TITLE: OF STARSHINE AND ASHES
GENRE: YA SCI-FI (TIME TRAVEL)
She appeared in late afternoon, at the tree line where our mowed grass ended and the wild woods began. Gene and I couldn’t help but stare. With the leaves stuck in her hair, and the way she squinted at the sun just begging it to melt the slits of her eyes, and her naked-as-a-broken-jaybird body, we were left to conclude that the only possible explanation was that she’d been born in a hole and abandoned there.
But we knew the ranch woods better than our own skin; never once in our seventeen years had we seen a girl our own age out there. We’d never seen anyone out there at all.
When she managed to unglue her eyes from the sun, the sight of us seemed to stop her short: two slackjawed ranchers in cowboy hats, Wranglers, boots, plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Pick-up trucks, hay bales. The usual. For people who’re from these parts.
We stared, in the kindest way possible, at her face.
She stared back. Blinked. Brought a hand to her temple, where a line of three little stones sparkled, embedded in her skin. “I found him,” she said, pressing into the diamond closest to her eye. And then, again—little more strength, little more awe, lot more desperation: “I found the—”
Crumple.
She fell in the grass like an arrow-pierced dove. But there was no arrow, no archer. Just a pale pile of limbs and an unfinished sentence.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Showing posts with label Adorable Editors Critique. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adorable Editors Critique. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Adorable Editors Winners #8
TITLE: CRASH DAYS
GENRE: YA literary thriller
I believed in the healing power of parking garages. There was kind of a compartmentalization about them that inspired the deep breaths that the folks here at Counseling Services were always asking me to take. If I were hanging out by the cool concrete pillar of a parking garage, I’d be the only one asking the questions. There’d be no questions in response to my questions, as was Dr. Roy’s modus operandi for the last few minutes of our sessions. No one in a parking garage would want to know how I was doing—everyone is either huddled in a car or hurrying toward a door.
Everyone but me. I liked to stand back by the pillars and watch. I liked to know I was the only one watching.
“When would you like to have your next appointment, Mitchell?” asked William at the front desk. They never said anyone’s last name out loud here. It was a privacy thing. I appreciated that.
“Oh, I don’t think I need to make one,” I said.
“Your mom was here earlier today.” William tapped his pen against the side of his keyboard, which was the sort of excessively loud “thinking” tic that a person who didn’t have to stop and think very often would make. “She asked me to make sure you scheduled one. You’ll have to take it up with her and Dr. Roy if you want to terminate your therapy.”
GENRE: YA literary thriller
I believed in the healing power of parking garages. There was kind of a compartmentalization about them that inspired the deep breaths that the folks here at Counseling Services were always asking me to take. If I were hanging out by the cool concrete pillar of a parking garage, I’d be the only one asking the questions. There’d be no questions in response to my questions, as was Dr. Roy’s modus operandi for the last few minutes of our sessions. No one in a parking garage would want to know how I was doing—everyone is either huddled in a car or hurrying toward a door.
Everyone but me. I liked to stand back by the pillars and watch. I liked to know I was the only one watching.
“When would you like to have your next appointment, Mitchell?” asked William at the front desk. They never said anyone’s last name out loud here. It was a privacy thing. I appreciated that.
“Oh, I don’t think I need to make one,” I said.
“Your mom was here earlier today.” William tapped his pen against the side of his keyboard, which was the sort of excessively loud “thinking” tic that a person who didn’t have to stop and think very often would make. “She asked me to make sure you scheduled one. You’ll have to take it up with her and Dr. Roy if you want to terminate your therapy.”
Adorable Editors Winners #7
TITLE: The Ups and Downs of Andrew Lane
GENRE: Middle Grade Contemporary
Andrew waited in the overwhelming silence, alert to any sound that would reveal an enemy attack. Quietly scaling the rope ladder he peered over the top of the fort. If the enemy was there, an attack would be swift and hard. He waited for the familiar battle cry. But it didn’t come.
Arrrrg. Why isn’t Danny home yet? He said he’d be home today. Andrew slid down the slide and plopped into the swing. Another whole day with nothing to do.
Arf, arf, arf!
“Fluffy!” If Fluffy was home, so was Danny.
Andrew climbed back up the slide and looked over the fence into Danny’s yard. Yes! Danny was tugging a duffle bag across his front lawn.
With two giant leaps across the top of the fort Andrew reached the slide that went right into Danny’s yard.
“Hi, Mr. Brown,” Andrew said as he ran past Danny’s dad.
“Hi, Andrew. How’s your dad? Is anything new?”
“No job yet, but he has some good possibilities.” Did Mom really think saying that was fooling anyone?
Andrew grabbed the strap of the bag and helped Danny lift it into the house.
“How was it?” he asked.
“It was great! Best vacation ever. Anything new here?”
A big smile crossed Andrew’s face. “Yeah, Mrs. Trenton isn’t coming back and they can’t find a new teacher. We could start third grade with a sub!”
“That’s great! Remember the sub last year? She couldn’t find the schedule or the art room or anything.”
GENRE: Middle Grade Contemporary
Andrew waited in the overwhelming silence, alert to any sound that would reveal an enemy attack. Quietly scaling the rope ladder he peered over the top of the fort. If the enemy was there, an attack would be swift and hard. He waited for the familiar battle cry. But it didn’t come.
Arrrrg. Why isn’t Danny home yet? He said he’d be home today. Andrew slid down the slide and plopped into the swing. Another whole day with nothing to do.
Arf, arf, arf!
“Fluffy!” If Fluffy was home, so was Danny.
Andrew climbed back up the slide and looked over the fence into Danny’s yard. Yes! Danny was tugging a duffle bag across his front lawn.
With two giant leaps across the top of the fort Andrew reached the slide that went right into Danny’s yard.
“Hi, Mr. Brown,” Andrew said as he ran past Danny’s dad.
“Hi, Andrew. How’s your dad? Is anything new?”
“No job yet, but he has some good possibilities.” Did Mom really think saying that was fooling anyone?
Andrew grabbed the strap of the bag and helped Danny lift it into the house.
“How was it?” he asked.
“It was great! Best vacation ever. Anything new here?”
A big smile crossed Andrew’s face. “Yeah, Mrs. Trenton isn’t coming back and they can’t find a new teacher. We could start third grade with a sub!”
“That’s great! Remember the sub last year? She couldn’t find the schedule or the art room or anything.”
Adorable Editors Winners #6
TITLE: TWELVE STEPS
GENRE: YA Contemporary Romance
Removed at author's request. :)
GENRE: YA Contemporary Romance
Removed at author's request. :)
Adorable Editors Winners #5
TITLE: A Hundred Frogs, Even
GENRE: MG Contemporary
I would have given Mom a good-bye hug, but StepThad’s arm rested across her shoulder. Like the two of them were glued together. Double hug or nothing.
My giant duffel bag and I stood, immobile, in the shadow of the camp check-in tent.
“Have fun this week.” Mom’s smile was directed at me, but I could tell. She was really focused on StepThad.
“We have to go. I can’t be late,” my sister said. “Remember the rules.”
“Don’t tell Grace what to do,” Mom said.
“I’m helping her.”
"She's helping me," I echoed.
Mom and StepThad turned as a unit and headed for the car. Zoe tossed me my backpack.
Too light. I checked. The only thing left inside was Zoe’s Teen Vogue magazine. My mouth fell open.
Zoe grinned. “Much more fun.”
“But I was in the middle--”
“That Laura Ingalls Wilder biography. I know.” She covered a fake yawn. “But--”
“Stop. If you really want people to treat you like you’re a star--”
I whispered the words. “You have to be the coolest all the time.”
“So do it. You’ll have fun.” She whirled and sprinted to catch up with Mom and StepThad, leaving me on my own. My superstar cheerleader sister made everything look easy.
If things had worked out, I would have been going to cheerleading camp in the valley with Zoe. Her junior varsity squad and my rising-sixth-grade squad. All of us together. Except things didn’t work out. Not for me.
GENRE: MG Contemporary
I would have given Mom a good-bye hug, but StepThad’s arm rested across her shoulder. Like the two of them were glued together. Double hug or nothing.
My giant duffel bag and I stood, immobile, in the shadow of the camp check-in tent.
“Have fun this week.” Mom’s smile was directed at me, but I could tell. She was really focused on StepThad.
“We have to go. I can’t be late,” my sister said. “Remember the rules.”
“Don’t tell Grace what to do,” Mom said.
“I’m helping her.”
"She's helping me," I echoed.
Mom and StepThad turned as a unit and headed for the car. Zoe tossed me my backpack.
Too light. I checked. The only thing left inside was Zoe’s Teen Vogue magazine. My mouth fell open.
Zoe grinned. “Much more fun.”
“But I was in the middle--”
“That Laura Ingalls Wilder biography. I know.” She covered a fake yawn. “But--”
“Stop. If you really want people to treat you like you’re a star--”
I whispered the words. “You have to be the coolest all the time.”
“So do it. You’ll have fun.” She whirled and sprinted to catch up with Mom and StepThad, leaving me on my own. My superstar cheerleader sister made everything look easy.
If things had worked out, I would have been going to cheerleading camp in the valley with Zoe. Her junior varsity squad and my rising-sixth-grade squad. All of us together. Except things didn’t work out. Not for me.
Adorable Editors Winners #4
TITLE: J5
GENRE: YA Alternate History
Tacked to the wall in a wooden frame, a rustic little impostor amid much finer furnishings, our family portrait mocks us. It tells us homesick tales of warmth and togetherness, of unexplored backwoods, life-gorged cities, and infinite blacktop roads. When Clay and Cecelia look at the picture, I know a taste of before still sits on their tongues, sweet and raw. But before is a world I never knew.
Clay’s chili bowl hair, as Cecelia calls it, hangs black and stark above his river-water eyes. His toddler image boasts a valiantly forced grin. What has grown in of Cecelia’s dark hair is held fast with a red bow. I see a mother I never knew who looks like none of her children, because Dad’s brunette and straight-nosed genes vanquished any suggestion of her Irish softness in us: the fair, freckled skin, curved nose, and walnut hair. Clay and Cecilia got her churning sea eyes, but mine are brown like Dad’s. The sun agrees with our golden brown skin, and we look like every Debrosse in recent memory.
I wasn’t born yet when this portrait was taken. I find it strange. The clean-shaven goofball in a turtleneck looks nothing like my dad. He's neither careworn, rough, and ranting about lost freedoms nor glued to a glass of high proof whiskey.
Imagining the world I never knew is disconcerting, so I don’t look at the portrait often. Clay chuckles at it every few months, making fun of our mom’s hair.
"Gotta love the 90s," he says.
GENRE: YA Alternate History
Tacked to the wall in a wooden frame, a rustic little impostor amid much finer furnishings, our family portrait mocks us. It tells us homesick tales of warmth and togetherness, of unexplored backwoods, life-gorged cities, and infinite blacktop roads. When Clay and Cecelia look at the picture, I know a taste of before still sits on their tongues, sweet and raw. But before is a world I never knew.
Clay’s chili bowl hair, as Cecelia calls it, hangs black and stark above his river-water eyes. His toddler image boasts a valiantly forced grin. What has grown in of Cecelia’s dark hair is held fast with a red bow. I see a mother I never knew who looks like none of her children, because Dad’s brunette and straight-nosed genes vanquished any suggestion of her Irish softness in us: the fair, freckled skin, curved nose, and walnut hair. Clay and Cecilia got her churning sea eyes, but mine are brown like Dad’s. The sun agrees with our golden brown skin, and we look like every Debrosse in recent memory.
I wasn’t born yet when this portrait was taken. I find it strange. The clean-shaven goofball in a turtleneck looks nothing like my dad. He's neither careworn, rough, and ranting about lost freedoms nor glued to a glass of high proof whiskey.
Imagining the world I never knew is disconcerting, so I don’t look at the portrait often. Clay chuckles at it every few months, making fun of our mom’s hair.
"Gotta love the 90s," he says.
Adorable Editors Winners #3
TITLE: Million Dollar Lunch
GENRE: MG Contemporary
It was only the first day of food camp, and already Rome knew two things: one, there was such a thing as a mortal enemy, and two, it was going to be really tough to beat said enemy with a little sister at his side. To be fair, it wasn’t Livvie’s fault she had to tag along to camp while Dad recovered, but still, it made beating Frankie Hotdog all but impossible.
Rome tried to focus on getting to the finish line of their first challenge. He twisted his body as he grasped his section of a huge, juice-filled tarp and scanned the flat, open field. Ten teams of campers including his own lugged tarps toward a yellow, tickertape finish line nearly half a football field away. Only Frankie’s team was ahead of his, but the team directly behind them was slowly catching up.
“Livvie, you’ve got to keep your end up!” As if in punishment for yelling at his sister, Rome lost his footing on the slippery field and fell to his knees, just managing to hold tight to the edge of the plastic circle.
“I’m trying,” Livvie puffed, struggling against her dipping edge of tarp.
Jake, the third member of their team and Rome’s best friend, pulled up to compensate. The liquid in the center shifted. Rome saw a wave of red swirling toward him, but it was too late. The sweet flavors of strawberry and raspberry mixed with a tart lime aftertaste washed over him.
GENRE: MG Contemporary
It was only the first day of food camp, and already Rome knew two things: one, there was such a thing as a mortal enemy, and two, it was going to be really tough to beat said enemy with a little sister at his side. To be fair, it wasn’t Livvie’s fault she had to tag along to camp while Dad recovered, but still, it made beating Frankie Hotdog all but impossible.
Rome tried to focus on getting to the finish line of their first challenge. He twisted his body as he grasped his section of a huge, juice-filled tarp and scanned the flat, open field. Ten teams of campers including his own lugged tarps toward a yellow, tickertape finish line nearly half a football field away. Only Frankie’s team was ahead of his, but the team directly behind them was slowly catching up.
“Livvie, you’ve got to keep your end up!” As if in punishment for yelling at his sister, Rome lost his footing on the slippery field and fell to his knees, just managing to hold tight to the edge of the plastic circle.
“I’m trying,” Livvie puffed, struggling against her dipping edge of tarp.
Jake, the third member of their team and Rome’s best friend, pulled up to compensate. The liquid in the center shifted. Rome saw a wave of red swirling toward him, but it was too late. The sweet flavors of strawberry and raspberry mixed with a tart lime aftertaste washed over him.
Adorable Editors Winners #2
TITLE: FutureShock
GENRE: YA Time Travel
"They can take our freedom, but they can never take our French fries!"
If there had been a desk in front of me, I would have smacked my head against it. Repeatedly.
The auditorium erupted into cheers, a decidedly uncommon occurrence for Dresden High's student council candidacy announcements. Usually, students simply said what position they were running for and why people should vote for them, to weak applause or the occasional overzealous "Yeah!" from the stoner kids in the back.
Apparently, all it took was a twinkly-eyed quarterback running on a French fries platform to get people enthusiastically engaged in student government.
I had to use all my strength to unclench my jaw. My fists, however, I kept balled at my sides, so that I wouldn't try and wring anyone's neck. I wasn't usually this tense, but there was something about pretty-boy jocks reducing student government to a popularity contest that seriously irked me.
Said jock extraordinaire, Jake Carlson, gesticulated wildly at the crowd to keep cheering. Then he ended his brilliantly puerile campaign speech with, "So if you vote for me, everything will be awesome, and you can have all the French fries you want!"
Head. Desk.
Before I could engage in any more imaginary stress relief, the student council adviser, Ms. Jefferson, nodded at me to go up to the podium despite the fact that the crowd was still whooping, catcalling and clapping. Jake, for his part, was encouraging them by way of a dramatic reenactment of last week's game-winning catch.
GENRE: YA Time Travel
"They can take our freedom, but they can never take our French fries!"
If there had been a desk in front of me, I would have smacked my head against it. Repeatedly.
The auditorium erupted into cheers, a decidedly uncommon occurrence for Dresden High's student council candidacy announcements. Usually, students simply said what position they were running for and why people should vote for them, to weak applause or the occasional overzealous "Yeah!" from the stoner kids in the back.
Apparently, all it took was a twinkly-eyed quarterback running on a French fries platform to get people enthusiastically engaged in student government.
I had to use all my strength to unclench my jaw. My fists, however, I kept balled at my sides, so that I wouldn't try and wring anyone's neck. I wasn't usually this tense, but there was something about pretty-boy jocks reducing student government to a popularity contest that seriously irked me.
Said jock extraordinaire, Jake Carlson, gesticulated wildly at the crowd to keep cheering. Then he ended his brilliantly puerile campaign speech with, "So if you vote for me, everything will be awesome, and you can have all the French fries you want!"
Head. Desk.
Before I could engage in any more imaginary stress relief, the student council adviser, Ms. Jefferson, nodded at me to go up to the podium despite the fact that the crowd was still whooping, catcalling and clapping. Jake, for his part, was encouraging them by way of a dramatic reenactment of last week's game-winning catch.
Adorable Editors Winners #1
TITLE: LITTLE DEVILS
GENRE: MG Fantasy
The second worst feeling in the world is realising you’ve just done something mammothly, brontosaurusly stupid. The absolute worst? Waiting to find out exactly how much trouble your stupid has landed you in.
And that Saturday I’d been waiting in my attic bedroom, with no one but the spikemoths huddled in the rafters for company, for six long, agonising hours. I’d done restless pacing and tortured gazing-out-of-the-window, and was onto desperately-wondering-how-to-mail-yourself-to-China, when finally I heard it.
A knock at the door.
Not just any knock, an important-sounding knock. Tat-ta-rat-ta-rat. My heart sank so far into my boots I could’ve used it as a pair of nice comfortable insoles. This was it, then. I took a deep breath and yanked the door open quickly to get the pain over with.
A wizened grey demon stood outside, spindly wings still fluttering like he’d arrived in a hurry. He fixed me with glowing red eyes. ‘Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, Enemy of Righteousness, Lord of the Flies, summons you. Follow me and I shall take you to my master. Refuse, and the consequences…’
‘Yes, yes, I get it,’ I interrupted, rolling my eyes. ‘You could just say my dad wants to see me.’
The messenger demon blinked at me. There was an awkward silence. ‘Do you refuse to follow me, Jinx D’Evil?’ he said finally.
I sighed. ‘Of course not. Who dares deny the Devil?’
I stuck my hands in my pockets and trudged off to meet my doom.
GENRE: MG Fantasy
The second worst feeling in the world is realising you’ve just done something mammothly, brontosaurusly stupid. The absolute worst? Waiting to find out exactly how much trouble your stupid has landed you in.
And that Saturday I’d been waiting in my attic bedroom, with no one but the spikemoths huddled in the rafters for company, for six long, agonising hours. I’d done restless pacing and tortured gazing-out-of-the-window, and was onto desperately-wondering-how-to-mail-yourself-to-China, when finally I heard it.
A knock at the door.
Not just any knock, an important-sounding knock. Tat-ta-rat-ta-rat. My heart sank so far into my boots I could’ve used it as a pair of nice comfortable insoles. This was it, then. I took a deep breath and yanked the door open quickly to get the pain over with.
A wizened grey demon stood outside, spindly wings still fluttering like he’d arrived in a hurry. He fixed me with glowing red eyes. ‘Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, Enemy of Righteousness, Lord of the Flies, summons you. Follow me and I shall take you to my master. Refuse, and the consequences…’
‘Yes, yes, I get it,’ I interrupted, rolling my eyes. ‘You could just say my dad wants to see me.’
The messenger demon blinked at me. There was an awkward silence. ‘Do you refuse to follow me, Jinx D’Evil?’ he said finally.
I sighed. ‘Of course not. Who dares deny the Devil?’
I stuck my hands in my pockets and trudged off to meet my doom.
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