Just in time for Christmas--our first success story from the 2014 Baker's Dozen Agent Auction. Who'd've thunk? Hearty congratulations to Susan Mann and Rena Rossner. Here's the story in their own words:
SUSAN:
Oh my gosh! I'm so excited. Thank you for everything you and Jodi and all the agents and everyone involved in Baker's Dozen. In just a few weeks, I went from hoping to be picked as a finalist in Baker's Dozen to being signed by an agent. I'm floored and thrilled and so very grateful. Thank you.
I was entry number 7, the librarian spy story called FRAME OF REFERENCE. Rena won the full manuscript, read it, and loved it. She offered to represent me and I didn't hesitate to accept. She's been fantastic to work with and I know we'll make a great team. I'm already making some revisions she suggested to make the story even stronger.
Again, I'm so grateful to you for doing Baker's Dozen. You made my connection with Rena possible.
RENA:
I was attracted to Susan's pitch and excerpt from the start. It was one of my top choices, and I intended to bid, and bid hard, for it. In the end it was the only one of my top choices that I won, so I got started on it right away. (I mean, who doesn't love bookish wannabe-super-spy librarian?)
I was hooked by Susan's pages on the blog, and the rest of the novel didn't disappoint. While it still needs a bit of work, I shared my thoughts about the manuscript with Susan on the phone and I think our visions for the project really meshed. Having said that, I told her I was completely okay with her giving others the chance to read, and that I'd wait for her to get back to me, but to my great surprise (and joy!) Susan accepted my offer of representation on the spot.
There are some really fantastic moments in this novel, including a scene at Oxford's famed Eagle and Child (Bird and Baby) pub, which won me over, and the banter and chemistry between the two main characters is witty and charming. There's great series potential here, too, and I know Susan is already at work on book two. So excited to work with Susan on this, and I can't wait to share it with the publishing world, and then the rest of the world!
Miss Snark's First Victim
Monday, December 22, 2014
Friday, December 19, 2014
Friday Fricassee
So it's really and truly the last Friday before Christmas. Despite the fact that I am an avowed summer person (as in, lead me to the beach and let me stay there), this is truly my favorite time of year. Once the holidays are over, of course, I am absolutely done with winter. This is unfortunate for winter, since it has WAY TOO MUCH TIME LEFT after the first of the year.
But why get ahead of myself? I'm reveling in the season.
One thing that's been particularly difficult is drafting this dang novel. It finally hit me the other day that the reason I'm struggling is because this isn't my normal drafting time (as if anything in a writer's life is "normal"). My usual habit is to draft from January through April, or February through May. Getting it out of the way early in the year frees up the rest of the months for revisions and editing, which you all know are my preferred tasks.
This year, though, I had no story in me during that season. Well, I did have the seed of a story--an unusual YA dystopian that began to slowly drag me into an odd world with lots of potential. Of course, having a world without a plot is pretty frustrating after a while--not to mention that it would have been supremely stupid for me to put my time into yet another unsellable dystopian novel. So I set it aside in favor of rewriting an older manuscript that needed fresh love. It was a good decision--the new version of the old story is WORLDS better (helped along by the sharp editorial eyes of Josh and Danielle).
The downside, of course, is now having to draft during the holidays. The amount of energy it takes for me to create a story from scratch is more than I really want to give right now. So much to do! My parents are arriving on Monday (a special gift--they rarely come for Christmas!), and my sister and her family are arriving on Christmas Day (driving 7 1/2 hours to be here in time for dinner. WHO COULD ASK FOR A BETTER SISTER?). So, yeah, I've had lots to do, and still have more to do. And when it's time to sit down and write, I'm a little bit "UGH" right now.
That, and I'm pretty burned out with my Writing Journey in general. Yanno? Life outside the Industry sounds appealing to me.
Still, I've got 73,000 words under my belt, and I have every intention of finishing the draft. It's killing me, knowing I won't finish on my self-proclaimed end date of January 1, only because my projected 80,000 words is not enough to complete the story. I never miss my self-imposed deadlines. Seriously never. So, yeah, I'm a bit miffed at myself. (A glass of Chardonnay and some freshly baked Christmas cookies will make it all better, though.)
So, where does this leave the blog? I've got a HAPPY ANNOUNCEMENT on Monday (no, it's not about me), and then we're pretty much going dark for the holidays. I'll pop in before New Year's Eve to recap the year or something schmoopy like that. But mostly, it's time for jingles and mistletoe.
Oh, and for some reason, blog traffic was especially light on Wednesday when I posted my HOLIDAY GIFT FOR YOU. If you missed it, please click over and enjoy!
Happy weekend, happy writing, happy holidays!
But why get ahead of myself? I'm reveling in the season.
One thing that's been particularly difficult is drafting this dang novel. It finally hit me the other day that the reason I'm struggling is because this isn't my normal drafting time (as if anything in a writer's life is "normal"). My usual habit is to draft from January through April, or February through May. Getting it out of the way early in the year frees up the rest of the months for revisions and editing, which you all know are my preferred tasks.
This year, though, I had no story in me during that season. Well, I did have the seed of a story--an unusual YA dystopian that began to slowly drag me into an odd world with lots of potential. Of course, having a world without a plot is pretty frustrating after a while--not to mention that it would have been supremely stupid for me to put my time into yet another unsellable dystopian novel. So I set it aside in favor of rewriting an older manuscript that needed fresh love. It was a good decision--the new version of the old story is WORLDS better (helped along by the sharp editorial eyes of Josh and Danielle).
The downside, of course, is now having to draft during the holidays. The amount of energy it takes for me to create a story from scratch is more than I really want to give right now. So much to do! My parents are arriving on Monday (a special gift--they rarely come for Christmas!), and my sister and her family are arriving on Christmas Day (driving 7 1/2 hours to be here in time for dinner. WHO COULD ASK FOR A BETTER SISTER?). So, yeah, I've had lots to do, and still have more to do. And when it's time to sit down and write, I'm a little bit "UGH" right now.
That, and I'm pretty burned out with my Writing Journey in general. Yanno? Life outside the Industry sounds appealing to me.
Still, I've got 73,000 words under my belt, and I have every intention of finishing the draft. It's killing me, knowing I won't finish on my self-proclaimed end date of January 1, only because my projected 80,000 words is not enough to complete the story. I never miss my self-imposed deadlines. Seriously never. So, yeah, I'm a bit miffed at myself. (A glass of Chardonnay and some freshly baked Christmas cookies will make it all better, though.)
So, where does this leave the blog? I've got a HAPPY ANNOUNCEMENT on Monday (no, it's not about me), and then we're pretty much going dark for the holidays. I'll pop in before New Year's Eve to recap the year or something schmoopy like that. But mostly, it's time for jingles and mistletoe.
Oh, and for some reason, blog traffic was especially light on Wednesday when I posted my HOLIDAY GIFT FOR YOU. If you missed it, please click over and enjoy!
Happy weekend, happy writing, happy holidays!
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Holiday Gift #1 -- Christmas Lyrics and Recording For You
Of course I had to jump into the fun-with-lyrics, though I thought I'd wait until after the contest to post mine. So here you go--my Christmas creation, for you, with love.
(And if you find yourself singing this in the shower, and especially during the month of November--well, my work here is done!)
(And if you find yourself singing this in the shower, and especially during the month of November--well, my work here is done!)
NANO NANO NANO NANO, OH (Deck the Halls)
NANO NANO NANO NANO, OH (Deck the Halls)
by Authoress (c. Beat Your Own Drum, 2014. All rights reserved.)
In December in the city, NaNo NaNo NaNo NaNo, Oh.
Agent slush piles don’t look pretty, NaNo NaNo NaNo NaNo, Oh.
30 frenzied days of writing, NaNo Na, NaNo Na, NaNo, Oh.
Lead to off’rings uninviting. NaNo NaNo NaNo NaNo, Oh.
See the agents kneel before us, NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
As they sing in mournful chorus: NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
“Pardon us for patronizing, NaNo Na, NaNo Na, NaNo, Oh.
“But you all should be revising!” NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
Purple prose and plot holes yawning, NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
Come the authors, blithe and fawning, NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
“Dearest Agent, here’s my query,” NaNo Na, NaNo Na, NaNo, Oh.
Sent with eyes all red and bleary. NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
Fast away the old year passes, NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
Listen well, you lads and lasses, NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
If you want to land an agent, NaNo Na, NaNo Na, NaNo, Oh.
Toss your NaNo to the pavement! NaNo NaNo NaNo Nano, Oh.
Monday, December 15, 2014
Winners: Holiday Song Lyric Contest
Alison Weiss apparently spent a good chunk of her weekend singing her way through the entries on the blog. (Because, after all, how can you tell if it's good unless you sing it--right?) When it came down to it, she couldn't decide between her two favorites--so she's decided to give out TWO PRIZES!
Here are her winners:
1. (I’m Gonna Stick My) Head into the Sand (Winter Wonderland)by SUE FLIESS
My hands wring, at revision.
I don’t see my editor’s vision.
My story is slight,
A total rewrite.
I’m gonna stick my head into the sand.
Deadlines loom, I am sweating.
All my skills, I’m forgetting.
My ending is weak,
My characters, bleak.
Nothing’s turning out as I had planned.
In the margins I can see her edits.
Things like “Done before” and “Too cliché.”
She says “Can you fix this?”
I say, “All right.”
And then I cry into my Cabernet.
Gone away is my sanity.
Every thought is profanity.
My cheeks are all flushed.
My ego is crushed.
I’m gonna stick my head into the sand.
In the margins I can see her edits.
Things like “Done before” and “Too cliché.”
She says “Can you fix this?”
I say, “All right.”
And then I polish off the Cabernet.
I request an extension
So I can give the story tension
But panic sets in
My plot is too thin
I’m gonna stick my head into the sand.
2. “Maybe It’s Gold Inside” (based on “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”) by J WALT SCOTT
I really can’t pay.
(But maybe it’s gold inside.)
Oh I gotta say nay.
(My book’s gold inside.)
This submission has been
(Been hoping that you’d buy in.)
So very strange.
(I’ll fix what you say I should change.)
Our accountants would start to worry.
(Hey editor, you’d better hurry.)
The sales team would be pacing the floor.
(Can’t you hear those critics roar?)
So really would it fit my list?
(Don’t let this unique chance be missed.)
Or maybe I should read a bit more.
(Oh put your hands on chapter four.)
The readers might think . . .
(Yeah, but it’s explained in there.)
Hey, I don’t get this link.
(It all makes sense in there.)
I wish I knew how
(Your eyes see awards coming now.)
To break this spell.
(I’ll work like nuts so it will sell.)
I want to say no, no, no, sir.
(You want to read a little bit closer.)
At least I’m going to say that I tried.
(I long ago lost all of my pride.)
I really can’t pay,
(Don’t hold out.)
But maybe it’s gold inside.
I’m liking the flow.
(Maybe it’s gold inside.)
The answer was no.
(But maybe it’s gold inside.)
The writing has been
(Please love the tale I spin.)
Far past the norm.
(Just look at the climax, a genius brainstorm.)
My boss will be suspicious.
(Gosh, you can grant my wishes.)
My intern will think it’s a score.
(Like classic bestsellers of yore.)
Acquisitions meetings are vicious.
(Please fulfill all my wishes.)
Maybe just a few chapters more.
(You know this is a book you adore.)
Oh I’ve got to stop here.
(But then you’ll regret it out there.)
Here’s what I fear:
(My book will do great out there.)
Will it go as planned?
(There will be Rowling-like demand.)
But don’t you see
(How can you say no way to me?)
They’ll ask about sequels tomorrow?
(Well, there are lots of ideas to borrow)
At least they’ll be a series implied.
(From books whose authors have died.)
I really can’t pay.
(Get over that doubt.)
Maybe it’s gold inside.
CONGRATULATIONS, you two! Please email me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com for instructions on receiving your prize from Alison.
And thanks to EVERYONE who took the time to write some crazy lyrics. Your effort is noted and appreciated!
Here are her winners:
1. (I’m Gonna Stick My) Head into the Sand (Winter Wonderland)by SUE FLIESS
My hands wring, at revision.
I don’t see my editor’s vision.
My story is slight,
A total rewrite.
I’m gonna stick my head into the sand.
Deadlines loom, I am sweating.
All my skills, I’m forgetting.
My ending is weak,
My characters, bleak.
Nothing’s turning out as I had planned.
In the margins I can see her edits.
Things like “Done before” and “Too cliché.”
She says “Can you fix this?”
I say, “All right.”
And then I cry into my Cabernet.
Gone away is my sanity.
Every thought is profanity.
My cheeks are all flushed.
My ego is crushed.
I’m gonna stick my head into the sand.
In the margins I can see her edits.
Things like “Done before” and “Too cliché.”
She says “Can you fix this?”
I say, “All right.”
And then I polish off the Cabernet.
I request an extension
So I can give the story tension
But panic sets in
My plot is too thin
I’m gonna stick my head into the sand.
2. “Maybe It’s Gold Inside” (based on “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”) by J WALT SCOTT
I really can’t pay.
(But maybe it’s gold inside.)
Oh I gotta say nay.
(My book’s gold inside.)
This submission has been
(Been hoping that you’d buy in.)
So very strange.
(I’ll fix what you say I should change.)
Our accountants would start to worry.
(Hey editor, you’d better hurry.)
The sales team would be pacing the floor.
(Can’t you hear those critics roar?)
So really would it fit my list?
(Don’t let this unique chance be missed.)
Or maybe I should read a bit more.
(Oh put your hands on chapter four.)
The readers might think . . .
(Yeah, but it’s explained in there.)
Hey, I don’t get this link.
(It all makes sense in there.)
I wish I knew how
(Your eyes see awards coming now.)
To break this spell.
(I’ll work like nuts so it will sell.)
I want to say no, no, no, sir.
(You want to read a little bit closer.)
At least I’m going to say that I tried.
(I long ago lost all of my pride.)
I really can’t pay,
(Don’t hold out.)
But maybe it’s gold inside.
I’m liking the flow.
(Maybe it’s gold inside.)
The answer was no.
(But maybe it’s gold inside.)
The writing has been
(Please love the tale I spin.)
Far past the norm.
(Just look at the climax, a genius brainstorm.)
My boss will be suspicious.
(Gosh, you can grant my wishes.)
My intern will think it’s a score.
(Like classic bestsellers of yore.)
Acquisitions meetings are vicious.
(Please fulfill all my wishes.)
Maybe just a few chapters more.
(You know this is a book you adore.)
Oh I’ve got to stop here.
(But then you’ll regret it out there.)
Here’s what I fear:
(My book will do great out there.)
Will it go as planned?
(There will be Rowling-like demand.)
But don’t you see
(How can you say no way to me?)
They’ll ask about sequels tomorrow?
(Well, there are lots of ideas to borrow)
At least they’ll be a series implied.
(From books whose authors have died.)
I really can’t pay.
(Get over that doubt.)
Maybe it’s gold inside.
CONGRATULATIONS, you two! Please email me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com for instructions on receiving your prize from Alison.
And thanks to EVERYONE who took the time to write some crazy lyrics. Your effort is noted and appreciated!
Friday, December 12, 2014
Friday Fricassee
Winding up for Christmas and winding down the year here on the blog--it's an odd juxtaposition.
Thanks to all of those who submitted lyrics in our Christmas/Chanukah Song Lyric contest. I have some definite favorites! Alison Weiss is going to be reading them over the weekend, and I will announce her winner on Monday.
Yes, I've written a couple, too. I will post mine on Monday as well. (I couldn't resist.)
I am still in the midst of sending out requests from agents for Baker's Dozen entries. If you had an entry in the auction and you don't receive another request by the end of the weekend, then it is safe to assume that none are coming. You will then be free to query anyone who bid on your item.
(Note: It makes sense to wait, because that way you're getting an official request that gets to be marked, well, "requested". And those always float to the top in an agent's inbox. Bear this in mind.)
As for me? I'm going to hit 70,000 words on my WIP today. Sounds like an almost-finished book, right? In fact, I've got my Scrivener project target set to 80,000 words, to be completed by January 1. I will definitely hit that in the next ten to twelve days...but my story won't be finished. Which is pretty frustrating, because I'm tired of this drafting thing.
I'm just letting it happen, though. I figure I'm probably just fleshing things out that will eventually be removed from the page. This isn't a bad thing! In the end, I'd rather have to cut and trim than beef up. So there's that. It's just that I was really, really hoping to have a completed draft by New Year's Day.
C'est la vie!
And, really, I'm writing this story for me. I've come to the place where, yes, I realize this is what has to happen, if I am to actually keep writing. Not to sound fatalistic, but I've stopped believing that my Big Dreams are actually going to come true. No, this isn't a feel-sorry-for-Authoress thing. It's just reality. I've had an agent for four years (as of next week), and if someone had told me that this much time would pass and I still wouldn't have a publishing contract, I probably would have jumped off the nearest overpass.
Well, not really. But I definitely would have quit.
There's been so much good--really. I wouldn't have written my currently-on-submission novel if it weren't for Josh. "You should consider writing a straight-up YA sci-fi," he said. So I did. And I honestly believe it's the strongest thing I've ever written. I completely believe in it. I've gotten positive editor responses. It's all good.
All good, but still unpublished.
And, yanno, there's only so much a gal can take.
So I'm channeling my inner writer--the one who writes simply to write. Sometimes she fights me. Sometimes her eyes tear up, and she fails to see the point of spending another hour and a half to two hours working on a story that will likely join all the other stories in the land of Stories No One Will Ever See.
But then, somehow, I always get myself together, and I write. So, yeah. This one's for me. This one's to keep me writing, to keep me going.
We do whatever we can to keep our heads afloat, yes?
So, until life actually veers me in a different, undeniable direction, I will continue to write. And I will continue to champion the rest of you who are on this journey with me.
Please don't give up. If I can keep going, so can you.
Have a blessed weekend!
Thanks to all of those who submitted lyrics in our Christmas/Chanukah Song Lyric contest. I have some definite favorites! Alison Weiss is going to be reading them over the weekend, and I will announce her winner on Monday.
Yes, I've written a couple, too. I will post mine on Monday as well. (I couldn't resist.)
I am still in the midst of sending out requests from agents for Baker's Dozen entries. If you had an entry in the auction and you don't receive another request by the end of the weekend, then it is safe to assume that none are coming. You will then be free to query anyone who bid on your item.
(Note: It makes sense to wait, because that way you're getting an official request that gets to be marked, well, "requested". And those always float to the top in an agent's inbox. Bear this in mind.)
As for me? I'm going to hit 70,000 words on my WIP today. Sounds like an almost-finished book, right? In fact, I've got my Scrivener project target set to 80,000 words, to be completed by January 1. I will definitely hit that in the next ten to twelve days...but my story won't be finished. Which is pretty frustrating, because I'm tired of this drafting thing.
I'm just letting it happen, though. I figure I'm probably just fleshing things out that will eventually be removed from the page. This isn't a bad thing! In the end, I'd rather have to cut and trim than beef up. So there's that. It's just that I was really, really hoping to have a completed draft by New Year's Day.
C'est la vie!
And, really, I'm writing this story for me. I've come to the place where, yes, I realize this is what has to happen, if I am to actually keep writing. Not to sound fatalistic, but I've stopped believing that my Big Dreams are actually going to come true. No, this isn't a feel-sorry-for-Authoress thing. It's just reality. I've had an agent for four years (as of next week), and if someone had told me that this much time would pass and I still wouldn't have a publishing contract, I probably would have jumped off the nearest overpass.
Well, not really. But I definitely would have quit.
There's been so much good--really. I wouldn't have written my currently-on-submission novel if it weren't for Josh. "You should consider writing a straight-up YA sci-fi," he said. So I did. And I honestly believe it's the strongest thing I've ever written. I completely believe in it. I've gotten positive editor responses. It's all good.
All good, but still unpublished.
And, yanno, there's only so much a gal can take.
So I'm channeling my inner writer--the one who writes simply to write. Sometimes she fights me. Sometimes her eyes tear up, and she fails to see the point of spending another hour and a half to two hours working on a story that will likely join all the other stories in the land of Stories No One Will Ever See.
But then, somehow, I always get myself together, and I write. So, yeah. This one's for me. This one's to keep me writing, to keep me going.
We do whatever we can to keep our heads afloat, yes?
So, until life actually veers me in a different, undeniable direction, I will continue to write. And I will continue to champion the rest of you who are on this journey with me.
Please don't give up. If I can keep going, so can you.
Have a blessed weekend!
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
The Christmas/Chanukah Song Lyric Contest -- Now Open!
And here we go! You've got 24 hours to post your original holiday lyrics.
THE RULES:
THE RULES:
- Enter your masterpiece IN THE COMMENT BOX BELOW.
- Absolutely no emails, please. Comment box only. (In other words, if you're subscribed to this blog via email, you MAY NOT hit reply and email your lyrics. Alison will not see them if you do that.)
- Please do not enter more than TWO masterpieces.
- Please use a screen name by which you will be EASILY IDENTIFIABLE.
- Lewd entries will be deleted. But you wouldn't do that, anyway.
- Your masterpiece should be an ORIGINAL set of lyrics that go along with a CHRISTMAS CAROL OR SONG or a CHANUKAH SONG. Make sure your theme is writing- or publishing-related. Please include the TITLE of the holiday tune so that we can all sing along.
How do you know if song lyrics are good? SING THEM! If they fit naturally with the melody, with the correct syllables accented and decent rhymes, you've got a winner. If you feel like you're stumbling through or have to force the words to fit the music, then not so much. So pick your favorites, and see how they line up with Alison's.
Have fun!
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Have You Written Your Christmas/Chanukah Parody?
Tomorrow's the big day! Our Christmas/Chanukah Song Lyric Contest goes live at 8:00 a.m. EST.
HERE ARE ALL THE DETAILS ONE MORE TIME.
The contest will be open for 24 hours. After that time, comments will be closed, and the delightful Alison Weiss will read the entries and pick her favorite.
It's that simple!
Even if you're not planning on entering the contest, do stop by and enjoy the entries. I love these opportunities for folks to branch out a little and express their creativity in a new and perhaps a bit silly way. And honestly? Writing lyrics isn't easy! If this is the first time you've tried your hand at it, you know this is true.
I'm looking forward to reading your wonderful offerings tomorrow. If you have any last-minute questions, please post them below.
HERE ARE ALL THE DETAILS ONE MORE TIME.
The contest will be open for 24 hours. After that time, comments will be closed, and the delightful Alison Weiss will read the entries and pick her favorite.
It's that simple!
Even if you're not planning on entering the contest, do stop by and enjoy the entries. I love these opportunities for folks to branch out a little and express their creativity in a new and perhaps a bit silly way. And honestly? Writing lyrics isn't easy! If this is the first time you've tried your hand at it, you know this is true.
I'm looking forward to reading your wonderful offerings tomorrow. If you have any last-minute questions, please post them below.
Friday, December 5, 2014
Friday Fricassee
And suddenly life feels a bit slower!
Not really, though. Next week, the requests will be pouring in (and subsequently out) from all the agents who didn't win what they wanted, so I'll be doing the email tango again.
Best of all, of course, is that our HOLIDAY LYRICS CONTEST is next week! I hope you've been hard at work on your musical masterpieces.
HERE IS ALL THE INFO ON THE CONTEST, which will be judged by Alison Weiss of Egmont USA.
Alison Weiss, by the way, is one of the sweethearts of the publishing world. Back when our sister site-for-teen-writers, Write On!, was active, she donated her time once a month to a Q and A on their bulletin boards. I have always appreciated her heart for young writers and her desire to offer help and encouragement. Apparently she likes the not-so-teen writers, too, because she's once again generously devoting her time to our community.
As for me? Sad to say that my drafting honeymoon is over. I'm at 65,000 words and I SHOULD be heading toward that climax, right? But I'm right in the middle.
WE HATES THE MIDDLE.
Seriously, I cannot believe how many words it's taking for me to spew out this story. I'm going to have to do a hack and burn session that will light the horizon for miles. I'm right on target with my word count and my project finish line of January 1. Problem is, my story won't be finished by that word count.
This has never happened to me before. And I hate it!
I desperately want to be finished drafting, so that January doesn't have--well, drafting in it. But it looks like I'm just going to have to keep at this thing until it tells itself.
Anyway. I'm looking forward to reading your Christmas and Chanukah creations, and I'm feeling absolutely twinkly about the holidays. (My parents have decided to travel to our house this year, a sort of last-minute decision that has me over the moon!) Have a glorious weekend, and I'll see you on Monday!
Not really, though. Next week, the requests will be pouring in (and subsequently out) from all the agents who didn't win what they wanted, so I'll be doing the email tango again.
Best of all, of course, is that our HOLIDAY LYRICS CONTEST is next week! I hope you've been hard at work on your musical masterpieces.
HERE IS ALL THE INFO ON THE CONTEST, which will be judged by Alison Weiss of Egmont USA.
Alison Weiss, by the way, is one of the sweethearts of the publishing world. Back when our sister site-for-teen-writers, Write On!, was active, she donated her time once a month to a Q and A on their bulletin boards. I have always appreciated her heart for young writers and her desire to offer help and encouragement. Apparently she likes the not-so-teen writers, too, because she's once again generously devoting her time to our community.
As for me? Sad to say that my drafting honeymoon is over. I'm at 65,000 words and I SHOULD be heading toward that climax, right? But I'm right in the middle.
WE HATES THE MIDDLE.
Seriously, I cannot believe how many words it's taking for me to spew out this story. I'm going to have to do a hack and burn session that will light the horizon for miles. I'm right on target with my word count and my project finish line of January 1. Problem is, my story won't be finished by that word count.
This has never happened to me before. And I hate it!
I desperately want to be finished drafting, so that January doesn't have--well, drafting in it. But it looks like I'm just going to have to keep at this thing until it tells itself.
Anyway. I'm looking forward to reading your Christmas and Chanukah creations, and I'm feeling absolutely twinkly about the holidays. (My parents have decided to travel to our house this year, a sort of last-minute decision that has me over the moon!) Have a glorious weekend, and I'll see you on Monday!
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
The 2014 Baker's Dozen Agent Auction Winners
Another fine auction! If you didn't get a chance to follow along during that fiery first hour-or-so yesterday, head over to #BakersDozen2014 on Twitter and scroll through the fun. My Tweet Divas did a great job tweeting the bids! (Better than I did, for sure--what was I thinking, trying to tweet and moderate the auction simultaneously??)
70% of the entries received bids in the auction; 28 of these were fulls. Good stuff!
Anyway, HERE ARE THE WINNING BIDS:
1 DONOVAN -- 25 pages to TAMAR RYDZINSKI
2 MRS. PETERMAN'S BENTLEY -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
4 DOWN INTO DARKNESS -- 10 page to SALLY APOKEDAK
5 BLOOD AND SALT -- Full to JENNIFER UDDEN
6 THE WILDFLOWER SEASON -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
7 FRAME OF REFERENCE -- Full to RENA ROSSNER
15 THE CAT'S MEOW -- 10 pages to SALLY APOKEDAK
16 BLOODBIRD -- 25 pages to JOSH GETZLER
17 THE SWORD AND THE SKULL -- Full to DANIELLE BURBY
21 TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE -- Full to TAMAR RYDZINSKI
22 HOT FLASHES FROM HELL -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
25 GRANDMA'S GOT MURDER ON HER MIND -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
26 MECHANIC -- 75 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
27 ESTER, CALLED MARIA -- Full to JOAN PAQUETTE
30 WHERE ALL THE MISSING PIECES GO -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
31 PHOENIX RISING -- 75 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
32 THE DIASPORA -- Full to JENNIFER UDDEN
33 LITTLE DO YOU KNOW -- Full to SARAH LAPOLLA
34 THE FAN GENE -- Full to MICHELLE WOLFSON
35 CHASING A STARLIGHT -- 30 pages to LAURA BRADFORD
36 THIRD TIME'S A CURSE -- 100 pages to DANIELLE BURBY
37 FIX YOUR LIFE! -- Full to JOSH GETZLER
39 DARK CORE -- 25 pages to RENA ROSSNER
40 THE LAPRAN LINK -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
41 THE MEMORY THIEF -- Full to SALLY APOKEDAK
43 DEAD SILENCE -- 115 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
44 NIXIE IN THE CENTER -- Full to MELISSA JEGLINSKI
46 THE MIND TAMER -- 5 pages to SALLY APOKEDAK
47 STICK FIGURE -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
48 THE DEMON PRINCE -- Full to RENA ROSSNER
49 THE TASTE OF LIGHTENING --Full to JOSH GETZLER
50 SUBMERGED -- 50 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
51 LOOKING FOR STARDUST -- Full to SUSAN HAWK
52 NOWHERE TO BELONG -- 30 pages to LAURA BRADFORD
53 LAST CHANCE -- Full to TAMAR RYDZINSKI
54 THE VIRTUE OF SIN -- Full to TAMAR RYDZINKSI
55 AGE OF THE GIFT -- Full to DANIELLE BURBY
56 ROOT BEER CANDY AND OTHER MIRACLES -- Full to CARYN WISEMAN
57 MONSTERS OF WINTERVAST ISLAND -- Full to SARAH NEGOVATICH
58 THE ADVENTURES OF RATBOY -- 150 pages to PAM VAN HYLCKAMA VLIEG
59 TRACKER 220 -- Full to SARAH LAPOLLA
60 CATCH HIM BY DISGUISE -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
Congratulations, all!
Winners: Please email me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com with the following: Your post number, title, the agent who won you, and the amount of the request. This will facilitate my getting you the correct submission information quickly and easily.
IMPORTANT: Do not query the agents who bid on your work but did not win. After a 1-week exclusive with your winning agent, the non-winners will have the opportunity to request your work. In fact, some have already done so. So please sit tight! I've got your back.
A huge THANK YOU to absolutely everybody. This was a smashing success.
70% of the entries received bids in the auction; 28 of these were fulls. Good stuff!
Anyway, HERE ARE THE WINNING BIDS:
1 DONOVAN -- 25 pages to TAMAR RYDZINSKI
2 MRS. PETERMAN'S BENTLEY -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
4 DOWN INTO DARKNESS -- 10 page to SALLY APOKEDAK
5 BLOOD AND SALT -- Full to JENNIFER UDDEN
6 THE WILDFLOWER SEASON -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
7 FRAME OF REFERENCE -- Full to RENA ROSSNER
15 THE CAT'S MEOW -- 10 pages to SALLY APOKEDAK
16 BLOODBIRD -- 25 pages to JOSH GETZLER
17 THE SWORD AND THE SKULL -- Full to DANIELLE BURBY
21 TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE -- Full to TAMAR RYDZINSKI
22 HOT FLASHES FROM HELL -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
25 GRANDMA'S GOT MURDER ON HER MIND -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
26 MECHANIC -- 75 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
27 ESTER, CALLED MARIA -- Full to JOAN PAQUETTE
30 WHERE ALL THE MISSING PIECES GO -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
31 PHOENIX RISING -- 75 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
32 THE DIASPORA -- Full to JENNIFER UDDEN
33 LITTLE DO YOU KNOW -- Full to SARAH LAPOLLA
34 THE FAN GENE -- Full to MICHELLE WOLFSON
35 CHASING A STARLIGHT -- 30 pages to LAURA BRADFORD
36 THIRD TIME'S A CURSE -- 100 pages to DANIELLE BURBY
37 FIX YOUR LIFE! -- Full to JOSH GETZLER
39 DARK CORE -- 25 pages to RENA ROSSNER
40 THE LAPRAN LINK -- Full to STEFANIE LIEBERMAN
41 THE MEMORY THIEF -- Full to SALLY APOKEDAK
43 DEAD SILENCE -- 115 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
44 NIXIE IN THE CENTER -- Full to MELISSA JEGLINSKI
46 THE MIND TAMER -- 5 pages to SALLY APOKEDAK
47 STICK FIGURE -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
48 THE DEMON PRINCE -- Full to RENA ROSSNER
49 THE TASTE OF LIGHTENING --Full to JOSH GETZLER
50 SUBMERGED -- 50 pages to SARAH NEGOVATICH
51 LOOKING FOR STARDUST -- Full to SUSAN HAWK
52 NOWHERE TO BELONG -- 30 pages to LAURA BRADFORD
53 LAST CHANCE -- Full to TAMAR RYDZINSKI
54 THE VIRTUE OF SIN -- Full to TAMAR RYDZINKSI
55 AGE OF THE GIFT -- Full to DANIELLE BURBY
56 ROOT BEER CANDY AND OTHER MIRACLES -- Full to CARYN WISEMAN
57 MONSTERS OF WINTERVAST ISLAND -- Full to SARAH NEGOVATICH
58 THE ADVENTURES OF RATBOY -- 150 pages to PAM VAN HYLCKAMA VLIEG
59 TRACKER 220 -- Full to SARAH LAPOLLA
60 CATCH HIM BY DISGUISE -- Full to CARLIE WEBBER
Congratulations, all!
Winners: Please email me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com with the following: Your post number, title, the agent who won you, and the amount of the request. This will facilitate my getting you the correct submission information quickly and easily.
IMPORTANT: Do not query the agents who bid on your work but did not win. After a 1-week exclusive with your winning agent, the non-winners will have the opportunity to request your work. In fact, some have already done so. So please sit tight! I've got your back.
A huge THANK YOU to absolutely everybody. This was a smashing success.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
AND THE GAVEL DROPS -- The 2014 Baker's Dozen Agent Auction is Live!
Welcome to the 5th Annual Baker's Dozen Agent Auction!
Please STOP CRITIQUING at this time. Bidding is now LIVE.
HOW IT WORKS:
* Agents will open bidding with a minimum bid of 5 pages.
* A total of 5 bids must be made on an item before agents are allowed to bid the full.
* The full bid trumps all. Once an item receives a full bid, bidding for that item is closed, and the agent who bid the full wins it.
*At the close of the auction tonight (at 11:00 pm EST), all high bids win the items.
TO THE ENTRANTS:
Dear Ones:
Not everyone will receive bids. I know you know this, but I wanted to point it out again. Because IT DOESN'T MEAN YOUR WORK STINKS. Keep writing. Keep querying widely. Keep believing.
TO EVERYONE:
Follow along on Twitter at #BakersDozen2014 starting NOW! We're live tweeting the bids this morning (to the best of our ability--because they come in VERY FAST at first!). Grab your seat and get in on the adrenaline rush!
Please STOP CRITIQUING at this time. Bidding is now LIVE.
HOW IT WORKS:
* Agents will open bidding with a minimum bid of 5 pages.
* A total of 5 bids must be made on an item before agents are allowed to bid the full.
* The full bid trumps all. Once an item receives a full bid, bidding for that item is closed, and the agent who bid the full wins it.
*At the close of the auction tonight (at 11:00 pm EST), all high bids win the items.
TO THE ENTRANTS:
Dear Ones:
Not everyone will receive bids. I know you know this, but I wanted to point it out again. Because IT DOESN'T MEAN YOUR WORK STINKS. Keep writing. Keep querying widely. Keep believing.
TO EVERYONE:
Follow along on Twitter at #BakersDozen2014 starting NOW! We're live tweeting the bids this morning (to the best of our ability--because they come in VERY FAST at first!). Grab your seat and get in on the adrenaline rush!
Friday, November 28, 2014
Baker's Dozen Agent Auction: Critique Guidelines
Finally -- we're LIVE!
Here are the official critiquing guidelines:
Here are the official critiquing guidelines:
- Please use a screen name instead of "Anonymous". Using a screen name does not require that you have a Blogger account, or any other account. Simply choose the "Name/URL" option for signing in, and type whatever screen name you'd like to use. The URL part isn't necessary.
- While it's fine to comment on whether or not the logline worked for you, the main thrust of your critique should focus on the actual writing.
- As always, a mixture of tact and honesty is the best approach.
- Hundreds of critiques will be flooding my inbox, and I won't be able to police them (unless I stop the rest of life for the next four days). If you see something that is VERY SNARKY, please let me know. (By "very snarky", I mean "completely inappropriate". This does not include comments on your own work that may have hurt your feelings because they've pointed out some flaws. I will not delete legitimate critique.)
- IMPORTANT: Please DO NOT CRITIQUE during the auction (Tuesday, December 2, 11 am to 11 pm EST). I have encouraged the agents to subscribe to the comments of the posts they're bidding on, and they don't need to be bombarded with critiques while they're trying to win something. THANK YOU FOR ABIDING BY THIS.
- ENTRANTS: Please critique a minimum of 5 of the entries. Also, please refrain from commenting on the comments on your own work. For one thing, most people will not return to a comment box they've already left a critique in. For another, it's not a good idea to try to justify/explain/defend your work to those who are critiquing. Read quietly, sift through, keep what's golden and reject what doesn't work for you.
(60) YA Contemporary: CATCH HIM BY DISGUISE
TITLE: CATCH HIM BY DISGUISE
GENRE: YA Contemporary
To catch the boy who put her younger brother in a coma, sixteen-year-old Hannah trails him to summer camp as a boy. It’s the perfect plan—as long as no one catches Hannah first.
Mattie Matt,
1.4 seconds. I looked up a velocity formula online, so I know that’s how long it took you to hit the dumpster. 1.4 seconds. Less time than it takes the average person to be thrown from a mechanical bull—which would have been a smarter stunt.
You do these stupid things without considering the consequences. You think you’re invincible. Well, you’re not. You might never wake up, and it’ll be all your fault.
And mine. Because I should have
The doorbell rang, and I jerked, leaving a blue streak across the page.
“Hannah! Could you come down here, please?” Mom called, her voice muffled through my bedroom door.
Probably another church member with a foil-covered casserole dish. Except Mom didn’t need me for that. Maybe it was Lena. She’d been bugging me to go out with her this weekend.
I snapped my notebook closed and flicked a glance in the mirror to make sure I was decent—not a sure thing lately. I’d greeted the youth minister the other day in skimpy pajama shorts and a cami with no bra. He’d stared over my shoulder while he asked how I was holding up. Talk about awkward.
Satisfied I was fully dressed, I slipped out of my room. Multiple voices mingled in the foyer, including, I realized with a start, Dad’s. He usually only left Matt’s room in the trauma ward for work or sleep.
I peered around the corner down the stairs. Two strangers, a man and a woman, stood just inside the door. Well-dressed and with the kind of proper posture that made my shoulders ache.
“Thank you for seeing us, Reverend and Mrs. Davies,” the man said. “William felt strongly
GENRE: YA Contemporary
To catch the boy who put her younger brother in a coma, sixteen-year-old Hannah trails him to summer camp as a boy. It’s the perfect plan—as long as no one catches Hannah first.
1.4 seconds. I looked up a velocity formula online, so I know that’s how long it took you to hit the dumpster. 1.4 seconds. Less time than it takes the average person to be thrown from a mechanical bull—which would have been a smarter stunt.
You do these stupid things without considering the consequences. You think you’re invincible. Well, you’re not. You might never wake up, and it’ll be all your fault.
And mine. Because I should have
The doorbell rang, and I jerked, leaving a blue streak across the page.
“Hannah! Could you come down here, please?” Mom called, her voice muffled through my bedroom door.
Probably another church member with a foil-covered casserole dish. Except Mom didn’t need me for that. Maybe it was Lena. She’d been bugging me to go out with her this weekend.
I snapped my notebook closed and flicked a glance in the mirror to make sure I was decent—not a sure thing lately. I’d greeted the youth minister the other day in skimpy pajama shorts and a cami with no bra. He’d stared over my shoulder while he asked how I was holding up. Talk about awkward.
Satisfied I was fully dressed, I slipped out of my room. Multiple voices mingled in the foyer, including, I realized with a start, Dad’s. He usually only left Matt’s room in the trauma ward for work or sleep.
I peered around the corner down the stairs. Two strangers, a man and a woman, stood just inside the door. Well-dressed and with the kind of proper posture that made my shoulders ache.
“Thank you for seeing us, Reverend and Mrs. Davies,” the man said. “William felt strongly
(59) YA Science Fiction: TRACKER 220
TITLE: TRACKER220
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
When everyone has a tracking chip in their brain, one glitch threatens the safety and knowledge the network provides. As sixteen-year-old Kaya becomes that glitch, she must choose between life as a lab rat, or a rogue movement that plans on using her to destroy the tracker network.
We were going to get caught. No question about it. Masking your tracker signal got you a date with the authorities at best, and at worst… I didn’t want to think about it. I wasn’t lucky enough to get away with this. I was never that lucky.
Troy grinned and held out the radio wave generator. “Come on, Kaya. You know you want to.”
I shook my head. A few minutes of freedom from the tracker network wasn’t worth the risk. The authorities would brain probe us to check our chips for glitches if they showed up. Not if—when.
Troy waved the box in my face. “You sure? It’s such a rush!”
I shivered despite the blazing bonfire in front of us. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
That little box was trouble. Worse than Pandora’s. My muscles tensed. At least if I refused to disrupt my tracker signal, then I wouldn’t have to lie about breaking the law.
I snuggled up to Harlow, and he put his arm around me. I liked some of Harlow’s friends. But trekking into the woods to watch them attempt to beat his record for longest signal disruption was insanity. Why couldn’t we hang out at the fly-in theater instead? Anything other than pursuing a one-way ticket to tracker juvie.
But they loved the thrill of tempting fate—the ultimate game of chicken. At best, they had about five minutes of interrupted tracker signals before the network alerted the authorities. They’d show up and we’d scatter.
Troy glared at Harlow. “Looks like your girlfriend’s afraid of getting caught.”
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
When everyone has a tracking chip in their brain, one glitch threatens the safety and knowledge the network provides. As sixteen-year-old Kaya becomes that glitch, she must choose between life as a lab rat, or a rogue movement that plans on using her to destroy the tracker network.
We were going to get caught. No question about it. Masking your tracker signal got you a date with the authorities at best, and at worst… I didn’t want to think about it. I wasn’t lucky enough to get away with this. I was never that lucky.
Troy grinned and held out the radio wave generator. “Come on, Kaya. You know you want to.”
I shook my head. A few minutes of freedom from the tracker network wasn’t worth the risk. The authorities would brain probe us to check our chips for glitches if they showed up. Not if—when.
Troy waved the box in my face. “You sure? It’s such a rush!”
I shivered despite the blazing bonfire in front of us. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
That little box was trouble. Worse than Pandora’s. My muscles tensed. At least if I refused to disrupt my tracker signal, then I wouldn’t have to lie about breaking the law.
I snuggled up to Harlow, and he put his arm around me. I liked some of Harlow’s friends. But trekking into the woods to watch them attempt to beat his record for longest signal disruption was insanity. Why couldn’t we hang out at the fly-in theater instead? Anything other than pursuing a one-way ticket to tracker juvie.
But they loved the thrill of tempting fate—the ultimate game of chicken. At best, they had about five minutes of interrupted tracker signals before the network alerted the authorities. They’d show up and we’d scatter.
Troy glared at Harlow. “Looks like your girlfriend’s afraid of getting caught.”
(58) Adventure: MG THE ADVENTURES OF RATBOY
TITLE: The Adventures of Ratboy
GENRE: MG Adventure
When a twelve-year-old aspiring comic book artist accidentally brings his own characters to life, he has to team up with the hero to defeat the evil villain, Dastard Lee.
I stood in the entrance of the cafeteria and twirled my Green Lantern ring around my finger. It was the first day of seventh grade, and I didn’t have anyone to eat lunch with. Not that I wasn’t fun. I was a lot of fun, even if I did say so myself. And it wasn’t that I didn’t have any friends. I had one friend, my next door neighbor, Peyton. We’d started hanging out together right after my family moved here last spring. But I couldn’t see her anywhere, even when I craned my neck around the doorframe. Maybe she didn’t want to eat with me.
Someone bumped my shoulder, and I stumbled past the doorway into the actual cafeteria. It was super noisy and echoey, and it smelled like spaghetti. A couple of kids from my street glanced at me and then away again. A girl from my morning math class waved and then pulled her hand down really fast. A guy from last summer’s art camp looked right at me and opened his mouth, but then the kid next to him said something, so he closed it again.
I swallowed my disappointment. Obviously everyone was still thinking about the incident from sixth grade. That’s okay. I could eat alone. I had my comic book, and someday when I was rich and famous they’d wish they had been nicer to me.
I scurried along the wall until I found a mostly empty table in the back. A skinny kid with dark frizzy hair was already there. He was so thin and his hair was so big he reminded me of a dandelion. As he tapped furiously on a tablet computer, I could hear beeping and twerping amid the occasional explosion.
GENRE: MG Adventure
When a twelve-year-old aspiring comic book artist accidentally brings his own characters to life, he has to team up with the hero to defeat the evil villain, Dastard Lee.
I stood in the entrance of the cafeteria and twirled my Green Lantern ring around my finger. It was the first day of seventh grade, and I didn’t have anyone to eat lunch with. Not that I wasn’t fun. I was a lot of fun, even if I did say so myself. And it wasn’t that I didn’t have any friends. I had one friend, my next door neighbor, Peyton. We’d started hanging out together right after my family moved here last spring. But I couldn’t see her anywhere, even when I craned my neck around the doorframe. Maybe she didn’t want to eat with me.
Someone bumped my shoulder, and I stumbled past the doorway into the actual cafeteria. It was super noisy and echoey, and it smelled like spaghetti. A couple of kids from my street glanced at me and then away again. A girl from my morning math class waved and then pulled her hand down really fast. A guy from last summer’s art camp looked right at me and opened his mouth, but then the kid next to him said something, so he closed it again.
I swallowed my disappointment. Obviously everyone was still thinking about the incident from sixth grade. That’s okay. I could eat alone. I had my comic book, and someday when I was rich and famous they’d wish they had been nicer to me.
I scurried along the wall until I found a mostly empty table in the back. A skinny kid with dark frizzy hair was already there. He was so thin and his hair was so big he reminded me of a dandelion. As he tapped furiously on a tablet computer, I could hear beeping and twerping amid the occasional explosion.
(57) YA Magical Realism: MONSTERS OF WINTERVAST ISLAND
TITLE: Monsters of Wintervast Island
GENRE: YA Magical Realism
A ’90s-obsessed gamer girl, still an outsider even to her unlikely group of friends, struggles to find a missing boy on an island where H. P. Lovecraft-esque occurrences are a regular part of the day.
I slid the knife into my skin, cold metal seeking warmth against the snow falling endlessly around me. The scent of my blood spread into the storm, wind-thrown away from me like a fishing lure. I removed the knife, pain not even crossing my mind, and waited.
As if I had summoned it, an equinocus, or snow pony, appeared twenty yards away.
I held my breath, shutting out the chill, and absorbed the sight of it. Someone from the mainland might have marveled, starry-eyed, at the part-horse, part-apparition like it was miracle. But for me, someone who knew the tales of the equinocus, I saw it for what it truly was.
A killer.
The Fat Man stood beside me, squinting through his facemask until he saw it, too. He muttered into his earpiece, “Snow pony, ten o’ clock from my position. Move in.”
Two ghost-like puffs of breath escaped the equinocus’s nostrils as it watched us. Its powdery ears, seemingly made of fine snow, twitched toward the Fat Man’s gruff voice.
“Earn your pay, girl,” he grunted, raising his rifle loaded with lard-filled bullets. I knew what he wanted, but my legs refused to move. For a moment, we stood at an impasse, none of us breaking the frozen spell.
He jerked the gun barrel toward the equinocus and barked, “Now, Stacie.”
For the money, we need the money, I chanted to myself, shutting down the small voice in my mind that wondered how the Fat Man knew my name.
GENRE: YA Magical Realism
A ’90s-obsessed gamer girl, still an outsider even to her unlikely group of friends, struggles to find a missing boy on an island where H. P. Lovecraft-esque occurrences are a regular part of the day.
I slid the knife into my skin, cold metal seeking warmth against the snow falling endlessly around me. The scent of my blood spread into the storm, wind-thrown away from me like a fishing lure. I removed the knife, pain not even crossing my mind, and waited.
As if I had summoned it, an equinocus, or snow pony, appeared twenty yards away.
I held my breath, shutting out the chill, and absorbed the sight of it. Someone from the mainland might have marveled, starry-eyed, at the part-horse, part-apparition like it was miracle. But for me, someone who knew the tales of the equinocus, I saw it for what it truly was.
A killer.
The Fat Man stood beside me, squinting through his facemask until he saw it, too. He muttered into his earpiece, “Snow pony, ten o’ clock from my position. Move in.”
Two ghost-like puffs of breath escaped the equinocus’s nostrils as it watched us. Its powdery ears, seemingly made of fine snow, twitched toward the Fat Man’s gruff voice.
“Earn your pay, girl,” he grunted, raising his rifle loaded with lard-filled bullets. I knew what he wanted, but my legs refused to move. For a moment, we stood at an impasse, none of us breaking the frozen spell.
He jerked the gun barrel toward the equinocus and barked, “Now, Stacie.”
For the money, we need the money, I chanted to myself, shutting down the small voice in my mind that wondered how the Fat Man knew my name.
(56) MG Contemporary (verse): ROOT BEER CANDY AND OTHER MIRACLES
TITLE: ROOT BEER CANDY AND OTHER MIRACLES
GENRE: MG Contemporary (verse)
When her parents enroll in marriage camp, Bailey and her brother spend August on an island with a grandmother they barely know. With the help of a driftwood mermaid, mysterious ice-cream vendor, and new best friend, Bailey learns how everyday miracles can change lives.
After the storm
Felicity Bay is washed clean—
cottage roofs rain-fresh,
gleaming
in the morning sun.
I lean over the porch railing,
scan the ribbon
of wet sand.
Last night’s wind rearranged driftwood
along the beach
like my mother scrubbing,
dusting,
moving furniture around
after she and Dad fight.
My brother couldn’t sleep.
This morning I found him
on Nana Marie’s ocean-blue couch,
wrapped in a sheet.
.
Nana Marie calls me inside
before I can explore.
.
Bailey, she hollers. Pancakes.
.
I kick off my flip-flops,
dash in,
plop down across from Kevin
at the kitchen table.
.
Don’t just stare at them, Nana Marie says.
Eat, Chickadee.
.
She has to check them first, says Kevin.
.
He thinks it’s dumb
that I study the gold and white designs
fried into flapjacks,
searching
for the face of God.
He was only little
when Aunt Debbie discovered Tom Hanks
staring at her
from her breakfast plate.
She watched every one of his movies
after that,
said it changed her life.
So I say, You never know,
and I check for God.
.
Later that morning
I find Daniel outside,
peering at things
through his camera.
.
Beep
click
beep.
.
He turns on the camera,
snaps a picture,
turns it off.
.
Daniel’s eleven,
same as me.
He stays in the cottage
next to Nana Marie’s
and takes pictures
of everything.
.
Where ya going? Daniel says.
.
Nowhere, I say,
and we start going there
together.
.
A short trail cuts through beach grass—
grey-green blades
as long as my legs,
dancing
in the breeze.
GENRE: MG Contemporary (verse)
When her parents enroll in marriage camp, Bailey and her brother spend August on an island with a grandmother they barely know. With the help of a driftwood mermaid, mysterious ice-cream vendor, and new best friend, Bailey learns how everyday miracles can change lives.
After the storm
Felicity Bay is washed clean—
cottage roofs rain-fresh,
gleaming
in the morning sun.
I lean over the porch railing,
scan the ribbon
of wet sand.
Last night’s wind rearranged driftwood
along the beach
like my mother scrubbing,
dusting,
moving furniture around
after she and Dad fight.
My brother couldn’t sleep.
This morning I found him
on Nana Marie’s ocean-blue couch,
wrapped in a sheet.
.
Nana Marie calls me inside
before I can explore.
.
Bailey, she hollers. Pancakes.
.
I kick off my flip-flops,
dash in,
plop down across from Kevin
at the kitchen table.
.
Don’t just stare at them, Nana Marie says.
Eat, Chickadee.
.
She has to check them first, says Kevin.
.
He thinks it’s dumb
that I study the gold and white designs
fried into flapjacks,
searching
for the face of God.
He was only little
when Aunt Debbie discovered Tom Hanks
staring at her
from her breakfast plate.
She watched every one of his movies
after that,
said it changed her life.
So I say, You never know,
and I check for God.
.
Later that morning
I find Daniel outside,
peering at things
through his camera.
.
Beep
click
beep.
.
He turns on the camera,
snaps a picture,
turns it off.
.
Daniel’s eleven,
same as me.
He stays in the cottage
next to Nana Marie’s
and takes pictures
of everything.
.
Where ya going? Daniel says.
.
Nowhere, I say,
and we start going there
together.
.
A short trail cuts through beach grass—
grey-green blades
as long as my legs,
dancing
in the breeze.
(55) YA Fantasy: AGE OF THE GIFTED
TITLE: Age of the Gifted
GENRE: Young Adult Fantasy
With her newfound power, fifteen-year-old Shyla summons rains and saves her desert village. She ages five years overnight. Horrified, she vows never to use her power again. But she can’t keep it a secret. Soon she’s hunted by a king who wants to control her, rebels who plan to use her, and sick and dying people who long to be healed. When war breaks out, Shyla must decide if growing old is too high a price for peace.
Clutching a large water jar to my chest, I raced down Shalot’s dusty streets.
The twin suns’ blazing heat scorched my skin. Sweat soaked my kaftan. But still I ran, skirting people and skidding around corners. Finally, I stumbled out of the last twisty side street into the village’s largest bazaar. Ancient limestone shops surrounded the market. The mingled scents of curry, garlic, and hot pepper clogged the air.
People milled around the bazaar, but the area surrounding Shalot’s only well was empty. A warder in a stained white robe was moving a wooden lid back over the rock-rimmed structure.
I was too late.
“Wait!” I shifted my jar to the crook of my arm, ran forward, and grabbed the lid.
The warder pushed my hand aside. “Come back tomorrow, girl.”
“My family’s out of water.”
“Not my problem.”
“But our camels are dying.”
“If I don’t do my job, people die.” The warder slammed the lid in place.
I felt myself slump. I could still see our camel lying doubled over and twisted, her mouth gaping at the cloudless sky. Above her emaciated body, shadows had seemed to flicker like ominous flames. The odd vision should’ve scared me, but in some strange way, it had compelled me to try to save her. I’d spent the morning dribbling the last of our water down her throat and trying to make her stand.
But nothing had helped. I had to make the warder change his mind.
GENRE: Young Adult Fantasy
With her newfound power, fifteen-year-old Shyla summons rains and saves her desert village. She ages five years overnight. Horrified, she vows never to use her power again. But she can’t keep it a secret. Soon she’s hunted by a king who wants to control her, rebels who plan to use her, and sick and dying people who long to be healed. When war breaks out, Shyla must decide if growing old is too high a price for peace.
Clutching a large water jar to my chest, I raced down Shalot’s dusty streets.
The twin suns’ blazing heat scorched my skin. Sweat soaked my kaftan. But still I ran, skirting people and skidding around corners. Finally, I stumbled out of the last twisty side street into the village’s largest bazaar. Ancient limestone shops surrounded the market. The mingled scents of curry, garlic, and hot pepper clogged the air.
People milled around the bazaar, but the area surrounding Shalot’s only well was empty. A warder in a stained white robe was moving a wooden lid back over the rock-rimmed structure.
I was too late.
“Wait!” I shifted my jar to the crook of my arm, ran forward, and grabbed the lid.
The warder pushed my hand aside. “Come back tomorrow, girl.”
“My family’s out of water.”
“Not my problem.”
“But our camels are dying.”
“If I don’t do my job, people die.” The warder slammed the lid in place.
I felt myself slump. I could still see our camel lying doubled over and twisted, her mouth gaping at the cloudless sky. Above her emaciated body, shadows had seemed to flicker like ominous flames. The odd vision should’ve scared me, but in some strange way, it had compelled me to try to save her. I’d spent the morning dribbling the last of our water down her throat and trying to make her stand.
But nothing had helped. I had to make the warder change his mind.
(54) YA Romance: THE VIRTUE OF SIN
TITLE: The Virtue of Sin
GENRE: YA Romance
When her cult leader forces 16-year-old Miriam into marriage with a stranger, she's faced with an impossible decision: renounce her faith and her family or lose her one true love.
The girls never get a choice. This has always been the way in New Jerusalem, for as long as I've been alive and longer. My father chose my mother, a fact he seldom lets her forget. Now that I am sixteen, tonight it is my turn to be chosen. And though the very thought turns my insides liquid, it’s more from anticipation than fear.
My mother perches beside me on one of the low, hand-carved juniper benches the men have dragged from the Chapel out into the Mojave Desert. Tonight—and tonight only—we are allowed outside the high, concrete walls of the city. She holds out a plate piled with sticky rice, some slices of roast lamb, and a crumbling chunk of bread.
“You need to eat something.” She raises her voice to be heard above the music booming from big speakers into the open air; the same sound system that in less than an hour will be used to announce my future.
The smell of the charred meat churns my stomach. This is a feast compared to our daily meals, but I push it away.
“Ruth is over by the food station with Leah.” She points through the crowd, toward the fire in the distance. “They look as nervous as you. Perhaps more.”
“I’m not nervous.” My best friends are terrified of what tonight will bring. They don’t know who will choose them. But I have no reason to share their fear.
Still, my stomach lurches again as I turn away from my mother’s finger, toward the cave opening in the steep red rocks to our right. I’ve never been inside. Like most of our rituals, the men are free to attend, while the girls go only once, on their wedding night.
GENRE: YA Romance
When her cult leader forces 16-year-old Miriam into marriage with a stranger, she's faced with an impossible decision: renounce her faith and her family or lose her one true love.
The girls never get a choice. This has always been the way in New Jerusalem, for as long as I've been alive and longer. My father chose my mother, a fact he seldom lets her forget. Now that I am sixteen, tonight it is my turn to be chosen. And though the very thought turns my insides liquid, it’s more from anticipation than fear.
My mother perches beside me on one of the low, hand-carved juniper benches the men have dragged from the Chapel out into the Mojave Desert. Tonight—and tonight only—we are allowed outside the high, concrete walls of the city. She holds out a plate piled with sticky rice, some slices of roast lamb, and a crumbling chunk of bread.
“You need to eat something.” She raises her voice to be heard above the music booming from big speakers into the open air; the same sound system that in less than an hour will be used to announce my future.
The smell of the charred meat churns my stomach. This is a feast compared to our daily meals, but I push it away.
“Ruth is over by the food station with Leah.” She points through the crowd, toward the fire in the distance. “They look as nervous as you. Perhaps more.”
“I’m not nervous.” My best friends are terrified of what tonight will bring. They don’t know who will choose them. But I have no reason to share their fear.
Still, my stomach lurches again as I turn away from my mother’s finger, toward the cave opening in the steep red rocks to our right. I’ve never been inside. Like most of our rituals, the men are free to attend, while the girls go only once, on their wedding night.
(53) MG Contemporary: LAST CHANCE
TITLE: Last Chance
GENRE: MG Contemporary
Twelve year-old Journey and her rootless mama have only ever had each other and the open road. When their Winnebago breaks down in a dying town, Journey makes her first ever friend: a forgotten shut-in whose home stands in the way of the town’s only shot at survival. With her own future at stake, Journey has two choices: Save the house and kill the town, or save the town and destroy a life.
Weeds.
Weeds.
Weeds.
Roadkill!
I craned my neck to see what had died, but it was gone. I flung off my seatbelt, ignoring Mama’s “Hey now!” and raced through our Winnebago to peer out the back window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the corpse at the side of the road.
“Slow down!” I hollered. Mama obliged, stomping on the brake and sending me sprawling. The Ford that had been trying to pass us all morning swerved and kept going, horn wailing all the way. Mama let the engine die, then twisted in her seat to give me her Behave look.
“Journey Jones, what’d I say about running around in Born Free while we’re driving?”
“Don’t,” we said together.
“Sorry.” I scrambled to my feet and pressed my forehead against the rear window. Through the dust clouding the glass, I made out a small brown shape about fifty yards behind us.
“Can we back up a little?” I asked.
“No.”
“Just fifty feet?”
“Sit down, darlin’.”
I squinted hard as the wind from passing cars made a flattened, bottlebrush tail flap limply against the road. Satisfied, I made my way back to my seat, where Mama sat with her arms folded across the steering wheel.
“Can we go now?” Mama asked as I strapped myself in.
“Can we go back to Nashville instead?” I countered.
“You know I hate going back,” Mama said, and I sighed, ‘cause it was true. In my twelve years on the road, we’d only ever gone forward.
GENRE: MG Contemporary
Twelve year-old Journey and her rootless mama have only ever had each other and the open road. When their Winnebago breaks down in a dying town, Journey makes her first ever friend: a forgotten shut-in whose home stands in the way of the town’s only shot at survival. With her own future at stake, Journey has two choices: Save the house and kill the town, or save the town and destroy a life.
Weeds.
Weeds.
Weeds.
Roadkill!
I craned my neck to see what had died, but it was gone. I flung off my seatbelt, ignoring Mama’s “Hey now!” and raced through our Winnebago to peer out the back window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the corpse at the side of the road.
“Slow down!” I hollered. Mama obliged, stomping on the brake and sending me sprawling. The Ford that had been trying to pass us all morning swerved and kept going, horn wailing all the way. Mama let the engine die, then twisted in her seat to give me her Behave look.
“Journey Jones, what’d I say about running around in Born Free while we’re driving?”
“Don’t,” we said together.
“Sorry.” I scrambled to my feet and pressed my forehead against the rear window. Through the dust clouding the glass, I made out a small brown shape about fifty yards behind us.
“Can we back up a little?” I asked.
“No.”
“Just fifty feet?”
“Sit down, darlin’.”
I squinted hard as the wind from passing cars made a flattened, bottlebrush tail flap limply against the road. Satisfied, I made my way back to my seat, where Mama sat with her arms folded across the steering wheel.
“Can we go now?” Mama asked as I strapped myself in.
“Can we go back to Nashville instead?” I countered.
“You know I hate going back,” Mama said, and I sighed, ‘cause it was true. In my twelve years on the road, we’d only ever gone forward.
(52) YA Contemporary: NOWHERE TO BELONG
TITLE: Nowhere to Belong
GENRE: YA Contemporary
Recently orphaned Bailey Scott sucks at lying and has always been protected by her older brothers. Devastated when they're separated, she must now protect them by lying convincingly about the dangers she faces in her foster home, or risk permanent separation when the oldest turns eighteen: her ticket out.
I'd still be standing on the other side of the fence if Jake hadn't raced out of his doghouse, begging me to open the gate. Well, that and the fact that I was out of clean underwear.
After I grabbed our key from under the rock, my trembling hand stopped in front of the keyhole. Jake barked with anticipation, prancing back and forth behind me. I pushed the key into the hole, but couldn't bring myself to open the door.
Frozen in place, I pictured my mom on the other side. What would she be doing at this exact moment if she were here? I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the frosty door, imagining her emptying the dishwasher, wiping down the table and doing a hundred other insignificant things.
Jake whined, bringing me back to the present. Unclenching my fingers from the ice cold doorknob, I yanked the key out of the hole. I was not going into my house without my parents waiting on the other side of that door. Jake and I settled on the cold ground leaning against the porch steps--well, I leaned against the steps and Jake leaned against me.
"Jake, they're not here," I choked out.
He stiffened, looking up at me with anticipation.
"Buddy, you've g-got to understand," I sputtered. "Mom and Dad aren't coming back."
At the mention of their names, Jake bolted up the stairs and eagerly stared at the door, wagging his tail.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
Recently orphaned Bailey Scott sucks at lying and has always been protected by her older brothers. Devastated when they're separated, she must now protect them by lying convincingly about the dangers she faces in her foster home, or risk permanent separation when the oldest turns eighteen: her ticket out.
I'd still be standing on the other side of the fence if Jake hadn't raced out of his doghouse, begging me to open the gate. Well, that and the fact that I was out of clean underwear.
After I grabbed our key from under the rock, my trembling hand stopped in front of the keyhole. Jake barked with anticipation, prancing back and forth behind me. I pushed the key into the hole, but couldn't bring myself to open the door.
Frozen in place, I pictured my mom on the other side. What would she be doing at this exact moment if she were here? I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the frosty door, imagining her emptying the dishwasher, wiping down the table and doing a hundred other insignificant things.
Jake whined, bringing me back to the present. Unclenching my fingers from the ice cold doorknob, I yanked the key out of the hole. I was not going into my house without my parents waiting on the other side of that door. Jake and I settled on the cold ground leaning against the porch steps--well, I leaned against the steps and Jake leaned against me.
"Jake, they're not here," I choked out.
He stiffened, looking up at me with anticipation.
"Buddy, you've g-got to understand," I sputtered. "Mom and Dad aren't coming back."
At the mention of their names, Jake bolted up the stairs and eagerly stared at the door, wagging his tail.
(51) MG Contemporary: LOOKING FOR STARDUST
TITLE: Looking for Stardust
GENRE: MG Contemporary
While following a clue to find her missing dad, a twelve-year-old homeless girl, Sofia, and her momma end up in the desert. When Momma falls ill, Sofia believes it’s up to her to finish the search no matter the result, but in order to succeed, she’ll have to travel two hundred miles with little more than the survival skills Momma taught her.
Living in a hearse is just asking for trouble. It’s the reason Momma lost her job over at Vinnie’s Pizzeria. Seems folks didn’t like the idea of a hearse delivering their food. At least the car is roomy enough for Momma and me to stretch out in the back to sleep on account it’s made for carrying coffins. In the way, way back it’s got these curtains that can be pulled shut over the windows so it’s really dark, and there’s this stuff called crushed velvet covering the part they used to put the coffins on.
At first it was kind of creepy, sleeping in the same space where dead bodies once were. But then I told myself, “Sofia, it’s okay. You and those dead people aren’t much different.” I’m just as smelly as one of them. Truth is, sometimes I think those dead people are luckier than me. They don’t worry ’bout having enough to eat, how they’ll live the next day, or where they’ll sleep. Momma and me sleep in the back of the hearse, but I don’t sleep there every night. Momma and me trade off. Last night was her turn.
Normally she’s up by now, but for some reason she’s still asleep, even though the sun’s nearly all the way up. It’s too hot on mornings like this to hang around inside the hearse, so I pop open a can of beans and climb on top of the hood. Pity follows me, wagging his tail.
GENRE: MG Contemporary
While following a clue to find her missing dad, a twelve-year-old homeless girl, Sofia, and her momma end up in the desert. When Momma falls ill, Sofia believes it’s up to her to finish the search no matter the result, but in order to succeed, she’ll have to travel two hundred miles with little more than the survival skills Momma taught her.
Living in a hearse is just asking for trouble. It’s the reason Momma lost her job over at Vinnie’s Pizzeria. Seems folks didn’t like the idea of a hearse delivering their food. At least the car is roomy enough for Momma and me to stretch out in the back to sleep on account it’s made for carrying coffins. In the way, way back it’s got these curtains that can be pulled shut over the windows so it’s really dark, and there’s this stuff called crushed velvet covering the part they used to put the coffins on.
At first it was kind of creepy, sleeping in the same space where dead bodies once were. But then I told myself, “Sofia, it’s okay. You and those dead people aren’t much different.” I’m just as smelly as one of them. Truth is, sometimes I think those dead people are luckier than me. They don’t worry ’bout having enough to eat, how they’ll live the next day, or where they’ll sleep. Momma and me sleep in the back of the hearse, but I don’t sleep there every night. Momma and me trade off. Last night was her turn.
Normally she’s up by now, but for some reason she’s still asleep, even though the sun’s nearly all the way up. It’s too hot on mornings like this to hang around inside the hearse, so I pop open a can of beans and climb on top of the hood. Pity follows me, wagging his tail.
(50) YA Suspense: SUBMERGED
TITLE: Submerged
GENRE: YA Suspense
Desperate to find her best friend's killer, 17 year old Mindy Palmer unwittingly trusts the murderer, an obsessed psychopath she met in the Teenspeak chat room. If Mindy doesn't uncover the murderer's identity soon, she could be his next victim.
She was dying, couldn't breathe without oxygen. All he had to do was unplug the plastic tubing and disconnect the tank while she slept, so easy it made him laugh. Year 12 Biology - learning about the needs of living organisms hadn't been a complete waste of time.
Pulling out the oxygen line woke her, and she tried to raise herself in the bed. Her head flopped about like a dried up flower on a withered stem.
With a tissue, he wiped his prints from the line. Her body sagged, her mouth opened and groveled for air. In the old wicker chair next to the bed, he leaned back, his arms folded across his chest, watching, as if he were enjoying a favorite movie.
After her lips turned blue and she stopped twitching, he reconnected the oxygen, wiping for prints again.
He wasn't sure what to do next. He hadn't planned any of it, although he'd thought about it many times.
Today, the rage had built in him as he watched her sleep...and then it was done.
He had the urge to tell someone - let the world know who he really was. He turned on the computer, logged into the TeenSpeak chat room and checked to see who else was online.
The girl was there. His mouth went dry and he ran his tongue over salty lips. His heart beat faster. She was there...waiting. Almost as if she knew he needed her - that he had never been more ready.
GENRE: YA Suspense
Desperate to find her best friend's killer, 17 year old Mindy Palmer unwittingly trusts the murderer, an obsessed psychopath she met in the Teenspeak chat room. If Mindy doesn't uncover the murderer's identity soon, she could be his next victim.
She was dying, couldn't breathe without oxygen. All he had to do was unplug the plastic tubing and disconnect the tank while she slept, so easy it made him laugh. Year 12 Biology - learning about the needs of living organisms hadn't been a complete waste of time.
Pulling out the oxygen line woke her, and she tried to raise herself in the bed. Her head flopped about like a dried up flower on a withered stem.
With a tissue, he wiped his prints from the line. Her body sagged, her mouth opened and groveled for air. In the old wicker chair next to the bed, he leaned back, his arms folded across his chest, watching, as if he were enjoying a favorite movie.
After her lips turned blue and she stopped twitching, he reconnected the oxygen, wiping for prints again.
He wasn't sure what to do next. He hadn't planned any of it, although he'd thought about it many times.
Today, the rage had built in him as he watched her sleep...and then it was done.
He had the urge to tell someone - let the world know who he really was. He turned on the computer, logged into the TeenSpeak chat room and checked to see who else was online.
The girl was there. His mouth went dry and he ran his tongue over salty lips. His heart beat faster. She was there...waiting. Almost as if she knew he needed her - that he had never been more ready.
(49) YA Contemporary Fantasy: THE TASTE OF LIGHTNING
TITLE: THE TASTE OF LIGHTNING
GENRE: YA Contemporary Fantasy
Seventeen-year-old Pia Xun is so over being called spoiled brat and ching chong and psycho stalker. That last one’s thanks to the deity living in her body, who insists she follow around stupid Lauchlan McCrea for his protection or whatever. But when she learns what happens when Lauchlan's gone, she finally starts to take things seriously, nicknames be damned. Because Hell on Earth? Kind of a big deal.
I was standing in the newsagency pretending to browse a stack of glossy magazines when this middle-aged woman wandered up to me.
“Hello,” she said, loud and slow. “Can you –” she pointed at me, “– please help me?” She pointed at herself.
Possibly a few k’s short of a marathon.
I gave her my most patient smile. When she was sure she had my attention, she gestured out to the city street. People hurried past, not bothering to wait for the crosswalk signals as they ducked between cars and buses, their business outfits and school uniforms already sticky from the Australian summer heat. The scent of pastries and coffee wafted from the adjoining café, where Lauchy was downing an iced coffee with his precious posse. Dear old Metal Mouth was the reason I was stuck here this morning thumbing through magazines rather than lounging in bed.
“Can you tell me how to get to Raine Square?” the lady said. Still loud. Still slow. She was drawing attention. Soon Lauchy and his friends would notice me, and if that happened I would never shake the “psycho stalker” tag.
I set down my magazines and took her outside. “It’s a bit of a walk.” Didn’t think she got most of the instructions, but I tried anyway.
She beamed. “Thank you.” This time she spoke normally. “I didn’t realise you’d be so good at English until you opened your mouth.”
Wait.
What.
What the actual hell?
GENRE: YA Contemporary Fantasy
Seventeen-year-old Pia Xun is so over being called spoiled brat and ching chong and psycho stalker. That last one’s thanks to the deity living in her body, who insists she follow around stupid Lauchlan McCrea for his protection or whatever. But when she learns what happens when Lauchlan's gone, she finally starts to take things seriously, nicknames be damned. Because Hell on Earth? Kind of a big deal.
I was standing in the newsagency pretending to browse a stack of glossy magazines when this middle-aged woman wandered up to me.
“Hello,” she said, loud and slow. “Can you –” she pointed at me, “– please help me?” She pointed at herself.
Possibly a few k’s short of a marathon.
I gave her my most patient smile. When she was sure she had my attention, she gestured out to the city street. People hurried past, not bothering to wait for the crosswalk signals as they ducked between cars and buses, their business outfits and school uniforms already sticky from the Australian summer heat. The scent of pastries and coffee wafted from the adjoining café, where Lauchy was downing an iced coffee with his precious posse. Dear old Metal Mouth was the reason I was stuck here this morning thumbing through magazines rather than lounging in bed.
“Can you tell me how to get to Raine Square?” the lady said. Still loud. Still slow. She was drawing attention. Soon Lauchy and his friends would notice me, and if that happened I would never shake the “psycho stalker” tag.
I set down my magazines and took her outside. “It’s a bit of a walk.” Didn’t think she got most of the instructions, but I tried anyway.
She beamed. “Thank you.” This time she spoke normally. “I didn’t realise you’d be so good at English until you opened your mouth.”
Wait.
What.
What the actual hell?
(48) YA High Fantasy: THE DEMON PRINCE
TITLE: The Demon Prince
GENRE: YA High Fantasy
Ashira wishes for love, excitement, and adventure far from her desert village. When her coming-of-age prophecy states she will “live a life of no renown,” she becomes determined to change it, utilizing a lazy and cynical djinni. Her errant wishes trigger demon outbreaks and darker prophecies. Now, Ashira must contain the magic she unleashed before it destroys her world.
Ashira stared down the dirt road, longing for a glimpse of her future to form in the horizon like a heat vision. Instead of the endless sand of Saban, she would sail oceans. She would bask in the luxury of the northern kingdoms and master the magic there—fight past drakes and any other beast she could imagine with a brave and handsome man at her side. Find the forest fairies and even taste snow.
Camel groans and the stench of sweat reached her first. With her prophecy still days away, Ashira had to settle for dreams and vicarious adventures. She held the skirt of her sari away from her sandals as she moved from the village gate, weaving around the returning caravan. She tried to guess at their last stop, but nothing stood out among the cloth bags and worn baskets until she found Vaslin, the merchant’s daughter.
The girl had a light in her brown eyes that said she had a secret—a secret Ashira would have to spend most of the evening wheedling out of her.
Ashira swallowed past the dust in her throat. “Do you have a letter?”
“Let me think.” Vaslin pushed a stray lock of hair under her veil and sorted through her satchel with agonizing deliberation. “You’re expecting to hear from Isila?”
“Isila, Liaha, Jalila—it doesn’t matter. Do you have a letter or not?”
“Yes, I think . . . Jalila. That’s her mark, isn’t it?” She held a bundle of parchment just out of reach.
GENRE: YA High Fantasy
Ashira wishes for love, excitement, and adventure far from her desert village. When her coming-of-age prophecy states she will “live a life of no renown,” she becomes determined to change it, utilizing a lazy and cynical djinni. Her errant wishes trigger demon outbreaks and darker prophecies. Now, Ashira must contain the magic she unleashed before it destroys her world.
Ashira stared down the dirt road, longing for a glimpse of her future to form in the horizon like a heat vision. Instead of the endless sand of Saban, she would sail oceans. She would bask in the luxury of the northern kingdoms and master the magic there—fight past drakes and any other beast she could imagine with a brave and handsome man at her side. Find the forest fairies and even taste snow.
Camel groans and the stench of sweat reached her first. With her prophecy still days away, Ashira had to settle for dreams and vicarious adventures. She held the skirt of her sari away from her sandals as she moved from the village gate, weaving around the returning caravan. She tried to guess at their last stop, but nothing stood out among the cloth bags and worn baskets until she found Vaslin, the merchant’s daughter.
The girl had a light in her brown eyes that said she had a secret—a secret Ashira would have to spend most of the evening wheedling out of her.
Ashira swallowed past the dust in her throat. “Do you have a letter?”
“Let me think.” Vaslin pushed a stray lock of hair under her veil and sorted through her satchel with agonizing deliberation. “You’re expecting to hear from Isila?”
“Isila, Liaha, Jalila—it doesn’t matter. Do you have a letter or not?”
“Yes, I think . . . Jalila. That’s her mark, isn’t it?” She held a bundle of parchment just out of reach.
(47) YA Contemporary: STICK FIGURE
TITLE: Stick Figure
GENRE: YA Contemporary
When 16-year-old Elizabeth lands in an eating disorder clinic, she's determined to get out and win back her ex. But when anonymous gifts arrive in the mail, she’s forced to question everything she believes.
No one told me that when I got skinny I’d grow fur. Tiny translucent hairs, fine like white mink, appeared on my arms, legs, and face, giving me soft blond sideburns no girl should have. When I looked it up, the fur turned out to have a name—lanugo. Babies are born with it. Anorexics grow it.
My first thought? What a pain in the ass.
My second thought? So far, so good.
After all, I knew I had to suffer to be beautiful. Of all the things Mom said to me, I understood that this was true. If you wanted people to notice you, want you, admire you, envy you, want to be you, you had to sacrifice. Easy? No. But that’s why people called it suffering.
And even if all your suffering seemed to get you nowhere—well, nowhere except the Wallingfield Psychiatric Facility’s Residential Treatment Center, remember this: There is always success hidden in failure. After all, you might be locked away, but you’re still a size zero.
“I hate this hair.” I’d been at Wallingfield for exactly 21 days when I brought up my fur in group therapy. I don’t know why I chose that moment; maybe it was because the circle felt cozy that day, with the chairs pulled into a tight circle and our knees curled up to our chests to stay warm even though the baseboard heaters creaked and groaned all day.
Or maybe it was because I’d followed the rules, eaten my meals, and they were still there. I wanted to shave every single disgusting one off, except that a razor was sharp, and they didn’t let us have anything sharp at Wallingfield.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
When 16-year-old Elizabeth lands in an eating disorder clinic, she's determined to get out and win back her ex. But when anonymous gifts arrive in the mail, she’s forced to question everything she believes.
No one told me that when I got skinny I’d grow fur. Tiny translucent hairs, fine like white mink, appeared on my arms, legs, and face, giving me soft blond sideburns no girl should have. When I looked it up, the fur turned out to have a name—lanugo. Babies are born with it. Anorexics grow it.
My first thought? What a pain in the ass.
My second thought? So far, so good.
After all, I knew I had to suffer to be beautiful. Of all the things Mom said to me, I understood that this was true. If you wanted people to notice you, want you, admire you, envy you, want to be you, you had to sacrifice. Easy? No. But that’s why people called it suffering.
And even if all your suffering seemed to get you nowhere—well, nowhere except the Wallingfield Psychiatric Facility’s Residential Treatment Center, remember this: There is always success hidden in failure. After all, you might be locked away, but you’re still a size zero.
“I hate this hair.” I’d been at Wallingfield for exactly 21 days when I brought up my fur in group therapy. I don’t know why I chose that moment; maybe it was because the circle felt cozy that day, with the chairs pulled into a tight circle and our knees curled up to our chests to stay warm even though the baseboard heaters creaked and groaned all day.
Or maybe it was because I’d followed the rules, eaten my meals, and they were still there. I wanted to shave every single disgusting one off, except that a razor was sharp, and they didn’t let us have anything sharp at Wallingfield.
(46) YA Contemporary: THE MIND TAMER
TITLE: The Mind Tamer
GENRE: YA Contemporary
A teenage boy seeking to win back the love of his life develops telekinesis, only to discover a shadowy conspiracy of telekinetics that he alone can prevent from taking control of the world.
She walked into Biology as the bell rang but didn’t look at me.
She’d never done that before.
I closed my eyes. Rosie, I thought, look at me. But when I opened my eyes, she was talking to the girl behind her, oblivious to my mental plea.
Our teacher, Ms. Styborne, was reviewing the procedures for dissecting the frogs that had been delivered that morning.
“Matt,” she said. I looked up. “You and Pedro will pith the frogs, then distribute them to the teams.”
I nodded. We were her lab assistants, chosen because we’d do her dirty work. Our more squeamish classmates objected to certain procedures, so we had to perform them in the teacher’s lab, a small room behind the whiteboard at the front of the class.
Another glance at Rosie. She was staring at the wall, as if the Animal Kingdoms poster that had been there all year was suddenly fascinating. I scribbled a note: What’s up? I folded it, wrote a capital R on the outside, and passed it to the kid who sits next to me. It would pass through seven hands before reaching Rosie. Styborne had separated me and Rosie the first week in class. We figured Syborne, who lived alone, couldn’t stand seeing young couples in love.
Pedro and I walked toward the lab. He went through the door but I looked back. Rosie received my note but she didn’t unfold it. Instead, she wrote something on the outside and passed it back.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
A teenage boy seeking to win back the love of his life develops telekinesis, only to discover a shadowy conspiracy of telekinetics that he alone can prevent from taking control of the world.
She walked into Biology as the bell rang but didn’t look at me.
She’d never done that before.
I closed my eyes. Rosie, I thought, look at me. But when I opened my eyes, she was talking to the girl behind her, oblivious to my mental plea.
Our teacher, Ms. Styborne, was reviewing the procedures for dissecting the frogs that had been delivered that morning.
“Matt,” she said. I looked up. “You and Pedro will pith the frogs, then distribute them to the teams.”
I nodded. We were her lab assistants, chosen because we’d do her dirty work. Our more squeamish classmates objected to certain procedures, so we had to perform them in the teacher’s lab, a small room behind the whiteboard at the front of the class.
Another glance at Rosie. She was staring at the wall, as if the Animal Kingdoms poster that had been there all year was suddenly fascinating. I scribbled a note: What’s up? I folded it, wrote a capital R on the outside, and passed it to the kid who sits next to me. It would pass through seven hands before reaching Rosie. Styborne had separated me and Rosie the first week in class. We figured Syborne, who lived alone, couldn’t stand seeing young couples in love.
Pedro and I walked toward the lab. He went through the door but I looked back. Rosie received my note but she didn’t unfold it. Instead, she wrote something on the outside and passed it back.
(45) MG Historical Fiction: FREEDOM BOYS
TITLE: Freedom Boys
GENRE: MG Historical Fiction
After a perilous journey in 1848 from slavery in Mississippi to freedom in Liberia, thirteen-year-old Granville Woodson seeks an education, a real home, and a peaceful life without whippings and lynch mobs. When his friends die from the African Fever, he must battle his fear of snakes and critters, white men, and the indigenous people to search for medicine in the forest to save his sick mother and best friend.
A shiver shoots down my spine. Above me, owls hoot back and forth, regular as a tick-tock. As the sun rises, a dust devil whips up from the big house ruins and floats across the garden through Master's cemetery. It's coming direct at me and Gibson in the woods, swirling and sucking in more leaves till it's taller than a pillar. I grasp the rabbit's foot real tight--not that I'm scared or nothing.
When the dust devil smashes against an oak tree, it scatters bits clear over the slave cemetery. My stomach twists.
Gibson hops as if a ghost is blowing hot breath on his soles. "Granville, what're you waitin' for? Grab them belongings!"
"It's my fault y'all won't be leaving with us for Liberia. Please forgive me." I pluck up a string of cowry shells, a piece of gleaming plate, a ring carved from a horn, and a brass amulet from my friends' graves. "May God help y'all rest in peace, Amen." I scoop up a handful of cemetery dirt, in case of trouble.
We race downhill, cutting across the fields where the cotton bolls languish. Gibson lags behind me. I stop dead in my tracks and shout out, "Can't you run faster?"
A dog howls in the woods.
Brownie! That's trouble all right. Most nights, Mr. Stampley, the overseer, keeps the bloodhound tied up behind his cabin. By the time Gibson stumbles next to me, the barking's louder than my thumping heart.
GENRE: MG Historical Fiction
After a perilous journey in 1848 from slavery in Mississippi to freedom in Liberia, thirteen-year-old Granville Woodson seeks an education, a real home, and a peaceful life without whippings and lynch mobs. When his friends die from the African Fever, he must battle his fear of snakes and critters, white men, and the indigenous people to search for medicine in the forest to save his sick mother and best friend.
A shiver shoots down my spine. Above me, owls hoot back and forth, regular as a tick-tock. As the sun rises, a dust devil whips up from the big house ruins and floats across the garden through Master's cemetery. It's coming direct at me and Gibson in the woods, swirling and sucking in more leaves till it's taller than a pillar. I grasp the rabbit's foot real tight--not that I'm scared or nothing.
When the dust devil smashes against an oak tree, it scatters bits clear over the slave cemetery. My stomach twists.
Gibson hops as if a ghost is blowing hot breath on his soles. "Granville, what're you waitin' for? Grab them belongings!"
"It's my fault y'all won't be leaving with us for Liberia. Please forgive me." I pluck up a string of cowry shells, a piece of gleaming plate, a ring carved from a horn, and a brass amulet from my friends' graves. "May God help y'all rest in peace, Amen." I scoop up a handful of cemetery dirt, in case of trouble.
We race downhill, cutting across the fields where the cotton bolls languish. Gibson lags behind me. I stop dead in my tracks and shout out, "Can't you run faster?"
A dog howls in the woods.
Brownie! That's trouble all right. Most nights, Mr. Stampley, the overseer, keeps the bloodhound tied up behind his cabin. By the time Gibson stumbles next to me, the barking's louder than my thumping heart.
(44) MG Literary: NIXIE IN THE CENTER
TITLE: Nixie in the Center
GENRE: MG Literary
Twelve year-old Nixie has no friends, her sister hates her, and having dysgraphia makes everyone think she’s stupid. When a deaf dog runs wild through her town, disrupting a funeral and crashing pool parties, Nixie thinks training the dog could prove she’s more than her learning disability. But with animal control, mean girls and her own mother standing in her way, how can Nixie save an unwanted dog no one believes can learn?
When I was little, Mama told me that my name--Nixie--means “water sprite.” A water sprite is a fairy that lives in the water, so for a few years I wore a tutu when I went swimming. But when I was in second grade (for the first time), I found out the real meaning of “nixie.” It’s bad, and the worst thing is, it fits me perfectly.
It was spring and Mama had sent me to the post office because she wasn’t going anywhere with her stomach as big as it was, carrying what I hoped was a baby sister. Mama had been having so much indigestion, which she never did with me or my big sister Trilby, that she was thinking it was a boy. I thought her burping was because of the bratwurst and hot sauce she had been craving.
“It’s a nixie!” I heard an unfamiliar voice say from behind the post office counter.
“Yup, it’s a-me!” I said, shaking the spring’s rain off my red boots.
“What?” the man asked.
“It’s a-me! Nixie!” I said again, reaching for one of the Tootsie Rolls in the little dish on the counter. I squinted at the man. “Hey, how’d you know my name?”
“Oh!” he laughed and put an envelope up on the counter. “No. I meant this “nixie.” Look here.” The corners of his eyes had what Mama calls crows’ feet. They looked like lots of little smiles. “See how you can’t read the address?”
GENRE: MG Literary
Twelve year-old Nixie has no friends, her sister hates her, and having dysgraphia makes everyone think she’s stupid. When a deaf dog runs wild through her town, disrupting a funeral and crashing pool parties, Nixie thinks training the dog could prove she’s more than her learning disability. But with animal control, mean girls and her own mother standing in her way, how can Nixie save an unwanted dog no one believes can learn?
When I was little, Mama told me that my name--Nixie--means “water sprite.” A water sprite is a fairy that lives in the water, so for a few years I wore a tutu when I went swimming. But when I was in second grade (for the first time), I found out the real meaning of “nixie.” It’s bad, and the worst thing is, it fits me perfectly.
It was spring and Mama had sent me to the post office because she wasn’t going anywhere with her stomach as big as it was, carrying what I hoped was a baby sister. Mama had been having so much indigestion, which she never did with me or my big sister Trilby, that she was thinking it was a boy. I thought her burping was because of the bratwurst and hot sauce she had been craving.
“It’s a nixie!” I heard an unfamiliar voice say from behind the post office counter.
“Yup, it’s a-me!” I said, shaking the spring’s rain off my red boots.
“What?” the man asked.
“It’s a-me! Nixie!” I said again, reaching for one of the Tootsie Rolls in the little dish on the counter. I squinted at the man. “Hey, how’d you know my name?”
“Oh!” he laughed and put an envelope up on the counter. “No. I meant this “nixie.” Look here.” The corners of his eyes had what Mama calls crows’ feet. They looked like lots of little smiles. “See how you can’t read the address?”
(43) YA/thriller: DEAD SILENCE
TITLE: Dead Silence
GENRE: YA/thriller
A pandemic sweeps the globe and Hawaii loses contact with the rest of the world. A teenage girl learns her father has the antidote . . . but he’s missing. She must find him before the airborne virus reaches the islands.
Friday, December 12, 2025
The day the world fell silent, I sat in Basic Chinese, a class I was going to fail. Again. Chinese would be my doom. It was a required course in Hawaii, so I had to pass.
Fat chance.
Millions of Chinese babies learned the language without any trouble, but here I was, a reasonably intelligent tenth grader falling further and further behind.
While the teacher scanned the room for someone to torture, I scrunched down behind a boy the size of a Sumo wrestler. His bulk hid me from Mrs. Wu and spared me the humiliation of responding to questions I couldn’t answer.
Beyond the classroom walls, surf pounded and called me to the beach. It was wrong, flat out wrong, to trap me here when I could be windsurfing or snorkeling or jogging on the beach.
And I was supposed to care about Chinese?
Mrs. Wu left her desk. Like a shark circling its victims, she stalked down one row and up the next and asked students random questions.
Not me, not me, I inwardly chanted. Pick someone else. Anyone else.
She stopped in front of Tiffany Warrick and smiled with all the warmth of a cobra. “Zhè shì shénme?” She held up a book.
What is this? That was an easy one. Even I knew the answer.
“Zhè shì shū,” Tiffany said without hesitation.
Mrs. Wu gave a swift nod, but no praise. She interrogated other students, but luckily, I escaped her attention. Hands laced behind her back, she returned to her desk.
Relief rushed through me. The inquisition was over.
Mrs. Wu pivoted. Her gaze burned a path straight to me.
GENRE: YA/thriller
A pandemic sweeps the globe and Hawaii loses contact with the rest of the world. A teenage girl learns her father has the antidote . . . but he’s missing. She must find him before the airborne virus reaches the islands.
Friday, December 12, 2025
The day the world fell silent, I sat in Basic Chinese, a class I was going to fail. Again. Chinese would be my doom. It was a required course in Hawaii, so I had to pass.
Fat chance.
Millions of Chinese babies learned the language without any trouble, but here I was, a reasonably intelligent tenth grader falling further and further behind.
While the teacher scanned the room for someone to torture, I scrunched down behind a boy the size of a Sumo wrestler. His bulk hid me from Mrs. Wu and spared me the humiliation of responding to questions I couldn’t answer.
Beyond the classroom walls, surf pounded and called me to the beach. It was wrong, flat out wrong, to trap me here when I could be windsurfing or snorkeling or jogging on the beach.
And I was supposed to care about Chinese?
Mrs. Wu left her desk. Like a shark circling its victims, she stalked down one row and up the next and asked students random questions.
Not me, not me, I inwardly chanted. Pick someone else. Anyone else.
She stopped in front of Tiffany Warrick and smiled with all the warmth of a cobra. “Zhè shì shénme?” She held up a book.
What is this? That was an easy one. Even I knew the answer.
“Zhè shì shū,” Tiffany said without hesitation.
Mrs. Wu gave a swift nod, but no praise. She interrogated other students, but luckily, I escaped her attention. Hands laced behind her back, she returned to her desk.
Relief rushed through me. The inquisition was over.
Mrs. Wu pivoted. Her gaze burned a path straight to me.
(42) YA Fantasy Romance: BELLA AND THE CURSE
TITLE: Bella and The Curse
GENRE: YA Fantasy Romance
Aquila, future queen of Alogo, needs shape-shifters in order to save her country from a cursed plague. Her only option: marry a man whose secret could kill her. Especially if she falls for him.
Aquila
Aquila Katharros, eldest Princess of Alogo, stared at the portrait.
The King of Leontaria definitely lived up to the myths surrounding his name. It wasn’t what his people called him—The Kind King—that she could comment on, since for that she didn’t know one way or the other. But as for other more physical descriptions…well, for those, Aquila could find no exaggeration.
Seated atop a horse, he was dressed in rich velvets, a fur cloak, and heavy jeweled chains—clothing fit for no less than a king. With wide shoulders, a lean waist and muscular arms, his body would have been the focal point—perfectly formed as it was—if he had not had that face to accompany it. It was a face of legends: deep-set blue eyes, a prominent nose and full lips. And a scar running from ear to chin, cutting through a close-shaven beard. Those imperfect features—features that could have easily been smoothed with the touch of cream paint—combined to shape a face that Aquila found hard to tear her eyes from.
Her future husband.
Aquila’s stomach churned at the thought.
She could no longer even count the amount of times she had looked at the portrait. Still, she couldn’t quite understand what it said about the king that he left his features so raw. Her own mother had personally hovered over the palace painter until her face was flawless. Perhaps like her, he did not really care for the marriage. Or perhaps his head was simply too big.
GENRE: YA Fantasy Romance
Aquila, future queen of Alogo, needs shape-shifters in order to save her country from a cursed plague. Her only option: marry a man whose secret could kill her. Especially if she falls for him.
Aquila
Aquila Katharros, eldest Princess of Alogo, stared at the portrait.
The King of Leontaria definitely lived up to the myths surrounding his name. It wasn’t what his people called him—The Kind King—that she could comment on, since for that she didn’t know one way or the other. But as for other more physical descriptions…well, for those, Aquila could find no exaggeration.
Seated atop a horse, he was dressed in rich velvets, a fur cloak, and heavy jeweled chains—clothing fit for no less than a king. With wide shoulders, a lean waist and muscular arms, his body would have been the focal point—perfectly formed as it was—if he had not had that face to accompany it. It was a face of legends: deep-set blue eyes, a prominent nose and full lips. And a scar running from ear to chin, cutting through a close-shaven beard. Those imperfect features—features that could have easily been smoothed with the touch of cream paint—combined to shape a face that Aquila found hard to tear her eyes from.
Her future husband.
Aquila’s stomach churned at the thought.
She could no longer even count the amount of times she had looked at the portrait. Still, she couldn’t quite understand what it said about the king that he left his features so raw. Her own mother had personally hovered over the palace painter until her face was flawless. Perhaps like her, he did not really care for the marriage. Or perhaps his head was simply too big.
(41) YA Fantasy: THE MEMORY THIEF
TITLE: The Memory Thief
GENRE: YA Fantasy
In the city of Craewick, where talents and memories are bought and sold, seventeen-year-old memory thief Etta Lark returns to the world of theft she left behind—the black market of memories—to complete the greatest heist of her life and save her comatose mother’s memories from the auction block.
When I see the letter nailed to my front door, I know something is terribly wrong. The envelope is covered in fancy handwriting and sealed with a wax stamp the color of dried blood. I don’t wonder who it’s from, because only the Blinders use gold ink—and they never send good news.
I shove the letter under my cloak, hoping no one on the crowded streets has seen what the Blinders, the city’s peacekeepers, sent me. My hands tremble so badly that it takes me a few tries to get my key into the lock. Once I’m inside, I twist the iron handle, which is cold as ice in my palm, and shut the door to my apartment. As a chill works its way to my bones, I pull my cloak closer around my body. My throat tightens at the warm scents of honey and lilac buried in the wool. The last time my mother wore this was the day before she entered the asylum, almost four years ago. Somehow, it still smells like her.
A knock on the door jolts me.
“Etta? It’s Klive.”
The door opens slightly, bumping into my back as he slips inside. Even in the dim light, the bruise blooming near his left eye is hard to miss. His lip is cracked and bloody, too. I’m not surprised he’s beaten up. He’s spent the last few hours hauling criminals from the Maze into the city with his regiment.
After all, it’s Auction Day.
GENRE: YA Fantasy
In the city of Craewick, where talents and memories are bought and sold, seventeen-year-old memory thief Etta Lark returns to the world of theft she left behind—the black market of memories—to complete the greatest heist of her life and save her comatose mother’s memories from the auction block.
When I see the letter nailed to my front door, I know something is terribly wrong. The envelope is covered in fancy handwriting and sealed with a wax stamp the color of dried blood. I don’t wonder who it’s from, because only the Blinders use gold ink—and they never send good news.
I shove the letter under my cloak, hoping no one on the crowded streets has seen what the Blinders, the city’s peacekeepers, sent me. My hands tremble so badly that it takes me a few tries to get my key into the lock. Once I’m inside, I twist the iron handle, which is cold as ice in my palm, and shut the door to my apartment. As a chill works its way to my bones, I pull my cloak closer around my body. My throat tightens at the warm scents of honey and lilac buried in the wool. The last time my mother wore this was the day before she entered the asylum, almost four years ago. Somehow, it still smells like her.
A knock on the door jolts me.
“Etta? It’s Klive.”
The door opens slightly, bumping into my back as he slips inside. Even in the dim light, the bruise blooming near his left eye is hard to miss. His lip is cracked and bloody, too. I’m not surprised he’s beaten up. He’s spent the last few hours hauling criminals from the Maze into the city with his regiment.
After all, it’s Auction Day.
(40) MG Light Fantasy: THE LAPRAN LINK
TITLE: The Lapran Link
GENRE: MG Light Fantasy
PITCH: Eleven-year-old Jennifer accepts a mysterious neighbor’s invitation to time travel, hoping to meet her father, who died when she was a baby, and possibly prevent his death. But when the two friends inadvertently alter history, erasing their world, Jennifer must risk her life trying to save both her world and her dad – if she can find him.
From the front gate, you couldn’t see the house, just the long driveway winding through the trees. But when you stepped in a bit and followed the drive, as Jennifer did every day on her way home from school, you caught sight of the mansion, proud and glistening white against the hillside.
The Randolph estate, it was called. Raa-an-dolph. Jennifer loved the way the sound rolled over the roof of her mouth. Lord and Lady Randolph, she fancied. Except they didn’t have lords and ladies in California.
As far as Jennifer knew, no one had ever seen the occupant of the house, but there was lots of speculation in her neighborhood of modest homes. Some said it was a young woman who had been deformed in a terrible accident and didn’t want to be seen. Others swore it was a notorious criminal in hiding. Kids, whispering of ghosts, shunned the house. All except Jennifer.
She’d often climbed the back wall of the estate to watch the swans there. And she’d wandered the rooms countless times in her mind, imagining Persian carpets…crystal chandeliers…winding staircases…and a life of infinite possibilities far removed from her own. But she had only ventured up the driveway in the past month when she’d started sixth grade. Her walk home took her by the main entrance where the towering gates always stood open, inviting her in. It wasn’t really trespassing. After all, they were practically neighbors.
GENRE: MG Light Fantasy
PITCH: Eleven-year-old Jennifer accepts a mysterious neighbor’s invitation to time travel, hoping to meet her father, who died when she was a baby, and possibly prevent his death. But when the two friends inadvertently alter history, erasing their world, Jennifer must risk her life trying to save both her world and her dad – if she can find him.
From the front gate, you couldn’t see the house, just the long driveway winding through the trees. But when you stepped in a bit and followed the drive, as Jennifer did every day on her way home from school, you caught sight of the mansion, proud and glistening white against the hillside.
The Randolph estate, it was called. Raa-an-dolph. Jennifer loved the way the sound rolled over the roof of her mouth. Lord and Lady Randolph, she fancied. Except they didn’t have lords and ladies in California.
As far as Jennifer knew, no one had ever seen the occupant of the house, but there was lots of speculation in her neighborhood of modest homes. Some said it was a young woman who had been deformed in a terrible accident and didn’t want to be seen. Others swore it was a notorious criminal in hiding. Kids, whispering of ghosts, shunned the house. All except Jennifer.
She’d often climbed the back wall of the estate to watch the swans there. And she’d wandered the rooms countless times in her mind, imagining Persian carpets…crystal chandeliers…winding staircases…and a life of infinite possibilities far removed from her own. But she had only ventured up the driveway in the past month when she’d started sixth grade. Her walk home took her by the main entrance where the towering gates always stood open, inviting her in. It wasn’t really trespassing. After all, they were practically neighbors.
(39) YA Fantasy: DARK CORE
TITLE: DARK CORE
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Reincarnation's a bigger bitch than the goddess hell-bent on killing Saekina, but if she doesn't find a way to defeat an immortal, this life could be her last.
Saekina tucked into the darkness.
Moon orbs lined the cracked, cobbled streets, their weak glow casting long, crawling shadows along the barren buildings.
No one was coming. Good.
She ducked into the alley near the hotel’s rusted door, and passed dumpsters overflowing with rotted food and used magical charms. She ignored the repugnant scent—she’d smelled worse.
Saekina brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Even at this time of night the heat clung to her skin, creating a layer of sweat. Then again, even the cooler seasons in Dennin were sweltering.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her hunger. But after tonight, she'd be able to eat for days. Information on slavers never failed to earn at least a gold coin. Bounty hunters would rip each other apart for the info.
Saekina cast a few furtive glances towards the end of the alley before pulling the dented door open. She shuffled past the hotel’s owner.
He looked up from behind his desk with a bored expression. He scratched at his balding head, dandruff flakes spilling onto his shoulders. "You again.”
Saekina slipped him the usual payment. He’d invested a lot in making his hotel safe for less-than-legal operations. Plenty of back entrances and large vents hidden by glamours. I’ll have to drop this place before he gets figured out. I don’t want to be here when people realize he’s playing both sides. “We good?”
He counted the coins before adding them to his purse. "As long as the money keeps coming."
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Reincarnation's a bigger bitch than the goddess hell-bent on killing Saekina, but if she doesn't find a way to defeat an immortal, this life could be her last.
Saekina tucked into the darkness.
Moon orbs lined the cracked, cobbled streets, their weak glow casting long, crawling shadows along the barren buildings.
No one was coming. Good.
She ducked into the alley near the hotel’s rusted door, and passed dumpsters overflowing with rotted food and used magical charms. She ignored the repugnant scent—she’d smelled worse.
Saekina brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Even at this time of night the heat clung to her skin, creating a layer of sweat. Then again, even the cooler seasons in Dennin were sweltering.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her hunger. But after tonight, she'd be able to eat for days. Information on slavers never failed to earn at least a gold coin. Bounty hunters would rip each other apart for the info.
Saekina cast a few furtive glances towards the end of the alley before pulling the dented door open. She shuffled past the hotel’s owner.
He looked up from behind his desk with a bored expression. He scratched at his balding head, dandruff flakes spilling onto his shoulders. "You again.”
Saekina slipped him the usual payment. He’d invested a lot in making his hotel safe for less-than-legal operations. Plenty of back entrances and large vents hidden by glamours. I’ll have to drop this place before he gets figured out. I don’t want to be here when people realize he’s playing both sides. “We good?”
He counted the coins before adding them to his purse. "As long as the money keeps coming."
(38) YA Science Fiction: ULTRA/VIOLET
TITLE: ULTRA/VIOLET
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
15-year-old scientist Violet is lonely living in a dome lab on her own island until a cosmic event gives her the power to create the lab assistants she always wanted–a brilliant green cat and a morphing human. But when 3 men appear with plans to mine her island’s rare minerals, Violet must make them leave or else she, her new family and her island will be destroyed.
Violet paced under the transparent ceiling in her bedroom, wishing the sun would sink faster. In 35 minutes and 42 seconds it would be cool enough for them to go. She untied the knot of hair on top of her head and retied it with nervous excitement. This was the first time she was going to climb the Globe. On the outside. It was a dangerous prospect, but worth it.
If she could fix the Globes, they would save countless gallons of water that was crucial to their existence on the island. It would also mean winning the respect of her mother, and coming closer to entering the shadowy realm of female scientists that her mother ruled.
“Violet?”
Her mother’s voice filled the bedroom.
Violet ran down the hall to the spiral staircase that looked like the DNA double helix.
She was waiting for Violet in her lab. “Do you want to go in the Agri-Dome for one more practice run?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“No, I’m ready,” Violet said confidently. She had tested the invention so many times that she’d filled an entire notebook with the results.
Her mother straightened and smoothed her white lab coat. “Let’s begin,” she said, her voice suddenly official. “What is the question that created the invention?”
Violet took a deep breath and wiped her sweaty palms on her lab coat. “My question was, 'How can I make the cracks on the Globe easier to repair?'”
“Define ‘easier’,” her mother instructed.
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
15-year-old scientist Violet is lonely living in a dome lab on her own island until a cosmic event gives her the power to create the lab assistants she always wanted–a brilliant green cat and a morphing human. But when 3 men appear with plans to mine her island’s rare minerals, Violet must make them leave or else she, her new family and her island will be destroyed.
Violet paced under the transparent ceiling in her bedroom, wishing the sun would sink faster. In 35 minutes and 42 seconds it would be cool enough for them to go. She untied the knot of hair on top of her head and retied it with nervous excitement. This was the first time she was going to climb the Globe. On the outside. It was a dangerous prospect, but worth it.
If she could fix the Globes, they would save countless gallons of water that was crucial to their existence on the island. It would also mean winning the respect of her mother, and coming closer to entering the shadowy realm of female scientists that her mother ruled.
“Violet?”
Her mother’s voice filled the bedroom.
Violet ran down the hall to the spiral staircase that looked like the DNA double helix.
She was waiting for Violet in her lab. “Do you want to go in the Agri-Dome for one more practice run?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“No, I’m ready,” Violet said confidently. She had tested the invention so many times that she’d filled an entire notebook with the results.
Her mother straightened and smoothed her white lab coat. “Let’s begin,” she said, her voice suddenly official. “What is the question that created the invention?”
Violet took a deep breath and wiped her sweaty palms on her lab coat. “My question was, 'How can I make the cracks on the Globe easier to repair?'”
“Define ‘easier’,” her mother instructed.
(37) MG Contemporary Fantasy: FIX YOUR LIFE!
TITLE: Fix Your Life!
GENRE: Contemporary Fantasy
Thirteen-year-old Megan wishes she could ditch her family. She’s stuck in the middle between her over-achieving big brother and insufferably cute baby sister, and all she gets from her parents is NO. Then the producers of the reality show, Fix Your Life!, steal her super-secret-do-not-read-on-pain-of-death journal and grant her wish. Poof—her family disappears. Megan has seven days to solve a series of clues to bring them back or they’ll be gone forever.
My father flaps a sheet of neon pink paper at me. “What is this, Megan?”
Ambushed. One more step and I would have been out the door.
“How should I know? I can’t see it while you’re waving it in my face.” I’m lying. I know what it is. If the color didn’t give it away, the strips I’d cut into the bottom and written my cell number on would have.
“Don’t be rude young lady.” He holds the paper between his thumb and index finger like it’s something gross. “I don’t recall giving you permission to sell your flute.”
I knew he’d be mad, so I’d figured out my defense ahead of time. “It was mine! You gave it to me.”
“I bought it for you to learn how to play. Musical instruments are not currency in this house. I forbid you to sell it.”
Too late. A lady saw my flyer in the library last week and called. She gave me a hundred dollars for it. That was how much more I needed to buy my new Trek bike, which I’d already done.
“It was mine,” I repeat. I said I had a defense. I didn’t say it was fancy.
Dad was slow, but he wasn’t dumb. “You already sold it, didn’t you?”
“Can we talk about this later? I’m going to be late for school.” I open the door at the same time hoping he’ll say yes. If I’m late one more time it’s detention city.
GENRE: Contemporary Fantasy
Thirteen-year-old Megan wishes she could ditch her family. She’s stuck in the middle between her over-achieving big brother and insufferably cute baby sister, and all she gets from her parents is NO. Then the producers of the reality show, Fix Your Life!, steal her super-secret-do-not-read-on-pain-of-death journal and grant her wish. Poof—her family disappears. Megan has seven days to solve a series of clues to bring them back or they’ll be gone forever.
My father flaps a sheet of neon pink paper at me. “What is this, Megan?”
Ambushed. One more step and I would have been out the door.
“How should I know? I can’t see it while you’re waving it in my face.” I’m lying. I know what it is. If the color didn’t give it away, the strips I’d cut into the bottom and written my cell number on would have.
“Don’t be rude young lady.” He holds the paper between his thumb and index finger like it’s something gross. “I don’t recall giving you permission to sell your flute.”
I knew he’d be mad, so I’d figured out my defense ahead of time. “It was mine! You gave it to me.”
“I bought it for you to learn how to play. Musical instruments are not currency in this house. I forbid you to sell it.”
Too late. A lady saw my flyer in the library last week and called. She gave me a hundred dollars for it. That was how much more I needed to buy my new Trek bike, which I’d already done.
“It was mine,” I repeat. I said I had a defense. I didn’t say it was fancy.
Dad was slow, but he wasn’t dumb. “You already sold it, didn’t you?”
“Can we talk about this later? I’m going to be late for school.” I open the door at the same time hoping he’ll say yes. If I’m late one more time it’s detention city.
(36)YA Supernatural: THIRD TIME'S A CURSE
TITLE: Third Time's A Curse
GENRE: YA Supernatural
When fifteen-year-old competitive softball pitcher Tish Reilly and her friends investigate a haunted road, they uncover two bitter ghosts and a long buried secret. While juggling a control-freak mother, a taunting rival, and dating her best friend’s brother, Tish must find a way to help the ghosts move on or they’ll all end up on the losing team of a deadly game.
Some girls you wanted to bean in the head. The girl crowding home plate was one of them. She stood tall, bat at the ready with a cocky leer on her face, skinny as a splinter and just as annoying. I’d faced knockoffs like her all summer long, taunting rivals with long blonde ponytails. I hated long blonde ponytails.
As satisfying as it would be, a softball-sized goose egg wouldn’t win the game. One more strike would.
Brandon’s voice crackled out of the PA system. “This is it folks. We’re coming down to the last play of the gaaaame.” He knew how to work the crowd. “Tish Reilly on the mound for the Stonecutters. Full count. One more strike and the Stonecutters are Chippewa Valley Chaaaampions.”
I adjusted my hat against the blistering August sun, tilted the bill a bit lower to cut the glare. Ponytail was good, I’d give her that. With two hits today, she was looking for a third.
Over my dead body.
Feet planted into the pitcher’s mound, I curled my fingers around the softball nestled in my glove. The game was in my hands, not hers.
GENRE: YA Supernatural
When fifteen-year-old competitive softball pitcher Tish Reilly and her friends investigate a haunted road, they uncover two bitter ghosts and a long buried secret. While juggling a control-freak mother, a taunting rival, and dating her best friend’s brother, Tish must find a way to help the ghosts move on or they’ll all end up on the losing team of a deadly game.
Some girls you wanted to bean in the head. The girl crowding home plate was one of them. She stood tall, bat at the ready with a cocky leer on her face, skinny as a splinter and just as annoying. I’d faced knockoffs like her all summer long, taunting rivals with long blonde ponytails. I hated long blonde ponytails.
As satisfying as it would be, a softball-sized goose egg wouldn’t win the game. One more strike would.
Brandon’s voice crackled out of the PA system. “This is it folks. We’re coming down to the last play of the gaaaame.” He knew how to work the crowd. “Tish Reilly on the mound for the Stonecutters. Full count. One more strike and the Stonecutters are Chippewa Valley Chaaaampions.”
I adjusted my hat against the blistering August sun, tilted the bill a bit lower to cut the glare. Ponytail was good, I’d give her that. With two hits today, she was looking for a third.
Over my dead body.
Feet planted into the pitcher’s mound, I curled my fingers around the softball nestled in my glove. The game was in my hands, not hers.
(35) YA Science Fiction Romance: CHASING A STARLIGHT
TITLE: CHASING A STARLIGHT
GENRE: YA SF Romance
Eighteen-year-old Skye Reilly has life all planned out. She got into her top choice school, and she's dating her long-time crush. But when an alien spaceship lands on the lawns of the Washington Monument, falling in love with Ethan, an alluring Celeian, is definitely not in her plans. Neither is meddling with the aliens' secret plot to conquer Earth- or becoming a threat that must be eradicated.
A perfect first date is supposed to end in a perfect first kiss. My first date with Taylor Manning ended with the beginning of the end of the human race.
Just then, though, sitting next to him on a picnic blanket under the moonlight with the nerves bouncing around my stomach like tiny rubber balls, the fate of humankind was the last thing on my mind.
"I hope you like this place." Taylor leaned in closer, gently pulling out a leaf that must have gotten caught in my hair.
Warmth flushed my cheeks. I'd been crushing on him since the beginning of senior year, now only two months away from graduation, he'd finally asked me out.
Hoping he couldn't see the color spreading through my face, I turned my head toward the majestic Corinthian columns of the National Arboretum. Their image reflected in the dark waters of the pond they overlooked. "Are you kidding? It's absolutely beautiful. I've never been here at night. The tour and the picnic....It's all really amazing."
Taylor had arranged a private tour for us. Not something they did for just anyone, but his family was D.C. elite. My family? Not so much. "I guess it's good to be a Capitol Hill brat, huh?"
He grinned, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. "It has its perks."
My face grew warmer under his touch. The tips of his fingers traveled from my jaw up to my lips, and a tremble went up and down my spine.
GENRE: YA SF Romance
Eighteen-year-old Skye Reilly has life all planned out. She got into her top choice school, and she's dating her long-time crush. But when an alien spaceship lands on the lawns of the Washington Monument, falling in love with Ethan, an alluring Celeian, is definitely not in her plans. Neither is meddling with the aliens' secret plot to conquer Earth- or becoming a threat that must be eradicated.
A perfect first date is supposed to end in a perfect first kiss. My first date with Taylor Manning ended with the beginning of the end of the human race.
Just then, though, sitting next to him on a picnic blanket under the moonlight with the nerves bouncing around my stomach like tiny rubber balls, the fate of humankind was the last thing on my mind.
"I hope you like this place." Taylor leaned in closer, gently pulling out a leaf that must have gotten caught in my hair.
Warmth flushed my cheeks. I'd been crushing on him since the beginning of senior year, now only two months away from graduation, he'd finally asked me out.
Hoping he couldn't see the color spreading through my face, I turned my head toward the majestic Corinthian columns of the National Arboretum. Their image reflected in the dark waters of the pond they overlooked. "Are you kidding? It's absolutely beautiful. I've never been here at night. The tour and the picnic....It's all really amazing."
Taylor had arranged a private tour for us. Not something they did for just anyone, but his family was D.C. elite. My family? Not so much. "I guess it's good to be a Capitol Hill brat, huh?"
He grinned, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. "It has its perks."
My face grew warmer under his touch. The tips of his fingers traveled from my jaw up to my lips, and a tremble went up and down my spine.
(34) YA Contemporary: THE FAN GENE
TITLE: The Fan Gene
GENRE: YA Contemporary
What happens when a 16-year-old superfan and the actor she’s obsessed with meet in New York City psychiatrist’s office? He's there as a patient. She's the afternoon receptionist…a job she has because her mother is the psychiatrist.
It was 3:15 and the 3:00 still hadn’t showed - a woman in her thirties who’s been Mom’s patient for over a year to deal with her chronic lateness. Personally, I think she should get her money back.
I looked at the white door just past my desk with the large DR. FOX: NOT IN SESSION sign. Those words mean that Mom can wander out at any moment, looking to chat or spy. I’d already collated a stack of insurance forms, put a new toner cartridge in the printer, rinsed out all the coffee mugs, and thrown away the four Snickers wrappers that the daytime receptionist, Ann Marie, had somehow managed to wedge between the cabinet and the trash can. Guess she’s cheating on her diet again. Nothing Mom-approved left to do.
I missed the old days, the pre-Leia-watches-too-much-TV-and-spends-too-much-time-chatting-online days. As soon as Mom got it in her head that I needed to be more productive, I was drafted into service. It isn’t the worst job in the world – she pays well and it can be fun to try to figure out what’s going on in her sessions, to make up stories behind the red eyes and nervous fidgets.
But there is also a severe lack of privacy. I never know when Mom is going to suddenly be standing over my shoulder. Luckily, I’m smart enough to keep my real online life secret, only bringing it out when she’s safely in session. So, all she ever sees is whatever I need to Google for homework. Whenever that happens, she gets this proud, kind of smug smile, like she’s saved me from myself.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
What happens when a 16-year-old superfan and the actor she’s obsessed with meet in New York City psychiatrist’s office? He's there as a patient. She's the afternoon receptionist…a job she has because her mother is the psychiatrist.
It was 3:15 and the 3:00 still hadn’t showed - a woman in her thirties who’s been Mom’s patient for over a year to deal with her chronic lateness. Personally, I think she should get her money back.
I looked at the white door just past my desk with the large DR. FOX: NOT IN SESSION sign. Those words mean that Mom can wander out at any moment, looking to chat or spy. I’d already collated a stack of insurance forms, put a new toner cartridge in the printer, rinsed out all the coffee mugs, and thrown away the four Snickers wrappers that the daytime receptionist, Ann Marie, had somehow managed to wedge between the cabinet and the trash can. Guess she’s cheating on her diet again. Nothing Mom-approved left to do.
I missed the old days, the pre-Leia-watches-too-much-TV-and-spends-too-much-time-chatting-online days. As soon as Mom got it in her head that I needed to be more productive, I was drafted into service. It isn’t the worst job in the world – she pays well and it can be fun to try to figure out what’s going on in her sessions, to make up stories behind the red eyes and nervous fidgets.
But there is also a severe lack of privacy. I never know when Mom is going to suddenly be standing over my shoulder. Luckily, I’m smart enough to keep my real online life secret, only bringing it out when she’s safely in session. So, all she ever sees is whatever I need to Google for homework. Whenever that happens, she gets this proud, kind of smug smile, like she’s saved me from myself.
(33) YA Thriller: LITTLE DO YOU KNOW
TITLE: Little Do You Know
GENRE: YA Thriller
Two years after her boyfriend died on Santa Cruz Island, Ellie reluctantly returns determined to get through her school trip in one piece. While exploring the island’s caves, Ellie and her friends stumble upon an underground lab and find themselves in the middle of an experiment centered on her boyfriend, who is very much alive. When they learn the truth about what’s going on, they must find a way out before knowing too much gets them killed.
All I had to do was knock. In theory this should’ve been easy, but nothing about my “friendship” with Travis was easy. I didn’t have the energy to play this game tonight. Maybe he’d be sleeping and wouldn’t hear. Then I’d have no choice but to return to my cabin and bury myself in my sleeping bag.
Sleep was a better idea anyway. It’d been a long day of cataloguing plant species and sitting through lectures given by tour guides who got a little too excited talking about birds. The only thing that I ever learned from the annual Emerson Prep science excursion was that time can actually stand still.
I tapped on the door as gently as possible. I waited a moment and then exhaled when no one answered. As I turned to leave, the door opened.
Travis leaned against the doorjamb. “What’s up, Ellie?” He muttered in a barely audible tone.
My eyes trailed down and came to a stop at that perfect place where his sweats rested just below his hips. I wasn’t used to seeing him without a shirt and I stared longer than I should have. Hopefully he was tired and didn’t catch that. When my eyes returned to their appropriate position, the smirk on his face let me know that he noticed.
“Do you still want to walk to the beach?” I asked.
Travis lifted his hand to his head and combed down his just-slept-on hair. “I see you brought chaperones.”
GENRE: YA Thriller
Two years after her boyfriend died on Santa Cruz Island, Ellie reluctantly returns determined to get through her school trip in one piece. While exploring the island’s caves, Ellie and her friends stumble upon an underground lab and find themselves in the middle of an experiment centered on her boyfriend, who is very much alive. When they learn the truth about what’s going on, they must find a way out before knowing too much gets them killed.
All I had to do was knock. In theory this should’ve been easy, but nothing about my “friendship” with Travis was easy. I didn’t have the energy to play this game tonight. Maybe he’d be sleeping and wouldn’t hear. Then I’d have no choice but to return to my cabin and bury myself in my sleeping bag.
Sleep was a better idea anyway. It’d been a long day of cataloguing plant species and sitting through lectures given by tour guides who got a little too excited talking about birds. The only thing that I ever learned from the annual Emerson Prep science excursion was that time can actually stand still.
I tapped on the door as gently as possible. I waited a moment and then exhaled when no one answered. As I turned to leave, the door opened.
Travis leaned against the doorjamb. “What’s up, Ellie?” He muttered in a barely audible tone.
My eyes trailed down and came to a stop at that perfect place where his sweats rested just below his hips. I wasn’t used to seeing him without a shirt and I stared longer than I should have. Hopefully he was tired and didn’t catch that. When my eyes returned to their appropriate position, the smirk on his face let me know that he noticed.
“Do you still want to walk to the beach?” I asked.
Travis lifted his hand to his head and combed down his just-slept-on hair. “I see you brought chaperones.”
(32) YA Science Fiction: THE DIASPORA
TITLE: The Diaspora
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
Like all Artakin’s über-violent eldest children, sixteen-year-old Becca is trained as a soldier who protects the planet from afar. Her only goal is to distinguish herself in battle against a tenacious enemy, but after she’s downed on a hostile planet, fleeing becomes complicated when she discovers the young lieutenant she’s come to trust may be using her to achieve his own ends.
I’ve learned two important lessons while masquerading as a Hawthorne Youth Outpost cadet. One: dress like a cudgel and you think like a cudgel.
And two: cudgels are idiots.
Lester Jyles hauls me to my feet and slams my head against the mess hall wall. My boots dangle a foot above the scuffed linoleum. My windpipe threatens to collapse under his hairy forearm. Bravo Company falls silent. Even the distant clatter of dishes getting manhandled by grunts on jankers duty dies away.
I should have just let him take the bread. But that’s a cudgel for you. Instead of keeping my mind on my goal, on gaining a berth on the Cor Moon shuttle, all I could think was: I don’t want that jack to have our food.
Lester leans in. His breath is humid – warm and wet from the musty protein stew we’ve all been eating. His free hand presses against my chest, pins me to the cement block, and I’m thanking the Fourteenth God I took the time to bind my breasts this morning. I don’t always, not since winter set in. Four layers of synthowool hide my figure better than all the med-stretch tape on Artakin.
His thick fingers grip my jaw. “When a Com wants something, grunt, you give it.”
“Yessir,” I croak, but korfi floods my blood and the world edges red as the kill hormone swamps my senses.
Everything I am screams at me, and it screams that I must end Lester.
I want to. I really, really do.
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
Like all Artakin’s über-violent eldest children, sixteen-year-old Becca is trained as a soldier who protects the planet from afar. Her only goal is to distinguish herself in battle against a tenacious enemy, but after she’s downed on a hostile planet, fleeing becomes complicated when she discovers the young lieutenant she’s come to trust may be using her to achieve his own ends.
I’ve learned two important lessons while masquerading as a Hawthorne Youth Outpost cadet. One: dress like a cudgel and you think like a cudgel.
And two: cudgels are idiots.
Lester Jyles hauls me to my feet and slams my head against the mess hall wall. My boots dangle a foot above the scuffed linoleum. My windpipe threatens to collapse under his hairy forearm. Bravo Company falls silent. Even the distant clatter of dishes getting manhandled by grunts on jankers duty dies away.
I should have just let him take the bread. But that’s a cudgel for you. Instead of keeping my mind on my goal, on gaining a berth on the Cor Moon shuttle, all I could think was: I don’t want that jack to have our food.
Lester leans in. His breath is humid – warm and wet from the musty protein stew we’ve all been eating. His free hand presses against my chest, pins me to the cement block, and I’m thanking the Fourteenth God I took the time to bind my breasts this morning. I don’t always, not since winter set in. Four layers of synthowool hide my figure better than all the med-stretch tape on Artakin.
His thick fingers grip my jaw. “When a Com wants something, grunt, you give it.”
“Yessir,” I croak, but korfi floods my blood and the world edges red as the kill hormone swamps my senses.
Everything I am screams at me, and it screams that I must end Lester.
I want to. I really, really do.
(31) YA Science Fiction Thriller: PHOENIX RISING
TITLE: PHOENIX RISING
GENRE: YA Science Fiction Thriller
After seventeen-year-old Lesha and her little brother win spots for the newly-colonized planet, Eris, she can't wait to get them off dying Earth. But, their starship crashes in Eris’ wasteland, stranding them far from the civilization with few survivors. If blistering heat, flesh-eating snakes, and starvation aren't bad enough, someone goes missing. Lesha finds his mutilated corpse in a sick desert shrine. Something hunts them. Lesha must get her brother to safety, before they become the predator's next victims.
March 15, 2261
On my last day on Earth, I hurried through the corridor in Bunker Number Four at way-too-early-o’clock, the packs I’d retrieved from the storage unit smacking my back.
In the six months since Joe and I won spots in the getaway lottery and moved into the Bunker, I’d come to hate this place.
Long, gray, cinderblock halls without a single window. Coverless fluoros shedding just enough light to see where you were going, but never enough to catch the roaches lurking in the corners. And freakin’ cold. They piped in heat during the winter, but the ancient boilers barely brought the place above see-your-breath range.
Dark, gloomy, and damned ugly. Not that people preparing for the end of the world cared much about ambiance, but they could’ve given the place some color. Fluorescent orange came to mind.
Reaching my best friend’s door, I entered the code on the touchpad beside it, and the panel slid open. Darkness enveloped her room. “Tiff, get moving.”
She moaned, and the bed squeaked when she shifted.
“I mean it.” I dropped her bag. “I gotta run. Don’t go back to sleep.” Silence. “Tiff?”
“Okay already, Lesha,” she said. “I’m up.”
I locked her door and jogged to my room. Inside, my eight-year-old brother slumped on his bed, brown eyes focused on the televid screen mounted on the wall.
"Almost time to leave for the spaceport, kiddo.” I nudged his shoulder. “Go wash. Put on a clean durasuit.”
GENRE: YA Science Fiction Thriller
After seventeen-year-old Lesha and her little brother win spots for the newly-colonized planet, Eris, she can't wait to get them off dying Earth. But, their starship crashes in Eris’ wasteland, stranding them far from the civilization with few survivors. If blistering heat, flesh-eating snakes, and starvation aren't bad enough, someone goes missing. Lesha finds his mutilated corpse in a sick desert shrine. Something hunts them. Lesha must get her brother to safety, before they become the predator's next victims.
March 15, 2261
On my last day on Earth, I hurried through the corridor in Bunker Number Four at way-too-early-o’clock, the packs I’d retrieved from the storage unit smacking my back.
In the six months since Joe and I won spots in the getaway lottery and moved into the Bunker, I’d come to hate this place.
Long, gray, cinderblock halls without a single window. Coverless fluoros shedding just enough light to see where you were going, but never enough to catch the roaches lurking in the corners. And freakin’ cold. They piped in heat during the winter, but the ancient boilers barely brought the place above see-your-breath range.
Dark, gloomy, and damned ugly. Not that people preparing for the end of the world cared much about ambiance, but they could’ve given the place some color. Fluorescent orange came to mind.
Reaching my best friend’s door, I entered the code on the touchpad beside it, and the panel slid open. Darkness enveloped her room. “Tiff, get moving.”
She moaned, and the bed squeaked when she shifted.
“I mean it.” I dropped her bag. “I gotta run. Don’t go back to sleep.” Silence. “Tiff?”
“Okay already, Lesha,” she said. “I’m up.”
I locked her door and jogged to my room. Inside, my eight-year-old brother slumped on his bed, brown eyes focused on the televid screen mounted on the wall.
"Almost time to leave for the spaceport, kiddo.” I nudged his shoulder. “Go wash. Put on a clean durasuit.”
(30) YA Fantasy: WHERE ALL THE MISSING PIECES GO
TITLE: Where All the Missing Pieces Go
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Needing a place to crash, down-and-out Jane finds refuge in a sorceress's castle. But when the sorceress asks her to paint the stars to earn her keep and pieces of Jane's soul are ripped away to create living, breathing star creatures, she flees. Now Jane must race to find her stars both before the sorceress, and before they return to the sky and her missing pieces are lost forever.
Waiting in front of Lord and Lady Crocket’s dining room, I could only think of one possible explanation for why I’d been summoned. They were kicking me out.
Mrs. Cowl had her hands clasped behind her back as she stood beside me staring at the doors. Sunlight flickered down through the glass ceiling, casting rainbows across her gray-streaked bun. She didn’t have to be here, waiting with me. I knew she had a million other head-housekeeper-duties she could be doing instead. So she probably knew.
I tilted my head back, wincing at the sunlight refracting across the roof. I’d lived here my whole life. This was my home.
The footman appeared from behind the door and held it open for me. “Her Ladyship will see you now.”
After one last glance at Mrs. Cowl, I stepped inside and squinted. Of all the airy rooms of the solarium, this had always been my favorite. Arching stained-glass windows lined the outside wall, their sun-warmed scenes drenching the parquet. Combined with the glass ceiling, it sometimes felt like I was standing inside a kaleidoscope.
They were all at the table. Lord Crocket read the paper, Lady Crocket swirled a biscotti in her coffee. Sari and Stella lit up as I approached.
Lady Crocket’s eyes snapped to me. Her expression reminded me of the one Sari made whenever Stella brought up politics at dinner. “Ah. Jane. Thank you so much for coming.” She cleared her throat. “Please, come sit. Would you like a biscuit?”
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Needing a place to crash, down-and-out Jane finds refuge in a sorceress's castle. But when the sorceress asks her to paint the stars to earn her keep and pieces of Jane's soul are ripped away to create living, breathing star creatures, she flees. Now Jane must race to find her stars both before the sorceress, and before they return to the sky and her missing pieces are lost forever.
Waiting in front of Lord and Lady Crocket’s dining room, I could only think of one possible explanation for why I’d been summoned. They were kicking me out.
Mrs. Cowl had her hands clasped behind her back as she stood beside me staring at the doors. Sunlight flickered down through the glass ceiling, casting rainbows across her gray-streaked bun. She didn’t have to be here, waiting with me. I knew she had a million other head-housekeeper-duties she could be doing instead. So she probably knew.
I tilted my head back, wincing at the sunlight refracting across the roof. I’d lived here my whole life. This was my home.
The footman appeared from behind the door and held it open for me. “Her Ladyship will see you now.”
After one last glance at Mrs. Cowl, I stepped inside and squinted. Of all the airy rooms of the solarium, this had always been my favorite. Arching stained-glass windows lined the outside wall, their sun-warmed scenes drenching the parquet. Combined with the glass ceiling, it sometimes felt like I was standing inside a kaleidoscope.
They were all at the table. Lord Crocket read the paper, Lady Crocket swirled a biscotti in her coffee. Sari and Stella lit up as I approached.
Lady Crocket’s eyes snapped to me. Her expression reminded me of the one Sari made whenever Stella brought up politics at dinner. “Ah. Jane. Thank you so much for coming.” She cleared her throat. “Please, come sit. Would you like a biscuit?”
(29) YA Historical Fantasy: CHILD OF THE STORM
TITLE: Child of the Storm
GENRE: YA Historical Fantasy
When the fourteen-year-old Amargi finds his mentor brutally slain, he leaves his tribe in the Zagros to petition the kings of Sumer for justice. Skilled, clever, but too innocent for politics, he soon becomes the pawn in a deadly game for supremacy. At a time when deception means survival, Amargi must trust the girl who once betrayed him, else forfeit his dignity, his plans for vengeance, and his life.
A storm was rising; Amargi could smell it in the air. The wind already shook the tent walls, and the skins snapped hard against the support poles. Amargi searched the tent with his eyes, clutching his knife, certain something menacing had come.
“Kutik?” he whispered. “Adda?” He peered through the darkness inside the tent.
Snoring softly on the mats were only his brother’s wives and the children. Outside, the darkness had already eased into a bruised dawn.
He’d been up for hours already, to sharpen the knives and axes, and to get the dogs fed. At thirteen, and the youngest, if his adda said to stay and watch over the cattle, who was he to defy? An uneasy feeling had brought him back. It was early, still. He thought he might still find his brothers and adda here, but no such luck. Amargi wished the holy shatin would acknowledge him a man already. Then perhaps he could have told adda about this bad feeling, rather than staring at the snoring forms of the women under the sheepskins.
Amargi heard grandmother’s humming outside. That old witch was always awake. Thunder cracked and popped, making the earth beneath him vibrate. Amargi stared at the moving shadows of the trees against the tent skins, his knife firmly in his grip.
The shatin would laugh at him if he saw him now. “So now the boy reads omens like a holy man? Why don’t we just let him invoke the gods, then?”
But Amargi was worried. The feeling was real.
GENRE: YA Historical Fantasy
When the fourteen-year-old Amargi finds his mentor brutally slain, he leaves his tribe in the Zagros to petition the kings of Sumer for justice. Skilled, clever, but too innocent for politics, he soon becomes the pawn in a deadly game for supremacy. At a time when deception means survival, Amargi must trust the girl who once betrayed him, else forfeit his dignity, his plans for vengeance, and his life.
A storm was rising; Amargi could smell it in the air. The wind already shook the tent walls, and the skins snapped hard against the support poles. Amargi searched the tent with his eyes, clutching his knife, certain something menacing had come.
“Kutik?” he whispered. “Adda?” He peered through the darkness inside the tent.
Snoring softly on the mats were only his brother’s wives and the children. Outside, the darkness had already eased into a bruised dawn.
He’d been up for hours already, to sharpen the knives and axes, and to get the dogs fed. At thirteen, and the youngest, if his adda said to stay and watch over the cattle, who was he to defy? An uneasy feeling had brought him back. It was early, still. He thought he might still find his brothers and adda here, but no such luck. Amargi wished the holy shatin would acknowledge him a man already. Then perhaps he could have told adda about this bad feeling, rather than staring at the snoring forms of the women under the sheepskins.
Amargi heard grandmother’s humming outside. That old witch was always awake. Thunder cracked and popped, making the earth beneath him vibrate. Amargi stared at the moving shadows of the trees against the tent skins, his knife firmly in his grip.
The shatin would laugh at him if he saw him now. “So now the boy reads omens like a holy man? Why don’t we just let him invoke the gods, then?”
But Amargi was worried. The feeling was real.
(28) YA Fantasy: BEYOND THE WILD
TITLE: Beyond the Wild
GENRE: YA Fantasy
When seventeen-year-old Syra is forced to befriend the enemy, she unexpectedly finds them admirable and uses her powers to heal one, defying her tribe and revealing her secret—she is Natura and her race is at war with humankind. To stop her tribe from killing innocents who don't want to fight in the war, she'll risk banishment forever from her family.
I stretch my mind beneath my feet into the earth’s humming energy and pull. Warmth twists up and into my body, washing away my aches. The trees behind me, the bugs in the grass, and even the birds in the sky, sing with life.
I take a deep breath, smelling dirt, pine and the sharp, musky stench of humans. I gag, turning my head into my shoulder. It has been a year and still the scent hits me hard. The humans stand in a disorganized line ahead of me, waiting for the guards to push the camp’s gate open. It rattles and whines, rocking the compound’s nine-foot high fence.
Over my shoulder, the forest’s treeline reaches into the distance. Running through those trees, dried leaves crunching beneath my feet and fresh air in my lungs, that’s what I want. The Wild. Sighing, my chest stinging, I shift my laundry bag and don’t look back.
A bird above me cries while in flight, swooping down in a burst of white energy. It’s too close. I look to the camp’s guards, cringing.
CLACK.
Its essence ceases as quick as lightning, its death cutting a sharp pain through me. I choke back a gasp as the kids around me glance up. They only see a blue jay, dead, its wings out as it spirals to the ground.
By now, the animals should know not to come this close to camp. Every time they do, the guards shoot them down.
“Syra,” Trax whispers, tugging on my arm.
It’s time.
GENRE: YA Fantasy
When seventeen-year-old Syra is forced to befriend the enemy, she unexpectedly finds them admirable and uses her powers to heal one, defying her tribe and revealing her secret—she is Natura and her race is at war with humankind. To stop her tribe from killing innocents who don't want to fight in the war, she'll risk banishment forever from her family.
I stretch my mind beneath my feet into the earth’s humming energy and pull. Warmth twists up and into my body, washing away my aches. The trees behind me, the bugs in the grass, and even the birds in the sky, sing with life.
I take a deep breath, smelling dirt, pine and the sharp, musky stench of humans. I gag, turning my head into my shoulder. It has been a year and still the scent hits me hard. The humans stand in a disorganized line ahead of me, waiting for the guards to push the camp’s gate open. It rattles and whines, rocking the compound’s nine-foot high fence.
Over my shoulder, the forest’s treeline reaches into the distance. Running through those trees, dried leaves crunching beneath my feet and fresh air in my lungs, that’s what I want. The Wild. Sighing, my chest stinging, I shift my laundry bag and don’t look back.
A bird above me cries while in flight, swooping down in a burst of white energy. It’s too close. I look to the camp’s guards, cringing.
CLACK.
Its essence ceases as quick as lightning, its death cutting a sharp pain through me. I choke back a gasp as the kids around me glance up. They only see a blue jay, dead, its wings out as it spirals to the ground.
By now, the animals should know not to come this close to camp. Every time they do, the guards shoot them down.
“Syra,” Trax whispers, tugging on my arm.
It’s time.
(27) MG Historical Fiction: ESTER, CALLED MARIA
TITLE: Ester, Called Maria
GENRE: MG Historical Fiction
For thirteen-year-old Ester Cordova, being a secret Jew is a bit like a game until the Inquisition arrives in Portugal. To try to keep her family out of the Inquisition’s reach, Ester lies to her family, strikes a deal with enemies, disguises herself, but finally must obey her parents and do the unimaginable-- leave Portugal without them.
There are two of me. I watch myself, and I’m the one I’m watching:
Mama crouches at the trapdoor and hands Isaac down to Grandma. I’m next. The cellar is black except for a small lamp. I clutch my doll Fryda and squat beside Grandma. She cradles Isaac and gives him sips of wine. It dribbles onto his chin. She puts the cup in my hands. I swallow the rest. The bitter smell of sour grapes. Mama has a basket of food. Papa has blankets. He rolls me up in one. It’s hot, and my ears and nose itch. I feel Grandma beside me. I think it’s Grandma. From somewhere else, clomps, cracks, screams, smacks. The sounds get louder. My head hurts. I can’t move…
I shake the shadowy dream, slip on a petticoat, pull my dress over my chemise, cinch the bodice, then spit three times over my shoulder and hope it works. No bad omens today. Reaching over, I stroke Isaac’s warm brow until his eyes flutter open.
“It’s morning,” I whisper close to his ear. My little brother sits up rubbing his cheeks, and quickly we mouth the morning Jewish prayer, Modi Ani…. We’re done before Luzia comes in.
“Good morning, children.”
She hands Isaac his clothes. He wiggles under the covers to put them on.
“Maria, let’s see to your hair.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Of course. But would you like help?”
Luzia unravels my night braid, and we each take a comb to one side.
GENRE: MG Historical Fiction
For thirteen-year-old Ester Cordova, being a secret Jew is a bit like a game until the Inquisition arrives in Portugal. To try to keep her family out of the Inquisition’s reach, Ester lies to her family, strikes a deal with enemies, disguises herself, but finally must obey her parents and do the unimaginable-- leave Portugal without them.
There are two of me. I watch myself, and I’m the one I’m watching:
Mama crouches at the trapdoor and hands Isaac down to Grandma. I’m next. The cellar is black except for a small lamp. I clutch my doll Fryda and squat beside Grandma. She cradles Isaac and gives him sips of wine. It dribbles onto his chin. She puts the cup in my hands. I swallow the rest. The bitter smell of sour grapes. Mama has a basket of food. Papa has blankets. He rolls me up in one. It’s hot, and my ears and nose itch. I feel Grandma beside me. I think it’s Grandma. From somewhere else, clomps, cracks, screams, smacks. The sounds get louder. My head hurts. I can’t move…
I shake the shadowy dream, slip on a petticoat, pull my dress over my chemise, cinch the bodice, then spit three times over my shoulder and hope it works. No bad omens today. Reaching over, I stroke Isaac’s warm brow until his eyes flutter open.
“It’s morning,” I whisper close to his ear. My little brother sits up rubbing his cheeks, and quickly we mouth the morning Jewish prayer, Modi Ani…. We’re done before Luzia comes in.
“Good morning, children.”
She hands Isaac his clothes. He wiggles under the covers to put them on.
“Maria, let’s see to your hair.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Of course. But would you like help?”
Luzia unravels my night braid, and we each take a comb to one side.
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