scanned the area with my mind, jumping from person-to-person. Even with so-called control issues, I could find an immortal without causing too much damage to those around me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everyone in the park was human. The people wandering the sidewalks were human, too. I jumped to the minds across the street, scanning until I found him. I knew it was him, just as I knew he was veiled from human eyes and standing under the awning of the flower store, Alyssums to Zinnias.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I opened my eyes, the world came back with a crushing weight. It pushed me to the ground. The sun was too bright; the morning breeze raked across my skin; the smell of roses and sweat clogged my nose. I heard every conversation nearby and hundreds of pounding heartbeats. They all melded together into one overpowering super sense. It lasted for only a moment, an endless moment, before I could shut it off. The noises and smells faded. I felt the soft prickle of grass against my face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat up. Ah, crap. A dozen people were staring at me. Rule Number One of Being Inhuman: Don’t draw attention to yourself. My sisters had drilled the rules into my head since I could walk. Things like: “<i>Don’t move too fast, Dawn</i>” or “<i>Don’t respond out loud to people’s thoughts, Dawn</i>” or, my favorite, “<i>Don’t bench-press the neighbor's Mini Cooper, Dawn</i>.”</span></span></div>
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The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-80419379589579129502013-10-17T09:00:00.019-04:002013-10-17T09:00:07.860-04:00#18 BENEATH YA- Sci-fi/Thriller<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Lisa Gail Green</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: BENEATH</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: YA Sci-fi/thriller</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">75 word pitch: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jen loathes spending six weeks beneath 10,000 tons of ocean in the first-of-its-kind <i>Paradise Atlantis </i>resort when her dad would rather work on nano-suns than focus on his family.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Worse, pressure sickness meds give Jen scary side effects. Effects like blackouts occuring at the same time a saboteur strikes.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When sabotage escalates to murder, Jen's conscience forces her to pursue the truth. She's either a killer or putting herself next on the list of victims.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 words: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being submerged beneath ten thousand tons of ocean water might kill me. But being trapped for six weeks in a dressed up and glorified fish tank definitely will. The others in the shuttle pod don’t get it. They actually want to be here. Maybe I would too if it was Mom here and healthy instead of the wench.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The doors shut with a final sounding clang that reverberates through my head, making me wince. I have the sudden urge to throw myself at them and beg to be let out. I need one last gulp of fresh air.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the crystal blue waters close over the 360-degree wall of windows, drowning my last view of the sky. All around me employees and their family members gather as close to the glass as they can get, too eager to sit. They remind me of the school of silver herring that swirls by to the right, all following each other’s lead.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I reach for my phone to see if Mom texted, when I remember the last argument I had with Dad and how I wouldn’t be allowed cell contact. In fact, I wasn’t going to be allowed any contact with the surface unless approved by Bennett Systems. Like I was going to let them see my personal correspondence.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The shuttle is a sphere, so no matter which direction I look, I find either the twin shuttle pod filled with yet more excited tourists or fish that stare back, wondering what the hell we’re doing in their space. Of course the one spot without windows is plastered with giant posters depicting our ultimate destination, <i>Paradise Atlantis Resort</i>.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Welcome!” A way too chipper voice screeches in my ears. It’s like wipers on a dry windshield.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Marisol Thompson, VP of Bennett Systems – or BS as I like to call them – stands strategically framed by the giant poster decorating the doors. She’s dressed in her Stewardess Barbie uniform. The big red bow around her neck is worse than her voice, and that coupled with the piped in pine-scented air-freshener makes me nauseas. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“This is the beginning of the adventure of your lifetime. You are among the lucky few handpicked to christen the vacation destination of the future. In just one short hour we will reach <i>Paradise Atlantis</i>. Please make yourselves comfortable. Beverages will be served shortly. Restrooms are located on either side of the entry portal. I’d like to invite you to relax, enjoy the view, and settle in for the best six weeks of your life.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wonder if she’s a robot. It wouldn’t be that far fetched considering BS is the leader in cutting edge tech. Plus, she barely blinks and her skin is as smooth and plastic as the Barbie she’s dressed like. Either way, it’s hard to believe someone like her programmed BS’s Artificial Intelligence that’s now a household feature.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’re going to be in heaven when we get there, Jen,” Dad says, grabbing my hand. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”</span></div>
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The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-66867692350124220022013-10-17T09:00:00.018-04:002013-10-17T09:00:06.256-04:00#17 THE CRY HOUSE - YA Gothic Romance<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Sonia Hartl <u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: The Cry House<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: YA Gothic Romance<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">75 word pitch: Seventeen-year-old Faith is haunted by spirits from the Gilded Age, where madness lies dormant and killers hide behind the façade of polite society. She doesn’t need Logan’s help in dealing with the dead. She’s got this. But when Logan starts having visions of murder and revenge, Faith is caught between the ghosts that won’t let go and the guy she won’t let in. One loves her, one needs her, one wants her dead.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 words: The sticky sweet closeness of death coated Faith’s senses like over-ripe strawberry jam. Someone was watching her. Shadows shifted across the desolate street. She peered over her shoulder at the Cry House. It stood in the distance, vacant and still. Not a single floating sheet or rattling chain in sight. She would have welcomed a moaning specter, something to explain the feeling of being stalked. She had a lot more to fear from the living than the dead.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unable to shake the feeling that she was being followed, Faith took off running. Wind tossed her hair, scattering it over her eyes. A streetlight flicked on with an electric hum and pop above her head. The air grew damp and heavy with the approaching night.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Faith took another hasty scan of the house. Empty. Slowing down, she exhaled.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Get over yourself. No one is chasing you.<u></u><u></u></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Faith?”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sound of Logan’s voice made every muscle in her body tight. <i>Oh God, kill me, kill me now. </i>Closing her eyes, she waited a beat before reopening them, willing herself to disappear. <i>He probably thinks I’m eight shades of crazy.<u></u><u></u></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hey, I thought that was you,” Logan said as he hopped a low fence to catch up to her. “What were you running from?”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Irrational fear and shame burned her pale cheeks. Toeing at a weed that poked through the sidewalk crack, she tried to come up with a witty response.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Um, you.”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brilliant.<u></u><u></u></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Figures,” he said.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When he leaned down to whisper something in her ear, she backed up a step. Logan crossed his arms and frowned, but kept his distance.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Arm’s length,” he muttered.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Confused by his annoyance, Faith looked up through the swing of her bangs. Refusing to meet his eyes, she concentrated instead on the way his black hair curled against his jaw. Without meaning to, her gaze wandered to his full lips, slightly parted and damp, like they had just been... she heard her breath catch a moment before inhaling.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The slow spread of his grin made her curse her stupid involuntary reflexes. He gave a low and intimate laugh, causing her stomach to flutter in response. Willing to play along, she tried to give him a small smile, but the shape of her mouth told her it was closer to a grimace.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“How do I always manage to piss you off?” he asked.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m not pissed, you just caught me off guard,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Maybe I’m just always catching you off guard then,” he said, rubbing his chin between his finger and thumb.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dropping her gaze to her feet, she shrugged.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Logan blew out his breath, ran a hand through his hair, and shifted his stance. “What are you doing tonight?”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m on my way to Ollie’s house,” she said. “Girls night.”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She tried to relax her facial muscles enough to give a real smile, which she found much easier when she didn’t have to look at him.</span></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-88884420807247868862013-10-17T09:00:00.017-04:002013-10-17T09:00:09.088-04:00#16 ALEX DE VEGA AND PANDORA'S BOX - MG Thriller<br />
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Patrice Caldwell</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: ALEX DE VEGA AND PANDORA’S BOX</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: MG Thriller</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Word Count: 41,000</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">75 word pitch: </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">When a high-tech energy cube goes missing, twelve-year-old criminal mastermind, Alex de Vega, is The Agency's top suspect. As the mayor’s daughter, Alex is untouchable, but her best friend and constant accomplice, James, is one strike away from lifetime detention on The Arctic Isles. To clear his name and save their city, they must race to </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">retrieve the cube—codenamed Pandora’s Box—from supernatural creatures who wish to use it to destroy them all</span><span style="line-height: 18px;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 words: </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At a small wooden desk in the corner of a stark-white classroom sat a tiny girl with dark brown hair falling just past her shoulder. In front of her was a thin computer screen that, unlike the ones in front of the rest of the students, was pitch black.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Miss de Vega," said the girl's teacher, who was wearing the most hideous of floral dresses. The girl frowned; floral was not a pattern anyone should wear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Alex," snapped the teacher. "You're supposed to be watching the instructional video." </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alex only sighed, pulling at the chunky beaded bracelet on her right wrist. She wondered why in the year 3147 middle school sucked as much as it probably did when it was first created. Someone should've figured out a way to make it more interesting by now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her teacher leaned forward, placing a hand on Alex’s desk. "Do you really want to be sent to the principal's office, again?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As if that would happen. Alex chuckled to herself. She turned, peering at the large clock on the wall as the second hand ticked three times, and the minute hand moved, joining it with the hour hand at the clock's top. It was then that the classroom door burst open with a loud thud against the wall. Alex leaned back in her chair and smiled. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ms. Harland, Ms. Harland," said a messy, red-haired boy. He drew in a deep breath. "The droids, th-they're fighting. In the hallway." He collapsed on the floor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What do you mean they're fighting?" asked the teacher, peeping her head out the door. There was a shriek. The school principal ran by, one of the robots fast behind him. "Oh my." She pushed the red emergency button under her desk. "Okay, stay here. Someone will be here shortly. I'm going to rescue Principal Schley."</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alex rolled her eyes, still smiling to herself. That woman had taken one self-defense class and she already thought she was Wonder Woman. Not that it mattered since Alex had only programmed the bots to tickle. Of course, James and her would be long gone by the time they figured that out. Speaking of James, where was he? She slid out of her desk. No doubt, he was still next door like the teacher's pet he was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As she exited, she noticed her classmates hadn't budged. In fact, they barely raised an eyebrow when she stood to walk out. She sighed; she'd have to do better next time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing on the tip of her toes, she peeped through the window of the classroom next door. There he was, sitting at one of the back desks, playing with his phone. She jumped up then smiled to herself when she saw his teacher wasn't present.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Pst," she said, poking her head into the doorway. "James."</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">James took his headphones off and his hunter green eyes brightened. "What's it this time?" he asked, walking over, his voice cracking. </span></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-14655733887563069712013-10-17T09:00:00.016-04:002013-10-17T09:00:00.862-04:00#15 BEHIND THE TANGLE TREES - MG Fantasy/Sci-fi<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Rebecca Waddell<br />Title: Behind the Tangle Trees<br />Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy/Sci Fi<br /><br />Pitch:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Ten-year-old Kenton is a boy with too many secrets and not enough sleep. Joined by her best friend, Spryte, he has to find a way to survive his bully and keep from leaking out the truth about what lives behind the tangle trees, and his past, and his mom. To make matters worse, Kenton is a terrible liar. Getting an average of four hours of sleep, his entire world begins to unravel.<br /><br />First 500 Words:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chapter 1</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Kenton rolled onto his side facing the wall. His blond hair was drenched with sweat, though the dark room was cool. “Bear... Dropped my bear...” His arm flailed, throwing his blankets over his face. “Go back,” he muttered. Tossing and turning, he fell off the bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Kenton hit the ground face down with one arm pinned under his body. His other arm held his pillow over his face. He moaned into the pillow. The alarm clock buzzed. “No air!” Kenton screamed into his pillow. He thrashed on the floor, trying to free his trapped limb. His other arm clawed at the pillow. “No air.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Dante stretched, yawned, and looked down at Kenton struggling with his pillow. Pulling back the covers, Dante slid to the floor. He shook Kenton and rolled him onto his back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Wake up!” Dante insisted. He reached up to switch off their alarm. The buzzing stopped. “You’re having the nightmare again. Wake up. We’re in our new home, safe.” He pulled the pillow away from Kenton’s face Kenton eyes flew wide open. He sucked in a deep breath. His sweaty shirt clung to his back. “The buzzing! No air!” he panted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s the alarm clock, not your suit. It’s time to get up. We’re live in Clib colony now. Remember?” Dante asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Clib?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yes, that’s right, Clib. We landed yesterday. Remember the crazy forest? They call them snagle, I mean tangle trees.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kenton rubbed his eyes and blinked. He sighed. “I remember.” He sat up, his shirt clinging to his back. “I can’t believe I’m still having nightmares.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Dante shrugged. “The Company doctors said to give it time.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“The Company?” Kenton spat the words out. “They would’ve been happier if we all died on Selt.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Dante nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “Just remember not to talk about Selt outside the family.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Kenton looked down at his hands. “I know. I really hate lying about it though. This would all be so much easier if we could just be honest about what happened. I don’t get why we have to keep it secret.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Dante nodded again. “Maybe you wouldn’t still be having nightmares a year after we were rescued if we didn’t have to keep it private.” He shrugged and got to his feet. “But, we do, even if we don’t know why it’s such a secret.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Kenton sighed. “I really hate lying.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I know. Come on. We better get ready. We’re due to tour the colony soon. I can’t wait to see those trees up close. Especially what they called ‘The Grove.’ I think this place is going to be a lot better than the space station.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I think you’re right. Even if we still have to lie,” Kenton said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> An hour later, Kenton’s neck was sore from staring up at the tall trees, blue-green against an aqua sky. His amber eyes drank in the sight of endless, cloud-dotted heavens. </span></div>
</div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-33012977303218881042013-10-17T09:00:00.015-04:002013-10-17T09:00:07.235-04:00#14 HAUNTED EVER AFTER -Paranormal Cozy Mystery<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Carol Ayer<br />Title: Haunted Ever After<br />Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery<br /><br />75 word pitch: Sure, Ashling owns a fairytale park. But she hardly has a fairytale life. She's still mourning her late boyfriend, and the park is floundering. She might have to sell StoryWorld to a theme park conglomerate. To make matters worse, her dead grandfather is haunting StoryWorld, and he's not the friendliest of ghosts. Can she protect herself and her loved ones, from both her ghost and a still-living threat who's bent on stopping the sale?</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-size: 13.3333px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />First 500 words:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I craned</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">my neck to look up into the giant's face. “I'm tired of this. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna sell.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">The giant had no counter-argument. Neither did the beanstalk nor Jack himself.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">I sighed. It was way past time to go home, and the late September sun was already setting in a picturesque manner behind Rapunzel's Castle, with brilliant reds and oranges blazing across the sky. If I'd been in a better mood, I might have stayed to enjoy the show. </span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="LEFT" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">On the drive home, I reviewed my circumstances. My fairytale park was seventeen thousand dollars in the red. If I didn't turn things around, I'd have to file for bankruptcy. The answer seemed clear. I should accept the offer and sell StoryWorld to the ThrillsLand conglomerate. Then I could go home, lock my door, and never come out. An idea had never seemed so appealing. Unfortunately, the repercussions wouldn't be nearly so pleasant.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="LEFT" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">I wished I were on my way to Freddy's Diner, where Jamie and I had often met for dinner after work. I could spill out my troubles and feel the safety of his reassurances. We'd splurge and order a huge dessert to share. I still couldn't believe we would never do that again. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="LEFT" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="en-US">The crying came easily, the grief as familiar to me as the park I would soon sell. I finally had to pull over when I couldn't see through my tears.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="LEFT" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="en-US">I arrived home at last, too tired to even eat. Still wearing my jeans and StoryWorld tee shirt, and with mascara staining my cheeks, I fell into bed. I only removed my running shoes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="CENTER" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">***</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="LEFT" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">After a night of waking every couple of hours and struggling to return to sleep, I finally got up at five. I showered, dressed, and downed four cups of my “gourmet” instant coffee while standing at the kitchen counter looking out at the weeds in my backyard. I took note of the fact that I was now out of coffee. I also took note of the fact that I couldn't afford to buy more. At least I was now clean and caffeinated, and able to make my final decision. I would call Scott at ThrillsLand exactly at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1591221857" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">nine-thirty</span></span>--the time he'd told me he always arrived--and tell him I was ready to sell.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="CENTER" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">***</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="LEFT" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="en-US">I spent the first two and a half hours at work drawing up the staff schedule for the coming week, aiming as usual to be fair to everyone. The most sought-after positions were the castle--the entrance to the park--and the frog-shaped customer service center; the least sought-after, the Black Beauty pony ride and the Blue Fairy Ferris wheel. I wondered how soon the sale would be finalized. It would probably take a while. I set up a tentative schedule for the next three weeks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span lang="en-US"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><div align="LEFT" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US">Just before the staff arrived, I took my morning tour around the grounds.</span></span></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-57620792239832861032013-10-17T09:00:00.014-04:002013-10-17T09:00:06.053-04:00#13 GONE WILD YA Speculative Fiction<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Martha Mayberry<br />Title: GONE WILD<br />Genre: YA Speculative Fiction<br /><br />75 word pitch: As seventeen-year-old Lia leads a group of shipwrecked kids across the wasteland of Stellar 3, her little brother is gravely injured. A legend says the desert dragons bestow unlimited power on those who need it most. But to earn the ability to heal her brother, Lia must bind her soul to the dragon and risk losing her mind to the beast forever.<br /><br /><br />First 500 words:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our ships perched like raptors on the runway, dull gray in the muted sunlight. A shiver skated across my skin. Within an hour, my brother and I would sleep inside Demeter, suspended until we reached our parents on planet Stellar 3. Morphed into a space-icles. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My wrist com beeped and I jumped. <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1591221856" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">11:40</span></span>. Twenty minutes until they called our names.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“This is crazy,” Auntie said. The fake lips she’d drawn on her mask gave me the creeps. But my own mask, sans red paint, hid my grimace. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll find a way to take care of you and Joe.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I can take care of myself,” Joe said, puffing his skinny chest.<a href="" name="141b245589c1413b__GoBack"></a><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Auntie gave him a long look.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I <i>can</i> take care of myself,” he said. “I’m almost nine. A man.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe he’d grow tall in our new world, like a transplanted tree. Unable to resist, I tousled his hair, making it stick up all over his head.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Lia!”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Giggling, I twisted away from his hand. He’d be a thorn tree.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What’s this?” Auntie plucked a mouse from inside his shirt. “I told you I’d care for your pets.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Can’t I bring a little one?” Joe pleaded. In an instant, the man fled, replaced by the lost boy who’d crawled into my bed every night since our parents had left.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Joe, you can’t take an animal on a spaceship.” I said. “What would it eat?”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It would eat you,” Joe said. “It would gnaw on you, the whole time we’re in space.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Jeez, Joe, thanks. I’m feelin’ the love here.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What were your parents thinking? Abandoning their children for a dream in the stars.” Auntie played with her mask as she stared at the ships, and her fingers smeared the brilliant red, giving the smile a ghoulish slant. “Chemicals and cryogenics-it’s all so dangerous.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks, Auntie, that makes me feel better. “We’ll be fine.” I hated the quiver in my voice. “Besides, I want to go. It’s an adventure.” <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The opportunity of a lifetime. A new colony. Clean air, no mask in sight. If only it was a quick flight across the country, instead of a year in a freezer.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Some adventure if you end up dead, far from home,” Auntie grumbled.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u></u> <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ignoring her comment, I fidgeted with the end of my braid and stood on my toes, scanning the kids waiting to board Hestia on the platform next to ours. No Malik. Thumping back on my heels, I peered around as discretely as possible, hoping Auntie wouldn’t notice. Where the heck was he?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">President Marand arrived and rode to the top of a glass structure suspended in front of us. Smiling, he waved to the crowd, then clasped his hands and bowed to the kids waiting to board our ships.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The loudspeakers powered up with a squeal. After tapping the mouthpiece of his headset, President Marand cleared his throat. The shrill sound blasted around me, pricking the fresh scab on my nerves. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Today’s a historic day for Earth,” he said in a booming voice. </span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-69890689425801367692013-10-17T09:00:00.013-04:002013-10-17T09:01:11.457-04:00#12 GERALD AND THE AMULET OF ZONRACH - Upper MG Fantasy<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Carl Hackman<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: GERALD AND THE AMULET OF ZONRACH<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: Upper MG, Humorous Fantasy.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the realm of Wyverndawn a wizard’s height is the mark of his power and shrinking one inch is a catastrophe for twelve-year-old Gerald. Creating a hill outside his village, to improve the view, shouldn’t be too difficult and he may even be promoted a few inches as a reward. But the spell he bought - from a guy who knows a guy - was a tad more powerful than even he anticipated.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 Words:<u></u><u></u></span></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A flash of blinding blue light filled the room, followed by a billowing cloud of dark, acrid smoke.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oops...”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gerald’s eyes locked onto the bedroom door. No-one wanted to hear<u>that</u> word from a wizard and definitely not one only five feet tall. He had dreams of exceeding six feet but only the best wizards in the land ever reached those dizzying heights. Every successful spell he cast could gain him an inch in promotion, but if it failed he could also be demoted. And Gerald had the distinct feeling the latter was about to apply to him. It seemed unfair that the only profession afflicted by this rule was his. Hopefully no-one had noticed this little faux pas.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A rumble under his feet, steadily increased in strength until the floor beneath him rolled like a ship in a storm. Trying to stay upright, he staggered to the window at the front of his weather-beaten cottage. The small hill supposed to be growing outside - to <u>improve</u> the view - failed to materialize. But the cotton ball clouds, normally gently drifting on the warm summer breeze, were now whizzing by. The sight of villagers clinging to structures for dear life deepened his frown of consternation. His flint grey eyes nearly popped out of his head when the village herbalist flew past his window and, as he followed her progress across the green, he spotted Lord Moleheart hanging onto a tree like a flag in a gale.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Kack!” said Gerald.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bedroom door flew open. “Gerald! What have you done?” shouted Colin, dodging flying crockery as he made his way across the room.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hmm?” replied Gerald. The point of his tall and illegally obtained wizard’s hat twitched, as he blinked rapidly at the devastation occurring outside.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Colin, who had been posted to Molehaven as Gerald’s assistant – a position where roles seemed to change with alarming regularity – a few weeks ago, very rarely shouted. If he could get away with it he even whispered his spells. So, shouting indicated Gerald had been especially naughty and confirmation came when he shrank one inch before Colin’s eyes.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this rate Gerald would not be a wizard much longer. Four feet eight was the statuary minimum for all wizards. Anything less and Gerald knew he would be back working in the fields, or shoveling horse poop until he reached the minimum height again. <u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Double Kack!”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Have you been buying words again to strengthen your spells?” said Colin.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It was only supposed to be a small hill, to brighten our view. It always looked so flat outside this window and you know how there’s this tikitonic plate thingy just outside the village? Well the word I know can make it move a bit but... the guy I know, who knows a guy, guaranteed this other word will move two of them together to make a hill.”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Well, you’ve managed to cause the earthquake that should create it if a fault line existed there, although I don’t believe there is one located this close to the village.”</span></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-32286723998927882712013-10-17T09:00:00.012-04:002013-10-17T09:00:13.828-04:00#11 SAVING DANGER - Upper MG Contemporary<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Theresa Milstein</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: SAVING DANGER</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gener: Upper Middle Grade Contemporary</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">74-Word Pitch:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lucretia accidentally traps 5-year-old new stepbrother, Danger, in a comic. She enters its pages to save him. But it’s an impossible task when he’s in charge of the story and won’t follow any writing rules. The inky graphic novel’s pages become more real with each passing minute. They’re becoming part of the book’s fabric. Lucretia and Danger need to face their fears about their new family in order to save them all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 Words: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I glared at my reflection in the hotel mirror. Pepto-Bismol pink glared back at me as I tugged one of the many ruffles strangling my gown. “It looks like a cupcake vomited on me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Grandma Rosa stood next to the whitewashed mirror. At the same time, she chuckled and stared at me sternly. An impressive feat. She responded in her faint Italian accent, “It’s not so terrible.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I scowled. “Does she think I’m the same age as Danger?” In a few short hours, Danger would be my stepbrother. I didn’t know whether it would be worse to be stuck with him or his plastic mother for the rest of my life. “I’m thirteen—not five.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> She sighed. “Your father sure knows how to pick ‘em.” Grandmother pursed her lips, realizing her comment not only bashed Erin, soon-to-be Stepzilla, but also my real mother. “What I mean is—”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Don’t worry about it, Grandma Rosa.” I ignored the dropping-an-anchor down-my-stomach sensation that always followed the mention of my real mother and forced a fake smile. “If this is what she thinks her junior bridesmaid should look like, I can’t wait to see <i>her</i> gown.” My usual clothes were black like Grandma’s though mine were younger and less shapeless. Her mourning look was pretty obvious. “What do you think she’ll say when she sees <i>your </i>dress?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> We didn’t have to wait long to find out. Erin, her head a mountain of curling iron curls, peeked into our beachy-looking room—without having the courtesy to knock. Her hairstyle contrasted with her t-shirt and jeans. She’d probably wait until the last minute to change into her gown. “Lulu—” Her eyes bugged out in a most cartoon-like way. “Mother Rosa, what on earth… it’s a wedding, not a funeral. You’re changing into something more festive, right?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Grandma gazed down at her dress, as if noticing it for the first time. She placed her fist on her chest. “In the Old Country this is how widows dress.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Erin placed her hands on her hips. “You haven’t lived in the ‘Old Country’ since you were a child.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I will <i>always</i> be Italian.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Erin clamped her glossed lips in a grim line. She turned to me. Her voice oozed like a slug, “I need you to keep an eye on Danger. He’s bothering the boys.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> By “the boys,” she meant my dad and his brother, Giovanni, the best man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Danger was a kindergartner who never ran out of batteries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only good part about this terrible ordeal would be when Grandma Rosa stayed to help while my dad and Erin cavorted on a cruise to Bermuda. I could only hope the Bermuda Triangle would somehow suck Erin in its clutches, but leave my father unharmed. When the spell broke, we’d be a family of two again. Surely, Danger would find some other home to invade.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I realized Erin still stared at me, waiting for an answer. “Sure,” I managed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Good.”</span></div>
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The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-86110178647904374882013-10-17T09:00:00.011-04:002013-10-17T09:00:04.206-04:00#10 DARCY DARKLING AND THE FORGOTTEN CITY - MG Urban Fantasy<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Name:</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Stacey Trombley<br /><b>Title:</b> DARCY DARKLING AND THE FORGOTTEN CITY<br /><b>Genre:</b> MG urban fantasy<br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><b>75 word pitch:</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Twelve-year-old Darcy finds a secret tunnel leading to an abandoned underground city. Every night she sneaks away to explore the empty streets of The Forgotten City, but the creatures of the dark don't appreciate a little girl poking her nose in their business and they chase her deep into the underground. Lost, Darcy will have to find her own way out of the labyrinth of tunnels or hope the creatures are friendlier than they look.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <b>First 500 words:</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The best place in the whole world is a mile below my feet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Damp sludge drips from the stone walls of the underground tunnels, surrounded by darkness so thick it's like a living, breathing thing. There are new adventures everywhere. Every turn is a new secret waiting to be found. I've found my share but I plan on finding a whole lot more.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Too bad I'm not supposed to go there, and if I was ever caught I'd be a lot worse than grounded. So right now I'm stuck above ground, in my boring apartment doing my boring homework just waiting until I can sneak back to the tunnels.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's my secret. No one can keep me away, not even Mom.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Darcy!” Mom calls.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What? I’m doing my homework, just like you said.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She walks into my room carrying a pair of muddy tennis shoes. “Explain to me how these got so dirty.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whoops. She wasn't supposed to find those.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shrug, playing it off. “I was playing bee with Joe.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Bee?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hold up a Frisbee. Lucky for me it’s got some dirt on it too. Otherwise she might suspect I’m not telling the truth.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Leave it to you to find the only dirt in the whole city."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here we go.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why do you think they did away with those parks I played in as a kid? They were dangerous. Stick to the astro-turf, okay?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She says it so serious that I can't help but roll my eyes. Astro-turf is just a stupid name for fake grass. But seriously, a little dirt isn’t going to hurt me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Mom puts her hands on her hips until I sigh and say, “Yes, Mom." But I don’t mean it. I'll squish my toes in the mud tonight, just for her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hey Mom,” I say as she’s turning to leave. “Can I stay at Sammie's tonight?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Again?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sammie is my bestest fake friend. I don't even know her last name.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She sighs. "I thought you might want to watch a movie or something tonight. We don't spend enough time together."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course we don’t. You’d think I’m a freak if you knew what I really do at night. Dad wouldn’t though. Wherever he is, I know he'd understand.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Please, mom." I bat my eyelashes in a way that's probably so stupid and girly, but at the moment I don't really care. It gets me what I want. I throw on my sweetest smile and she caves.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Fine, but finish your homework first."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"K," I say and my grin spreads. She gives me one of those long looks like she doesn't trust me but then turns and leaves me alone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes, I think my dad had it right when he left the city. Mom says we’ll never see him again because outside the walls is nothing. The world outside is dead.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never believed her. How could I? Dad had to go somewhere, so there has to be something. Anything.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that was before I found the underground.</span></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-10815266870381303922013-10-17T09:00:00.010-04:002013-10-17T09:00:05.727-04:00#9 DRAGONS ARE PEOPLE, TOO - YA Contemporary Fantasy<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">Name: Sarah Nicolas</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">Title: Dragons Are People, Too</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">Genre: YA Contemporary Fantasy</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">75 word pitch: </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">Sixteen-year-old Kitty is a Chinese weredragon and an operative for the US government's Draconic Intelligence Command, or as she likes to call it, DIC.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">When her entire race is exposed to the public, the other dragons are imprisoned, and the President’s son is kidnapped, she sets off on a break-neck mission, uncovering betrayal at every turn. When she discovers the truth, Kitty must choose between obedience to her country and allegiance to dragonkind.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">First 500 words: </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">Well, crap. Mission Intelligence got it wrong. Again. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">I mean, seriously? Heat sensors? When your operatives have a core body temperature of 142 degrees, that should be the first thing you check for. Deep breaths, Kitty. I daydream about ripping Simon a new one as I scale up the three stories of crumbling stone. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">So now I cling to the east wall of the Lebanese embassy in DC with a diplomatic document pouch hanging from my belt. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">I'm overly conscious of the two security cameras aimed at my back, despite the full-body black catsuit with matching ski-mask that Draconic Intelligence Command (or, as I like to call it, DIC) requires me to wear. Sirens blare, telling me security already knows we're here, but I still can't let them see my face. And, more importantly, I can't let them see me change.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">Beside me, Wallace scrabbles, then loses his balance and falls twenty feet to the ground, hitting the wall at least twice in the process. Rookie. His breath comes fast, but he's uninjured. He could probably fall from three times that height without a scratch.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">"Kitty." Even his whisper has a British accent. He lies sprawled on the immaculate walled lawn of the Embassy and slowly makes his way to his feet. "I can't make it without changing."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">"No!" I yell, then catch myself and lower my voice to something more like a hiss. "Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how many cameras are on you right now? You can make it."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">His hooded head flicks toward the cameras mounted around the lawn and back to me. I can't see his face through the black cloth, but something in his body language betrays his panic. I may only be sixteen, but this is Wallace's first mission and I have been training since I was four. Though he's thirteen years older than me, I am the senior field agent; I have to get him through this. Thank the Gods it's not his dragon half that's panicking, just the human half. It's bad, but it's at least manageable. And, you know, not catastrophic.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">I soften my voice and mimic the tone my mother uses when she convinces me to do something I don't want to do. "I'm almost to the top. I'll lower a rope when I get there, OK?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">His head snaps up and down in something resembling agreement. I almost feel sorry for him. We had all told him his first mission would be a piece of cake. It should have been, anyway, if it wasn't for those freaking heat sensors. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">It doesn't help that English dragons aren't exactly the ideal operatives for a stealth mission. They are too big, less agile than Chinese or African dragons, and they don't like any situation they can't bully their way out of. But if you need fire power or brute strength, they are definitely the dragons for you. </span></span>The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-45834698804567141052013-10-17T09:00:00.009-04:002013-10-17T09:00:06.933-04:00#8 OBLIVIOUS Adult Thriller/Detective Fiction<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: FishOutOfWater</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: OBLIVIOUS</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: Adult Thriller/Detective Fiction</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pitch: Homicide detective Jack Easley copes with the death of his sister by working every case he can, despite the effects on his wife’s PTSD. His latest assignment is no exception—until he finds himself streets over from where his sister died. The more he probes, however, the higher the body count, and the more the evidence points to his own family—the one that still tells him his sister’s death was a cut-and-dried suicide.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 words:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I leaned against the Plexiglas divider of our lane, watching Abby empty magazines with no fear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She knew exactly how to turn me on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The safety glasses kept slipping, the earmuffs dwarfing her head, but the confidence fit like a glove; by the time a spent mag hit the floor, she’d already clicked a new one in, racked and fired.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here, she couldn’t falter, and I liked that, but being here also did for her what the meds couldn’t, and I liked that more.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Glock therapy was promising.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All her shots center mass, I gave her a thumbs-up. She rolled her eyes, changing the targets and giving my shoulder a sympathetic pat before I took my place on the line.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was halfway through the set when my phone vibrated against my hip. Holstering on instinct, I picked up as I shouldered my way through the door, my partner’s number on the screen. The brass bell went off behind me, then again as Abby followed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Nick,” I said, crossing the lot to my unmarked, pulling at my earplugs. “What’s up?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“—one hot off the presses,” I heard. “Where are you?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Doesn’t matter,” I said, reaching for the door of the Crown Vic. “Where’s it at?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s twenty-six Hawkins, in the Silver Terrace development.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’ll be there,” I said, Abby watching me over the hood as I put my phone away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She squinted in the sun. “You’re leaving.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Watching me fish the duty ammo from my pocket was more than enough confirmation.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Therapy was over.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She pulled her sweatshirt sleeves back down as I loaded the magazine. “We paid for an hour, Jack. It’s only been twenty minutes.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I pushed the full mag back in with a click and looked at her. My rounds had formed a close package, but hers had been tighter, less hesitant—like always. “I’m sorry, Abs. I’ll see if they can give us a credit for next time.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fronds of hair whipped against her forehead. “What if there isn’t a next time?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a minute to find the ignition, my fingers feeling thick and clumsy, foreign. “I swear I’ll make it up to you, but right now I have to drop you off.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She clicked her seatbelt into place, tossing a case file that was in the way of her feet onto the dashboard. “Somebody was killed, right?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You know they were,” I said, backing out, gravel crunching. “If they were still alive, we’d still be in there.” I nodded towards the range. “I—”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’re like a coroner,” she said to the window, chewing on the cords to her hood. “You’re called when someone dies.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rubbed the steering wheel hard with my thumbs. “That’s one way of putting it.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“They probably have better hours, too; why don’t you look into it?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Don’t do that,” I told her. “Just don’t.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I hate this part so much.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I scoffed, put on my blinker. “You hate this part? How do you think I feel?”</span></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-40216170160102504052013-10-17T09:00:00.008-04:002013-10-17T09:00:11.562-04:00#7 DANCING IN THE ATHENIAN RAIN - NA Romantic Time Travel<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Name: Katie Teller</span><br style="line-height: 18px;" /><span style="line-height: 18px;">Title: Dancing in the Athenian Rain</span><br style="line-height: 18px;" /><span style="line-height: 18px;">Genre: NA Romantic Time Travel</span><br style="line-height: 18px;" /><br style="line-height: 18px;" /><span style="line-height: 18px;">75 word pitch: </span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Donna awakes in Classical Athens. Armed with only a note book of translations, falling in love with an Athenian soldier, the man who bought her to be his wife, is the last thing she wants, but is exactly what she needs.</span></span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br style="line-height: 18px;" /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">First 500 words:</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My jeans chaffed against my inner thighs in the heat as I dashed across the street. Belinda power walked ahead, her mini skirt riding up until I could see her butt cheeks, then she tugged it down. "Hurry up, Donna."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm coming," I answered breathlessly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You're so fat. Listen to you huffing and puffing."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I had to pay for—"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Blah, blah. Shut up."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I jogged up beside her. "What movie are we seeing?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. "Why does it matter?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I was just wondering."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She scowled. "You're so needy, you know that?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I lowered my head and stared at the footpath ahead of us. I couldn't respond. Scott said the same thing when I asked him if he loved me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I can't believe you asked him if he loved you," Belinda said with a snarl.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I didn't... he told you?" I felt my cheeks flushing, and not from the early December summer heat.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She raised an eyebrow at me. "Yeah. You totally freaked him out. Seriously, what the hell? We've barely graduated and you turned eighteen like a week ago. Love, Donna?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ducked my head. "He wanted to... but I wanted to make sure..."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Sex isn't about love, you bimbo." She forehead slapped me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ouch!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You don't want to be a thirty year old virgin do you?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hesitated. To me, sex was lovemaking. "If I can't find someone who—"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She slapped me again. "You're such an idiot. Just keep your mouth shut okay? If you wanna keep your boyfriend, learn to just shut up."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I pursed my lips together, accustomed to her way of treating me. Sometimes I wondered if maybe I could find better friends, but no one ever seemed interested in me or what I had to say... except Dr. Stephens.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She shoved my shoulder. "Hello?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Sorry."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She rolled her eyes and climbed the stairs to the cinemas, me trailing behind.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We entered the gloriously air conditioned building, where the smell of popcorn wafted over me. I loved the movies. My favorites were the historical movies. They were actually doing a special marathon of <i>Troy</i>, <i>Gladiator</i> and <i>Clash of the Titans</i>. I hoped that's what we came to see.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Belinda tugged her skirt down, and adjusted her top to expose maximum cleavage. "You stink," she said to me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sniffed myself. The walk from the train station had made me sweat. "I'll be back."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I darted into the bathroom, snatched up some paper towels, and soaked them. I rushed into a stall to clean up. I didn't want Scott smelling my B.O. I hoped we'd make up and everything would be okay. We'd been dating for nine months, and despite a few temper tantrums on his part, we usually got along.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sprayed on some deodorant, and headed out.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I saw Scott as I left the bathroom. His back was to me as he talked to Belinda, and there was another girl with them. </span></span></div>
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The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-49245957966284792762013-10-17T09:00:00.006-04:002013-10-17T09:00:02.509-04:00#6 GOLDILOCKS YA Fantasy<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Annie Sullivan<br />Title: Goldilocks<br />Genre: YA Fantasy<br /><br />Pitch: <span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why did Goldilocks go into the forest? To kill the three bears.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Four years after the bears killed her parents and friend, Orin, sixteen-year-old Goldilocks searches for a way to kill the three bears that continually attack her village. She joins the Night Watch, the group that protects the village, and goes on the hunt. She faces dangers both inside and outside the forest, including a curse that could change everything.<u></u><u></u><u></u></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 words:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I gripped my staff and waited for the attack to come. The grass under my feet was still slick from the season’s first frost. My breath came out in puffs that drifted off toward gray, low-hanging clouds. The sun had barely crested the horizon, signaling the start of another day. For those of us who survived the night, there was always a certain joy in seeing the sun float into the sky.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And today was going to be one of the most important of my life. <u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Begin,” a voice called. It sounded far away, as though it was coming from the enchanted forest instead of from across the practice field.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I raised my staff to fend off the blow, but I was a second too slow. My muscles had tightened after standing around in the morning cold. The blade skimmed off the metal cuff wrapped around the end of my staff before biting into the wood, cutting out a chunk, and forcing me to stumble backward to stay on my feet.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to beat me, Goldilocks,” Rhys said. He readied his sword for another blow, displaying hints of the dark green and black uniform of the Night Watch under his protective leather vest. A thin cord bound his hair at the nape of his neck. His otherwise handsome face was marred by his crooked nose. It’d been broken during a training session a year ago. Despite the injury, he’d gone on to win the fight.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> His jaw clenched as he readied his next blow.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I took a deep breath and prepared myself. I’d fought Rhys hundreds of times. Only this time, it was different. If I scored well enough, I’d become a full member of the Night Watch. And I needed to join their ranks. I needed access to their store of weapons. I needed their permission to leave my house after dark. But more than anything, I needed a chance to come face to face with the bears that killed my parents.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rhys jabbed his sword forward trying to get past my staff. I twisted it to block his blow.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Impressive,” he said, circling around me. “You’ve been practicing.”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px; line-height: 26px; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I couldn’t let you have all the fun killing the bears without me.”<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He struck again, but I swung my staff to knock it aside. I tried an attack of my own. I rammed the end of my staff toward Rhys’ ribcage. But he was too good to let me hit him. He’d been in the training class two years ahead of me and was rumored to be the best fighter on the Night Watch.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I’d never beaten Rhys in a fight. But I didn’t have to beat him this time. I just had to get enough hits in before the Commander called time.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I wasn’t sure if our pairing for the Night Watch trials was coincidental or if he’d somehow gotten his father, the Commander of the Night Watch, to set it up.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span>The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-21792983284761503452013-10-17T09:00:00.005-04:002013-10-17T09:00:12.147-04:00#5 FRENCH FLAVORED LIFE Women's Fiction<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Name: Aidan Larson<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Title: FRENCH FLAVORED LIFE<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Genre: Women’s Fiction<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">75 Word Pitch:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A cooking vacation in the beautifully rugged Languedoc-Roussillon region of the South of France, buzzing French markets, and table after table of tempting French food haul Melissa from the brink of a boredom breakdown and help her find her raison d’être. FRENCH FLAVORED LIFE buzzes with the thrill of finding your passion, following where it leads, and being brave enough to shake things up even if (especially if) you thought you’d already seen the ending.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500 Words:<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chapter One<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lucinda should be here. In her email she said she would be here. With a sign!<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">French buzzed, rolled R’s and nasal endings tumbled lazy and loose into blazing blue, the sky stretched tight like a clean sheet. Its unfamiliar soundtrack tuned to the pitch of her growing panic. Melissa squinted into this French day, dressed in Texas clothes, and forced herself to be still. <i>Rein it in, Mel!</i> She scanned the crowd for Lucinda, pretending insouciance while her mind spun tales of abandonment and worst case scenarios, moving her closer and closer to utter freak out. Bodies rushed by, all going places--to a waiting family, lover, air-conditioned conference room.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now she’d done it. Never should have let herself be swept away, fixated truth be told (obsessed!) by a vacation ad at the back of a cooking magazine. Better to have stayed safe and bored at home and just gotten over it, sucked it up and redecorated, reupholstered, rewound.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She’d seen the Mediterranean sparkling up at her as the plane overshot the coast and curved back to land. Now, its briny breeze kicked up the eyelet hem of her skirt. It lifted and swirled, kissing her knees. She caught the skirt and pinned it down with one hand, afraid it would blow up to reveal her underwear (boy shorts, pale pink with gray lace) and dimpled thighs. A moody looking guy watched, eyes traveling lazily, up and down. He exhaled a long curl of smoke into the salty air. Sweat flowered in the crook of her elbow from death gripping her carry-on.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Matt always compared her to a duck; serene on top of the water, gliding peacefully while underneath her legs paddled like crazy, working overtime on anxieties and fears. And now something new. An indescribable rage that made her heave angry sobs on a <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1591221849" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Wednesday</span></span> for no good reason, think mean thoughts about women her age chasing toddlers at the park, and fight the urge to ram her grocery cart into smug, basket-carrying men. A duck!<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She whispered to the sunshine. ‘I am daring, I am daring, I am daring…’ She had started this positive affirmation hooha, which turns out isn’t really a load of crap after all and actually seems to work sometimes.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Melissa?’ She turned her head in the direction of a pack of teenagers whose short, shrill bursts had startled her not five seconds ago.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Melissa Whitman?’ There! Her name again, she was sure of it, and lo and behold, a pretty brunette came around the teenaged cluster holding a sign that said: ‘Madame Melissa Whitman. Mas Pics-Verts.’ The sign! Melissa took a couple of steps to meet her. The teenagers didn’t notice. Moody guy kissed someone hello, still seeping smoke.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="FR">‘Yes! Hi, I’m Melissa. Lucinda?’ </span>Lucinda was just as she’d expected, just like she’d looked on the cooking school website where she smiled and cradled a bunch of happy sunflowers. Her shoulders relaxed. <i>See? Nothing to worry about, you silly duck!</i></span></div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-22658942885498500832013-10-17T09:00:00.004-04:002013-10-17T09:00:04.661-04:00#4 THE RELUCTANT APPRENTICE YA High Fantasy<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Name:</b> Renee Davison</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Title:</b> The Reluctant Apprentice</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Genre:</b> YA High Fantasy</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pitch:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">16 year old Marcus is an apprentice Mage on the run. After years of submitting to someone else's rules, he only wants freedom. Unfortunately, he has managed to attract other Mages bent on gaining control of his magick just like the Master. Trying to stay one step ahead of these greedy men is exhausting. But, the offers being thrown at him are just the start of his problems now that Marcus is on his own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First 500:</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Inside the forest, it was hard to tell when day ended and night began. The animals inside made the same noises no matter the hour as far as Marcus could tell. Huffing every breath, his teeth chattering as the wind moved through his ragged clothes, Marcus slipped on the damp leaves beneath his feet. He caught himself against a low hanging branch, but just barely. Looking up through small breaks in the trees above him, Marcus could see the stars and the thin sliver of the moon. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I could be walking in circles for all I know. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Pushing off the branch, Marcus stepped forward and tripped over a root. He tumbled to the ground, rolling a few feet before another root stopped him. With a groan, Marcus lay on his back staring at the darkness above him. His entire body hurt or itched. There was no part of him without a cut or scrape. At least, that’s what it felt like. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> He wished he could sleep. The ground beneath him was actually more comfortable than his so called bed. But if he slept, he would only get caught.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Angry voices startled Marcus. He lifted himself up on his elbows to see torch light drifting closer and stiffened. They were too close for him to try and run for it. With the torch light, they would be able to see much better than he could. What was he going to do?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Use the tree roots and the leaves to hide yourself. Those idiots won’t think to look underneath the tree.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Marcus straightened up. The voice was in his head. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> He thought back.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Use the leaves. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was male, but much younger than anyone Marcus had encountered back in the castle. How was this possible?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The guards’ voices and torchlight moved closer. Slipping into the roots next to him, Marcus covered as much of his body as he could with the leaves. As the light and voices moved closer, Marcus tried to keep his breathing silent and even. He watched as the guards stopped, studying the ground carefully. His body stiffened as they moved closer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Magick that did not belong to him flowed effortlessly around him, helping him to relax. A thump sounded somewhere in the distance. Marcus watched as the guards looked away from the roots hiding him and went off into the darkness. He did not dare move in case they came back. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> You’ll be safe now. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The voice returned. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the morning, I would suggest you use the higher road. They won’t be able to track your footprints as easily that way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Stifling a yawn, Marcus asked, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Higher road?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> He fell asleep waiting for an answer.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A loud obnoxious bird call startled Marcus awake. He hit his head against the root of the tree above him and groaned. Rubbing away the pain, Marcus blinked the sleep away and moved from underneath his bed of leaves. He stared around him, squinting to see in the dimness.</span></span></div>
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The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848384635452554453.post-54619927044361207702013-10-17T09:00:00.003-04:002013-10-17T09:00:12.503-04:00#3 WORKED Dark, Humorous Fiction<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Name: Laura Ehlers</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Title: WORKED</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Genre: dark, humorous fiction</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">75 word pitch: </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br />
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Buddy Bowden cooks the lunch shift at Stub's diner. And he cooks meth. But Buddy is beginning to think he might want more out of life. Problem is, everyone wants more out of Buddy's life and most of those people have guns.<i><b>Worked</b></i> tells the darkly humorous story of Buddy Bowden's search for something more while evading the Feds and his horny neighbor and quitting the business by throwing one mother of a cook off.</div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">First 500 words:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Buddy worked the lunch shift at Stub's Diner. He also cooked methamphetamine, which is an entirely different sort of work. He enjoyed his job at the diner. It paid the bills. The meth, well, it paid pretty good too, but he never seemed to have any extra cash lying around at the end of each month. This was not the problem Buddy pondered at present. Today he was caught in a moral debate, which had nothing to do with the social and health concerns of his work.</div>
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As he flipped burgers onto the grill at Stub's Diner, he thought less about the high cholesterol of his food or the addictive properties and legality of meth. Instead, he put way too much thought into the gentle slope of Jessica Bierman's boobs. And they were lovely boobs, full and rounded...probably real...although with the money Steve Bierman had anything was possible.</div>
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Buddy studied those boobs and slapped two more ground beef patties down over the fire. He tried to pull his eyes from the cleavage in question, seated just across the Formica counter but he was not successful. "I ain't no adulterer." The statement repeated itself in Buddy's head, part of an on-going conversation.</div>
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"Is it my fault some women are just too hot? If they happen to be married, well hell. Thinking about them don't make me an adulterer." Buddy was positive of this because he had read the Oxford Dictionary, revised, American Edition, while an inmate at the Missouri Eastern Correctional Facility. During his latest eighteen month stay he had taken every opportunity to study that dictionary. He hoped it would help keep his mind off Jessica, or any other woman and over time served, he found that reading the words and their various meanings was pretty interesting. He enjoyed following the phonetic spelling and carefully saying the words out loud, under his breath. He would let his fingers caress the gold leafed indentations marking the alphabetic dividers, picking a letter at random and dropping the book open to a page under 'F' or 'M'. It was amazing to Buddy how many dirty words were held within the book and he began to keep a list which he would read at night in his bunk.</div>
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As it turned out, reading the dictionary did little to keep his mind off women. And with Jessica Bierman being the ideal, he thought about her all the more; her thick, blond shampoo commercial hair, her sparkling white teeth and big blue eyes rimmed in long fluttering lashes. If he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply he could almost smell the herbal essence of her shampoo. And if he licked his lips just so, he could nearly feel those pouty pink lips of hers press against his as he leaned in...</div>
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Yeah, Buddy Bowden knew what the word 'adulterer' meant. And he wanted to adulter Jessica Bierman's brains out.</div>
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But here in the present, smoke boiled from the fryer as a batch of tater tots met a fiery death, punctuated by the muted ding of the order bell as Uncle Stub slapped down on it with his meaty hand.</div>
The Rejectshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14718181520456876346noreply@blogger.com0