TITLE: GUIDE DOG
GENRE: YA thriller
One of the first things I’d learned at Catholic school was that God had a purpose for everything. Sometimes, we’d been told, you couldn’t make sense of that purpose until you’d been around long enough and really thought about what it might be. Now, as I sat in the principal’s office looking at my hands (versus meeting the disappointed gaze of Mr. Mickford, or Father Mickford as he liked to be called) I wondered if I’d found my purpose in life-to really piss people off. Even the people who wanted to help me.
Father Mickford glanced at the book on his desk. My dog-eared, frayed copy of Jane Eyre, the one I’d marked up with an aggressive combination of yellow highlighter and ball point pen. He hadn’t opened the book to see the damage, which was good--how many detentions could I take? I watched from beneath my lashes as the light shafting through the stained glass windows turned his balding head into a veritable Easter-egg of green and rose and yellow, and waited for the fall.
“Mrs. Cole says you were very dismissive of the book.”
I shrugged. “ Didn’t like it.”
“Okay, well…there’s nothing saying you have to like everything you read. But she said…”
I knew what she’d said. But it felt like good form to ask. “What?”
He cleared his throat. “You said that the book was…um…masturbatory wish fulfillment for ugly girls.”
The words fell between us. I propped my chin on my hand, as if considering. “Yeah, well…”
“So you did say it?”
Of course I had. It was far too creative to have come out of the mouths of any of the other kids in the class…which was exactly the attitude, my mother liked to tell me, that got me into trouble time and time again. You think you’re smarter than everyone else.
And as for what was going on right now, there was no point in not confessing. “Yeah. I did.”
“Okay.” He nodded, the light playing on his head. “You do know that…you know what masturbation is?”
I didn’t roll my eyes, even though it was a struggle. “Of course. I went to public school, you know. Before I came here.” And I’d bet he was regretting his decision to take me in right about now. But wasn’t that what Catholics did? Faith, hope, charity, sacrifice, all that crap?
“Right. But…you know that Mrs. Cole runs a…a tight ship…and she doesn’t like hearing that…that kind of thing.”
I was sure she didn’t. Mrs. Cole looked like the stereotypical nun, even though she didn’t wear a habit-tall, whip-thin, with gray hair always pulled back in a bun. As far as teachers went, she was okay, but a lot of these ex-nun types looked like they’d faint at the sight of any exposed skin. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay. I’m glad.” He rested his hand protectively on the paperback, covering Jane’s pale oval face, her brown eyes.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Showing posts with label Public Slushpile. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Public Slushpile. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Public Slushpile Winner #4
TITLE: Home Base
GENRE: Contemporary YA
As soon as the plane touches down at Awa Dance Airport, I feel my shoulders relax. Up until now, I hadn’t even realized that they were tense. Twenty-four hours ago, I was all bummed out about leaving my teammates – my “homies” – in Atlanta, disappointed that I wouldn’t be hanging out with Rico and Jamal anymore, and that I wouldn’t be third batter in the season opener.
But now, after three years in America, I’m back in Tokushima. I’m home. And even though I’ve never been to this brand-new airport before, everything looks familiar – the islands off in the distance, the palm trees waving “hello,” the flight attendants bowing as Okaasan, my sister, and I gather up our stuff and get off the plane.
I stride down the gangway, my duffel bag bouncing against my hip. I should be tired, what with the fourteen hour time difference and not sleeping on the plane, but I’m not. I could sprint to Baggage Claim, if I wanted to. I could hit a ball clear across the runway.
Momoko stumbles along behind me. She made a lot of friends in America, so she was really sad about leaving – maybe the saddest of all of us. Nobody ever tried to beat her up over there. She cried during half the flight. During the other half, she was writing in her polka dot-covered diary, or flipping through photos in this little album she had, no doubt reliving her glory days as Elementary School Science Fair Winner.
Just ahead, there’s a guy in a navy suit, chattering into his cell phone. To my left, a young mother talks to her little girl. And then there’s some sort of high school sports team, everyone in matching jackets, coming back to Tokushima from a tournament in Tokyo, I guess, and they’re all jabbering away in the local dialect. The weird thing is that I understand what they’re saying. Every single word.
I learned to speak English pretty well in America – better than Okaasan, almost as well as my brainiac sister and Otosan – but I still missed a lot of words. Even when people spoke loudly, as if I was deaf, or super slow, I only understood about seventy percent. I kinda got used to not understanding, so this is nice, for a change.
We go down the escalator to get our suitcases, and then through sliding glass doors, into the Arrivals lobby, where there’s a huge mural of festival dancers in pink summer kimono on the wall.
“Okaerinasai!” Welcome home! Otosan is right there to greet us. He doesn’t hug us or anything. Nobody hugs in Japan. But he smiles, and reaches out for Okaasan’s bags.
He came back a couple weeks ahead of us. Momoko and I wanted to stay in American school until spring break. That means we’ve already missed the entrance ceremonies at our new schools here in Japan. But it’s no big deal. Everybody’s Japanese here, so we’ll fit right in.
“Where’s Ojiisan?” I ask, looking around for my grandfather. I figured he’d be all anxious to see us. We live in the same house, so it’s not like my dad would have had to go out of his way to pick him up.
GENRE: Contemporary YA
As soon as the plane touches down at Awa Dance Airport, I feel my shoulders relax. Up until now, I hadn’t even realized that they were tense. Twenty-four hours ago, I was all bummed out about leaving my teammates – my “homies” – in Atlanta, disappointed that I wouldn’t be hanging out with Rico and Jamal anymore, and that I wouldn’t be third batter in the season opener.
But now, after three years in America, I’m back in Tokushima. I’m home. And even though I’ve never been to this brand-new airport before, everything looks familiar – the islands off in the distance, the palm trees waving “hello,” the flight attendants bowing as Okaasan, my sister, and I gather up our stuff and get off the plane.
I stride down the gangway, my duffel bag bouncing against my hip. I should be tired, what with the fourteen hour time difference and not sleeping on the plane, but I’m not. I could sprint to Baggage Claim, if I wanted to. I could hit a ball clear across the runway.
Momoko stumbles along behind me. She made a lot of friends in America, so she was really sad about leaving – maybe the saddest of all of us. Nobody ever tried to beat her up over there. She cried during half the flight. During the other half, she was writing in her polka dot-covered diary, or flipping through photos in this little album she had, no doubt reliving her glory days as Elementary School Science Fair Winner.
Just ahead, there’s a guy in a navy suit, chattering into his cell phone. To my left, a young mother talks to her little girl. And then there’s some sort of high school sports team, everyone in matching jackets, coming back to Tokushima from a tournament in Tokyo, I guess, and they’re all jabbering away in the local dialect. The weird thing is that I understand what they’re saying. Every single word.
I learned to speak English pretty well in America – better than Okaasan, almost as well as my brainiac sister and Otosan – but I still missed a lot of words. Even when people spoke loudly, as if I was deaf, or super slow, I only understood about seventy percent. I kinda got used to not understanding, so this is nice, for a change.
We go down the escalator to get our suitcases, and then through sliding glass doors, into the Arrivals lobby, where there’s a huge mural of festival dancers in pink summer kimono on the wall.
“Okaerinasai!” Welcome home! Otosan is right there to greet us. He doesn’t hug us or anything. Nobody hugs in Japan. But he smiles, and reaches out for Okaasan’s bags.
He came back a couple weeks ahead of us. Momoko and I wanted to stay in American school until spring break. That means we’ve already missed the entrance ceremonies at our new schools here in Japan. But it’s no big deal. Everybody’s Japanese here, so we’ll fit right in.
“Where’s Ojiisan?” I ask, looking around for my grandfather. I figured he’d be all anxious to see us. We live in the same house, so it’s not like my dad would have had to go out of his way to pick him up.
Public Slushpile Winner #3
TITLE: The Victorious Dead
GENRE: SF/Space Opera
“Where the hell is my ship, Skrankle?” Captain Vaslisha Tor Dain slammed the salvage dealer against the peeling office wall and pressed hard on his neck. She swore and stepped sideways as the putrid orange slime he oozed in self-defense crept towards her feet. If he ruined her second favorite pair of boots, she was going to do more than choke him—providing the smell that came along with the slime didn’t suffocate her first.
Vas was a simple sort of mercenary. All she wanted in life was her ship, her crew, and a good fight. Now this whimpering scum bag destroyed that. Her gut knotted up as worry and anger fought inside her. Anger was an old friend. Worry was far closer to a stranger and she liked it that way. Skrankle was getting to share all of her feelings first hand and wasn’t faring well from it. The dark blue patches covering his red fleshy cheeks couldn’t bode well for his continued survival.
Vas squeezed his neck tighter.
More orange slime dripped down the wall behind Skrankle. His left arm twitched out and tugged futilely at her hand. He got enough air to choke out a few words, “I said to you, Captain, Victorious Dead is in slip five. There she’s been all month.”
Vas increased pressure on his throat until he darkened at least two more shades, then let him collapse. She wiped her hands on her heavy brown duster. While not traditional starship mercenary garb, it suited her just fine. “Slip five is empty, Skrankle. You were supposed to fix her. Not lose her.”
The Ilerian gathered himself and slithered to his desk. He slurped into his chair with a heavy sigh and nasty sucking sound. The rustle of bureaucratic skill he demonstrated in calling up his vid-screen indicated he’d recover from her stranglehold. Unfortunately.
“Records of mine say the Victorious Dead docked here twenty-nine days ago. Scheduled decommission ten days ago…”
Vas pulled her heavy blaster free of its hip holster the instant “decommissioned” left his thin purple lips. “You ripped my ship apart?” The polished tip of her weapon found a home against his temple. The urge to pull the trigger made her mouth go dry, but the need to find her beloved ship forced her finger to stay still. An odd feeling slammed into her, starting in the pit of her stomach and clawing its way up to her throat. It took almost a full minute to recognize it as fear. She forced it back down.
Skrankle whimpered, and frantically pushed a few more buttons. “No, I’m sure there’s mistake— a mistake. Yes, yes. Mistake, I’m sure.”
She kept the blaster to his head and leaned over to look out into the space station shipyard through the slimy window of his office. Vas tried not to think what he’d done to the window to leave that light green ichors on it.
GENRE: SF/Space Opera
“Where the hell is my ship, Skrankle?” Captain Vaslisha Tor Dain slammed the salvage dealer against the peeling office wall and pressed hard on his neck. She swore and stepped sideways as the putrid orange slime he oozed in self-defense crept towards her feet. If he ruined her second favorite pair of boots, she was going to do more than choke him—providing the smell that came along with the slime didn’t suffocate her first.
Vas was a simple sort of mercenary. All she wanted in life was her ship, her crew, and a good fight. Now this whimpering scum bag destroyed that. Her gut knotted up as worry and anger fought inside her. Anger was an old friend. Worry was far closer to a stranger and she liked it that way. Skrankle was getting to share all of her feelings first hand and wasn’t faring well from it. The dark blue patches covering his red fleshy cheeks couldn’t bode well for his continued survival.
Vas squeezed his neck tighter.
More orange slime dripped down the wall behind Skrankle. His left arm twitched out and tugged futilely at her hand. He got enough air to choke out a few words, “I said to you, Captain, Victorious Dead is in slip five. There she’s been all month.”
Vas increased pressure on his throat until he darkened at least two more shades, then let him collapse. She wiped her hands on her heavy brown duster. While not traditional starship mercenary garb, it suited her just fine. “Slip five is empty, Skrankle. You were supposed to fix her. Not lose her.”
The Ilerian gathered himself and slithered to his desk. He slurped into his chair with a heavy sigh and nasty sucking sound. The rustle of bureaucratic skill he demonstrated in calling up his vid-screen indicated he’d recover from her stranglehold. Unfortunately.
“Records of mine say the Victorious Dead docked here twenty-nine days ago. Scheduled decommission ten days ago…”
Vas pulled her heavy blaster free of its hip holster the instant “decommissioned” left his thin purple lips. “You ripped my ship apart?” The polished tip of her weapon found a home against his temple. The urge to pull the trigger made her mouth go dry, but the need to find her beloved ship forced her finger to stay still. An odd feeling slammed into her, starting in the pit of her stomach and clawing its way up to her throat. It took almost a full minute to recognize it as fear. She forced it back down.
Skrankle whimpered, and frantically pushed a few more buttons. “No, I’m sure there’s mistake— a mistake. Yes, yes. Mistake, I’m sure.”
She kept the blaster to his head and leaned over to look out into the space station shipyard through the slimy window of his office. Vas tried not to think what he’d done to the window to leave that light green ichors on it.
Public Slushpile Winner #2
TITLE: TRAPPED IN LUNCH LADY LAND
GENRE: CHAPTER BOOK
“Hey kid! You, with the red hair. Yeah, you! We’ve got a creamed corn emergency on our hands! Get down to the storeroom and fetch me a big can, quick now!”
I’m Josh Brannon, the kid with the red hair. I had cafeteria duty, on account of an incident involving a wad of chewing gum and Patty Anne McGinty’s chair, which I had almost nothing to do with, no matter what that tattletale Patty Anne says. Mrs. Kuchen, the lunch lady, was waving a big, gloppy spoon in my direction.
The truth is, Mrs. Kuchen freaks me out. She’s as big as an offensive lineman and her face is always bright red and sweaty. Her uniform has these weird stains on it that are never the same color as what we’re eating that day. Plus, her hair net makes her look like an alien. I don’t think she likes kids much.
Mrs. Kuchen snarled, “Stop daydreaming, kid!” and I headed for the storeroom at the back of the kitchen.
The door opened with a creak, like you hear in horror movies. Serling Heights Intermediate School was built way back in the thirties. They keep adding on to it, so it looks like a bunch of different buildings stuck together. Kind of like Frankenstein’s monster. The cafeteria is in the oldest part of the school. The storeroom is about what you’d expect—cobwebs, damp stone walls, a sour, barfy smell. Yuck city.
I flicked on the lights and it didn’t seem so bad, not that I was scared or anything. A long flight of metal stairs led to a dark basement. Lunch Lady Kuchen yelled, “Move it!” and I took the steps two at a time.
It was cold down there, like I had descended a lot farther than twelve steps. Rickety shelves lined the walls. Cans as big around as hubcaps filled the shelves. There were boxes of instant potatoes the size of tombstones. I found the corn on a bottom shelf at the far end of the storeroom, where the ceiling got lower and a big, greasy stain covered the floor. Time for the Health Department to pay a visit, I thought.
Something else caught my eye. In one corner, half-hidden behind a cabinet that had sagged sideways, was a little wooden door. It looked way older than the school, which I knew was impossible. A sign on it read KEEP OUT. Underneath the sign someone had scratched a skull and crossbones into the wood, and beneath that THIS MEANS YOU! Now I had to see what was behind that door.
I dropped the canned corn and reached for the rusty handle. It turned, just barely, with a scraping metal sound. I pulled hard but nothing happened. I gritted my teeth, grabbed it with both hands and really yanked. Nothing. I was about to give up when I leaned against the door to catch my breath. It flew open, pulling me after it!
I tumbled through the air and landed with a plop in something soft and sticky.
GENRE: CHAPTER BOOK
“Hey kid! You, with the red hair. Yeah, you! We’ve got a creamed corn emergency on our hands! Get down to the storeroom and fetch me a big can, quick now!”
I’m Josh Brannon, the kid with the red hair. I had cafeteria duty, on account of an incident involving a wad of chewing gum and Patty Anne McGinty’s chair, which I had almost nothing to do with, no matter what that tattletale Patty Anne says. Mrs. Kuchen, the lunch lady, was waving a big, gloppy spoon in my direction.
The truth is, Mrs. Kuchen freaks me out. She’s as big as an offensive lineman and her face is always bright red and sweaty. Her uniform has these weird stains on it that are never the same color as what we’re eating that day. Plus, her hair net makes her look like an alien. I don’t think she likes kids much.
Mrs. Kuchen snarled, “Stop daydreaming, kid!” and I headed for the storeroom at the back of the kitchen.
The door opened with a creak, like you hear in horror movies. Serling Heights Intermediate School was built way back in the thirties. They keep adding on to it, so it looks like a bunch of different buildings stuck together. Kind of like Frankenstein’s monster. The cafeteria is in the oldest part of the school. The storeroom is about what you’d expect—cobwebs, damp stone walls, a sour, barfy smell. Yuck city.
I flicked on the lights and it didn’t seem so bad, not that I was scared or anything. A long flight of metal stairs led to a dark basement. Lunch Lady Kuchen yelled, “Move it!” and I took the steps two at a time.
It was cold down there, like I had descended a lot farther than twelve steps. Rickety shelves lined the walls. Cans as big around as hubcaps filled the shelves. There were boxes of instant potatoes the size of tombstones. I found the corn on a bottom shelf at the far end of the storeroom, where the ceiling got lower and a big, greasy stain covered the floor. Time for the Health Department to pay a visit, I thought.
Something else caught my eye. In one corner, half-hidden behind a cabinet that had sagged sideways, was a little wooden door. It looked way older than the school, which I knew was impossible. A sign on it read KEEP OUT. Underneath the sign someone had scratched a skull and crossbones into the wood, and beneath that THIS MEANS YOU! Now I had to see what was behind that door.
I dropped the canned corn and reached for the rusty handle. It turned, just barely, with a scraping metal sound. I pulled hard but nothing happened. I gritted my teeth, grabbed it with both hands and really yanked. Nothing. I was about to give up when I leaned against the door to catch my breath. It flew open, pulling me after it!
I tumbled through the air and landed with a plop in something soft and sticky.
Public Slushpile Winner #1
TITLE: Lifeweaver
GENRE: Fantasy
King Arlan had shown impeccable timing in getting himself murdered tonight. Talyn could think of no better excuse to leave one of his mother's insufferable dinner parties than, 'My apologies, someone assassinated the king, and I must go bring His Majesty back to life.'
But now, as Talyn and his bodyguard strode through the palace halls, anxiety prickled the air. Guards watched him with uneasy stares. Servants lingered in doorways, only to scatter like roaches when he glanced their way. He didn’t blame them for their uncertainty. He had become lifeweaver only a year ago, and self-doubt still churned in his gut. Especially now, before what would likely be the most important weave of his life. To fail would be akin to treason.
The tense atmosphere also spawned an unnerving thought: if someone truly wanted the king dead – permanently – then within the next few minutes, they would have to kill Talyn too.
And unlike every other person in Aronia, Talyn had no one to save him from death.
He shivered as he stepped through the dining hall's entry doors, enduring a sudden draft that carried the odors of citrus and blood. In every corner, shadows lingered. But so did royal guards – at least twenty, spaced evenly, like armored pillars wielding sword and spear.
Talyn murmured to his bodyguard, "How could an assassin slip past this many guards?"
Gariss, ever-vigilant, did not even spare him a glance. "Maybe some turned traitor."
The floor shook as the doors slammed shut behind them. Talyn jumped, and eyed the nearest guards. Their stern gazes judged him in return.
Shrinking closer to Gariss, Talyn fumbled with the pockets of his robe for the silver coin he always carried. When he withdrew it, the blessed trinket showed a pair of waning crescent moons. Again. The past few days, every time he checked his lucksign, the unlucky side came up. In the night sky, both moons waned as well. Ill omen atop ill omen.
"Siela protect me," he murmured, tucking the lucksign away. Continuing down the marble walkway, he faked a confident stride, but ended up feeling – and probably looking – as rigid as a boy on stilts. His lanky limbs and babyish face likely didn't invoke authority, either.
No traitorous guards or shadowy killers came for him. Yet.
He and Gariss marched between long, empty tables. The hall’s grandiosity would’ve appalled any commoners; they could have built themselves an oaken palace out of the hundreds of high-backed chairs. Talyn had dined here only once, during his official appointment as lifeweaver. The din of drunken nobles celebrating had made his ears ring. But tonight, the grand hall was a mausoleum. Only two sounds broke the silence: the subtle creaking of dozens of chandeliers, and Talyn's footsteps, thudding a chilling heartbeat.
On the far end, a wide dais lifted the royal table to prominence. This table, in turn, held up the remains of a small feast, a decanter of spilled wine, and a still, lifeless body: King Arlan.
Talyn made it halfway there before something invisible jabbed into his mind like steel raindrops.
GENRE: Fantasy
King Arlan had shown impeccable timing in getting himself murdered tonight. Talyn could think of no better excuse to leave one of his mother's insufferable dinner parties than, 'My apologies, someone assassinated the king, and I must go bring His Majesty back to life.'
But now, as Talyn and his bodyguard strode through the palace halls, anxiety prickled the air. Guards watched him with uneasy stares. Servants lingered in doorways, only to scatter like roaches when he glanced their way. He didn’t blame them for their uncertainty. He had become lifeweaver only a year ago, and self-doubt still churned in his gut. Especially now, before what would likely be the most important weave of his life. To fail would be akin to treason.
The tense atmosphere also spawned an unnerving thought: if someone truly wanted the king dead – permanently – then within the next few minutes, they would have to kill Talyn too.
And unlike every other person in Aronia, Talyn had no one to save him from death.
He shivered as he stepped through the dining hall's entry doors, enduring a sudden draft that carried the odors of citrus and blood. In every corner, shadows lingered. But so did royal guards – at least twenty, spaced evenly, like armored pillars wielding sword and spear.
Talyn murmured to his bodyguard, "How could an assassin slip past this many guards?"
Gariss, ever-vigilant, did not even spare him a glance. "Maybe some turned traitor."
The floor shook as the doors slammed shut behind them. Talyn jumped, and eyed the nearest guards. Their stern gazes judged him in return.
Shrinking closer to Gariss, Talyn fumbled with the pockets of his robe for the silver coin he always carried. When he withdrew it, the blessed trinket showed a pair of waning crescent moons. Again. The past few days, every time he checked his lucksign, the unlucky side came up. In the night sky, both moons waned as well. Ill omen atop ill omen.
"Siela protect me," he murmured, tucking the lucksign away. Continuing down the marble walkway, he faked a confident stride, but ended up feeling – and probably looking – as rigid as a boy on stilts. His lanky limbs and babyish face likely didn't invoke authority, either.
No traitorous guards or shadowy killers came for him. Yet.
He and Gariss marched between long, empty tables. The hall’s grandiosity would’ve appalled any commoners; they could have built themselves an oaken palace out of the hundreds of high-backed chairs. Talyn had dined here only once, during his official appointment as lifeweaver. The din of drunken nobles celebrating had made his ears ring. But tonight, the grand hall was a mausoleum. Only two sounds broke the silence: the subtle creaking of dozens of chandeliers, and Talyn's footsteps, thudding a chilling heartbeat.
On the far end, a wide dais lifted the royal table to prominence. This table, in turn, held up the remains of a small feast, a decanter of spilled wine, and a still, lifeless body: King Arlan.
Talyn made it halfway there before something invisible jabbed into his mind like steel raindrops.
Monday, March 26, 2012
On the Upcoming Critique (Public Slushpile)
The first 500 words from our top 5 queriers will post tomorrow morning. I'd like to encourage as many of you as possible to jump in and critique at least 2 or 3 of them!
Here's why:
Here's why:
- Blog hits are OFF THE CHARTS during critiques sessions like this, but this isn't reflected in the actual number of critiques that appear.
- Which means that MANY are reading without critiquing.
- Which is partly okay, because part of this exercise is to read and to learn from what others are saying.
- But it's also partly NOT okay, because I think maybe some of you don't feel like your critique will be "good enough" or that you "don't have enough experience" to offer words of wisdom.
- Folks. This is the place to GET THAT EXPERIENCE. Just...do it.
- The ground rules are easy: Be KIND and be HONEST. In that order.
So...I hope to see many new names tomorrow in the comment boxes! It's a diverse collection of 5 different genres: YA Thriller, Space Opera, YA Contemporary, Fantasy, and Chapter Book. Pick one or two--or all five--and have at it!
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Public Slushpile Winners!
Wow! It was breathtaking to watch your comments flooding in.
Here are the results of your toil--the top 5 entries:
#5 -- Home Base
#13 -- Trapped in Lunch Lady Land
#16 -- Lifeweaver
#18 -- The Victorious Dead
#20 -- Guide Dog
Congratulations! Winners, please email your first 500 words to me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com (do NOT use the web form, as I will be doing these by hand). Please include your TITLE and GENRE as per normal formatting.
I need your entries by Monday the 26th, as they will post first thing Tuesday morning.
Yay!
Here are the results of your toil--the top 5 entries:
#5 -- Home Base
#13 -- Trapped in Lunch Lady Land
#16 -- Lifeweaver
#18 -- The Victorious Dead
#20 -- Guide Dog
Congratulations! Winners, please email your first 500 words to me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com (do NOT use the web form, as I will be doing these by hand). Please include your TITLE and GENRE as per normal formatting.
I need your entries by Monday the 26th, as they will post first thing Tuesday morning.
Yay!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Public Slushpile #25
TITLE: SEASON OF THE SOULLESS
GENRE: YA Near-Future Science Fiction
Dear Agent,
Untamable curiosity tugs at seventeen-year-old Ten’s ribs, driving her to be something, anything more than what BioLife Technologies created her to be. Such desires are absurd, of course. After all, Ten is a clone: biologically human, but deemed soulless because scientists conceived her in a Petri dish. Her only value is to fulfill her purpose as a subject in BioLife’s experiment to transform clones into living weapons. She exists to cause death.
Regardless, she risks severe beatings to sneak remarkable items from wardens’ purses, eavesdrop on doctors' conversations, and steal forbidden glimpses of the outside world. Her mischief pays off when a series of sudden explosions destroys her lab, providing her with the courage and wit to escape.
Rather than rainbows and giggles, freedom brings frostbite and an empty belly. With BioLife’s watchful eye everywhere, her survival appears grim. That is, until she meets science prodigy, Seth Adams. Seth offers her a new home, a new identity, a new life, possibly even love.
She also befriends Blaze, a free-spirited, fellow escapee. When she discovers that BioLife turned him into a human bomb, she risks her safe, comfortable life with Seth to help Blaze find the neutralizer that will prevent his impending detonation.
In their search, Ten and Blaze, discover that BioLife has thousands of victims. Without immediate action, the still-captive clones face certain annihilation. Blaze insists they mount a rescue. Ten is unsure. She’s nearly died twice. Secrets are unraveling her relationship with Seth. And despite their best efforts, finding Blaze’s neutralizer seems impossible. She’s soulless, an abomination—a task as grand as freeing all the clones feels unfathomable. Nevertheless, she’s their only hope.
GENRE: YA Near-Future Science Fiction
Dear Agent,
Untamable curiosity tugs at seventeen-year-old Ten’s ribs, driving her to be something, anything more than what BioLife Technologies created her to be. Such desires are absurd, of course. After all, Ten is a clone: biologically human, but deemed soulless because scientists conceived her in a Petri dish. Her only value is to fulfill her purpose as a subject in BioLife’s experiment to transform clones into living weapons. She exists to cause death.
Regardless, she risks severe beatings to sneak remarkable items from wardens’ purses, eavesdrop on doctors' conversations, and steal forbidden glimpses of the outside world. Her mischief pays off when a series of sudden explosions destroys her lab, providing her with the courage and wit to escape.
Rather than rainbows and giggles, freedom brings frostbite and an empty belly. With BioLife’s watchful eye everywhere, her survival appears grim. That is, until she meets science prodigy, Seth Adams. Seth offers her a new home, a new identity, a new life, possibly even love.
She also befriends Blaze, a free-spirited, fellow escapee. When she discovers that BioLife turned him into a human bomb, she risks her safe, comfortable life with Seth to help Blaze find the neutralizer that will prevent his impending detonation.
In their search, Ten and Blaze, discover that BioLife has thousands of victims. Without immediate action, the still-captive clones face certain annihilation. Blaze insists they mount a rescue. Ten is unsure. She’s nearly died twice. Secrets are unraveling her relationship with Seth. And despite their best efforts, finding Blaze’s neutralizer seems impossible. She’s soulless, an abomination—a task as grand as freeing all the clones feels unfathomable. Nevertheless, she’s their only hope.
Public Slushpile #24
TITLE: Brake Fluid, Blood and Body Bags
GENRE: YA Contemporary
No one who rides with Triss is ever in control, but calling shotgun means I get the best view of whatever chaos she’s driving straight into. When you sit up front, you share responsibility when things go wrong, but I don’t mind. I’d do anything for Triss.
Like today I’m helping her dump a body. Jackson’s body, her betting partner in their twisted game of manipulation. The only thing better than an unsupervised party where you can dance, drink and screw, is betting on who’s gonna get wasted and do something stupid. We just didn’t figure on anyone getting dead. Now, between Triss’ broken-down car, her crazy divorced parents, and the fact that we’re just a couple of dumb, broke kids who know nothing about corpse disposal, getting rid of Jackson keeps getting more complicated. Especially since I don’t know how much of it is my fault.
Sure, it wasn’t me who swung the Louisville Slugger that split his head open, but I was one of the main players at the game six months back when this whole thing started. By the end of the night, Triss won five-hundred bucks, Jackson cracked her jaw with his fist, and she stabbed him in the gut with a butter knife. It was a party. Things happen. But people aren’t like cards or poker chips. They have baggage. They get angry. They want revenge.
And now Triss and I have to clean up the mess before his parents get home.
Brake Fluid, Blood and Body Bags is a 60,000 words Contemporary YA which hops between three timelines: the present, the night Jackson died, and the party six months earlier.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
No one who rides with Triss is ever in control, but calling shotgun means I get the best view of whatever chaos she’s driving straight into. When you sit up front, you share responsibility when things go wrong, but I don’t mind. I’d do anything for Triss.
Like today I’m helping her dump a body. Jackson’s body, her betting partner in their twisted game of manipulation. The only thing better than an unsupervised party where you can dance, drink and screw, is betting on who’s gonna get wasted and do something stupid. We just didn’t figure on anyone getting dead. Now, between Triss’ broken-down car, her crazy divorced parents, and the fact that we’re just a couple of dumb, broke kids who know nothing about corpse disposal, getting rid of Jackson keeps getting more complicated. Especially since I don’t know how much of it is my fault.
Sure, it wasn’t me who swung the Louisville Slugger that split his head open, but I was one of the main players at the game six months back when this whole thing started. By the end of the night, Triss won five-hundred bucks, Jackson cracked her jaw with his fist, and she stabbed him in the gut with a butter knife. It was a party. Things happen. But people aren’t like cards or poker chips. They have baggage. They get angry. They want revenge.
And now Triss and I have to clean up the mess before his parents get home.
Brake Fluid, Blood and Body Bags is a 60,000 words Contemporary YA which hops between three timelines: the present, the night Jackson died, and the party six months earlier.
Public Slushpile #23
TITLE: SUNCHILD
GENRE: YA High Fantasy
Dear Brilliant Agent,
Since you are seeking YA high fantasy with a gothic twist, I hope you'll consider my novel SUNCHILD, which contains quite a lot of ensorcelled darkness, some mullioned windows and sweeping moors, and of course, a romance.
Sixteen year-old Siria Nightingale has never seen the sun.
In the gothic kingdom of Terra Volat, the queen’s enchanted Darkness has reigned supreme for over fifteen years, covering the land in clouds and shadow every day and night. But never having known anything different, Siria has had no reason to question it... until now.
When her ordinary physical appearance changes to reflect the vivid characteristics of the sun she has never seen--freckles, hair like fire, eyes that burn with gemstone brightness--Siria is forced to accept an impossible truth: that she is a sunchild, a creature whose power comes through sunlight, and whose existence is irrevocably tied to the sun. But Queen Iyzabel has made it clear that the sun is unwelcome in Terra-Volat, and that anyone linked to it is a threat to the kingdom that must be removed at all costs.
And so Siria flees.
Pursued by soldiers with a price on her head, Siria journeys into the wilderness with her best friend Linden and a group of renegade companions. As they make for the safety of the rebel camp in the north, she must cobble together the tenuous fragments of her identity to make something that will endure. Because there is more now at stake than just her own life, and if she cannot summon the strength to defy the force that has shut the world in the dark and claim her powers as a sunchild, she may lose the people she loves most, and condemn an entire kingdom to a darkness without hope of redemption.
SUNCHILD is complete at a few dollops under 93,000 words.
GENRE: YA High Fantasy
Dear Brilliant Agent,
Since you are seeking YA high fantasy with a gothic twist, I hope you'll consider my novel SUNCHILD, which contains quite a lot of ensorcelled darkness, some mullioned windows and sweeping moors, and of course, a romance.
Sixteen year-old Siria Nightingale has never seen the sun.
In the gothic kingdom of Terra Volat, the queen’s enchanted Darkness has reigned supreme for over fifteen years, covering the land in clouds and shadow every day and night. But never having known anything different, Siria has had no reason to question it... until now.
When her ordinary physical appearance changes to reflect the vivid characteristics of the sun she has never seen--freckles, hair like fire, eyes that burn with gemstone brightness--Siria is forced to accept an impossible truth: that she is a sunchild, a creature whose power comes through sunlight, and whose existence is irrevocably tied to the sun. But Queen Iyzabel has made it clear that the sun is unwelcome in Terra-Volat, and that anyone linked to it is a threat to the kingdom that must be removed at all costs.
And so Siria flees.
Pursued by soldiers with a price on her head, Siria journeys into the wilderness with her best friend Linden and a group of renegade companions. As they make for the safety of the rebel camp in the north, she must cobble together the tenuous fragments of her identity to make something that will endure. Because there is more now at stake than just her own life, and if she cannot summon the strength to defy the force that has shut the world in the dark and claim her powers as a sunchild, she may lose the people she loves most, and condemn an entire kingdom to a darkness without hope of redemption.
SUNCHILD is complete at a few dollops under 93,000 words.
Public Slushpile #22
TITLE: Vis Decor: Alphi
GENRE: Epic Fantasy
In an underwater village, the only thing missing is justice. No one supports the dark-skinned Greys except seventeen-year-old Pure, Alphi McClure—and her call of equality is about to set tempers ablaze.
Once the villagers attack Alphi for her beliefs, she flees to her uncles’ city in the hope for refuge. The place is teeming with life, and Alphi’s heart soars --a big city means big ideas, there can’t be any age-old racism here. But when her uncle brutally tortures a Grey, he pushes Alphi aside, and she can do nothing but watch --until the Grey rebels attack her own family. And when they do, she joins them.
Her uncles’ enemies become her true family, and the rebels’ base her true home. This should be her dream. Yet when war is declared, Alphi’s rash decision to join the rebels comes back to haunt her. The two sides hunger for blood, and deciding which family to kill will leave Alphi torn apart. The war with the rebels is nothing compared to the war with herself, and unless she picks a side, both will only end in death.
GENRE: Epic Fantasy
In an underwater village, the only thing missing is justice. No one supports the dark-skinned Greys except seventeen-year-old Pure, Alphi McClure—and her call of equality is about to set tempers ablaze.
Once the villagers attack Alphi for her beliefs, she flees to her uncles’ city in the hope for refuge. The place is teeming with life, and Alphi’s heart soars --a big city means big ideas, there can’t be any age-old racism here. But when her uncle brutally tortures a Grey, he pushes Alphi aside, and she can do nothing but watch --until the Grey rebels attack her own family. And when they do, she joins them.
Her uncles’ enemies become her true family, and the rebels’ base her true home. This should be her dream. Yet when war is declared, Alphi’s rash decision to join the rebels comes back to haunt her. The two sides hunger for blood, and deciding which family to kill will leave Alphi torn apart. The war with the rebels is nothing compared to the war with herself, and unless she picks a side, both will only end in death.
Public Slushpile #21
TITLE: The Story of Laurel Blue Stone
GENRE: Contemporary YA
Laurel Blue Stone rarely leaves the Zuni reservation except to go to school. Seventeen and she hasn't even kissed a boy. She hasn't wanted to until today, when she meets Cal Trillig, a Park Ranger, on a New Mexican mesa. The only hitch is Cal is white.
Besides, her parents have already promised her to Navajo Reddington Cornudas. Laurel senses his bad medicine but her parents, unaware of his criminal record, meth habit, girlfriend and baby, insist on the match. Laurel is unaware that Cornudas has convinced her parents that his father saved her father's life years ago, and now they owe him Laurel. She dutifully obeys and dates him. Her best friend, Dinah Blackbear, who is in love with Laurel, acts as go-between for Laurel and Cal, and unwilling chaperon for Laurel and Cornudas.
Soon, Cornudas shows definite signs of being unhinged and abusive, just as Laurel feared. Restraining orders and a 300 mile move fail to stop this guy from ruthlessly pursuing, abducting, shooting, and dragging her across the desert. If Laurel cannot outsmart this sadistic mad man, she fears she will not make it out of the desert and her teens alive.
GENRE: Contemporary YA
Laurel Blue Stone rarely leaves the Zuni reservation except to go to school. Seventeen and she hasn't even kissed a boy. She hasn't wanted to until today, when she meets Cal Trillig, a Park Ranger, on a New Mexican mesa. The only hitch is Cal is white.
Besides, her parents have already promised her to Navajo Reddington Cornudas. Laurel senses his bad medicine but her parents, unaware of his criminal record, meth habit, girlfriend and baby, insist on the match. Laurel is unaware that Cornudas has convinced her parents that his father saved her father's life years ago, and now they owe him Laurel. She dutifully obeys and dates him. Her best friend, Dinah Blackbear, who is in love with Laurel, acts as go-between for Laurel and Cal, and unwilling chaperon for Laurel and Cornudas.
Soon, Cornudas shows definite signs of being unhinged and abusive, just as Laurel feared. Restraining orders and a 300 mile move fail to stop this guy from ruthlessly pursuing, abducting, shooting, and dragging her across the desert. If Laurel cannot outsmart this sadistic mad man, she fears she will not make it out of the desert and her teens alive.
Public Slushpile #20
TITLE: GUIDE DOG
GENRE: YA thriller
Fifteen year old Irene’s got problems. Being skinny, homely and acne-prone is just a small part of what’s making her miserable, but thanks to the girls in high school it’s the biggest thing in her life. Sometimes it seems like the world (including her mother, sister and former and current schools) have rendered their verdict-she’s a mess with a capital M.
But when her mother insists she take a summer job, she finds herself working for Cyrus Wozniack, a scientist who spends his hours running DNA samples and using them to create serums, pills and creams for the purpose of transforming the recipient. And he’ll let Irene sample his wares. The only caveat is that she has to be his collector, which means traveling with Cyrus’s creepy son to collect DNA samples. Okay, it’s a little weird, but it seems harmless. At first.
But when two of her targets turn up dead, she begins to realize just where her usefulness lies. Not so much as a collector, but as a guide dog. And with that realization comes another-she can use her newfound role to get back at her tormentors. But will the price prove too high?
GENRE: YA thriller
Fifteen year old Irene’s got problems. Being skinny, homely and acne-prone is just a small part of what’s making her miserable, but thanks to the girls in high school it’s the biggest thing in her life. Sometimes it seems like the world (including her mother, sister and former and current schools) have rendered their verdict-she’s a mess with a capital M.
But when her mother insists she take a summer job, she finds herself working for Cyrus Wozniack, a scientist who spends his hours running DNA samples and using them to create serums, pills and creams for the purpose of transforming the recipient. And he’ll let Irene sample his wares. The only caveat is that she has to be his collector, which means traveling with Cyrus’s creepy son to collect DNA samples. Okay, it’s a little weird, but it seems harmless. At first.
But when two of her targets turn up dead, she begins to realize just where her usefulness lies. Not so much as a collector, but as a guide dog. And with that realization comes another-she can use her newfound role to get back at her tormentors. But will the price prove too high?
Public Slushpile #19
TITLE: A Light in the Window
GENRE: YA historical
Seventeen-year-old Catherine McBride has a head full of modern ideas and a heart full of love for the mysterious new farmhand Patrick, neither of which gives her strict family any pleasure. Rumors about Patrick’s past as a drifter swirl and she is forbidden from socializing with him. But Catherine’s instincts compel her to go against all warnings, and even her own responsible nature, to meet with him secretly.
When a gang of criminal vagrants and three mysterious messages endanger not just Catherine and Patrick’s secret love, but also his reputation and her safety, Catherine realizes the worst thing she can do is let fear keep her silent. It falls to her to bring everything she knows about Patrick to light before an innocent man goes to prison, the true criminal gets away, and another victim is found dead.
A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW is set during the Depression era and is complete at 66,000 words.
GENRE: YA historical
Seventeen-year-old Catherine McBride has a head full of modern ideas and a heart full of love for the mysterious new farmhand Patrick, neither of which gives her strict family any pleasure. Rumors about Patrick’s past as a drifter swirl and she is forbidden from socializing with him. But Catherine’s instincts compel her to go against all warnings, and even her own responsible nature, to meet with him secretly.
When a gang of criminal vagrants and three mysterious messages endanger not just Catherine and Patrick’s secret love, but also his reputation and her safety, Catherine realizes the worst thing she can do is let fear keep her silent. It falls to her to bring everything she knows about Patrick to light before an innocent man goes to prison, the true criminal gets away, and another victim is found dead.
A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW is set during the Depression era and is complete at 66,000 words.
Public Slushpile #18
TITLE: The Victorious Dead
GENRE: Space Opera
Vaslisha Tor Dain is a mercenary starship captain with a few simple rules: A good ship is better than a great man; in case of confusion always err on the side of blowing someone's head off; and never fall for a telepath or a member of her crew. And All of those are about to bite her in the ass.
Vas’s life takes a turn for the worse when she comes back to her crew after what should have been a two week pleasure trip to find out she’s actually been gone a month and has no memory of missing time. Her beloved ship, The Victorious Dead, has been sold for scrap and its pieces scattered throughout the galaxy. Plus, there are mysterious, unmarked ships blowing apart entire planets and the Commonwealth government can’t, or won’t, stop them.
And even worse, she may be falling in love with her telepathic second-in-command.
GENRE: Space Opera
Vaslisha Tor Dain is a mercenary starship captain with a few simple rules: A good ship is better than a great man; in case of confusion always err on the side of blowing someone's head off; and never fall for a telepath or a member of her crew. And All of those are about to bite her in the ass.
Vas’s life takes a turn for the worse when she comes back to her crew after what should have been a two week pleasure trip to find out she’s actually been gone a month and has no memory of missing time. Her beloved ship, The Victorious Dead, has been sold for scrap and its pieces scattered throughout the galaxy. Plus, there are mysterious, unmarked ships blowing apart entire planets and the Commonwealth government can’t, or won’t, stop them.
And even worse, she may be falling in love with her telepathic second-in-command.
Public Slushpile #16
TITLE: Lifeweaver
GENRE: Fantasy
Dear [agent],
A year ago, Talyn inherited the gift of lifeweaving: the ability to transfer any affliction, even death, from one person to another. By healing the nobility and punishing the wicked, he believes he lives a righteous life – until one assassination hones his gift into a political weapon.
When the king dies to a foreign ambassador’s blade, Talyn saves his liege's life by weaving the death back onto the supposed murderer. In the process, he discovers the twisted truth: the king plotted his own death, exploiting Talyn’s abilities to incite a war.
Overwhelmed with guilt, Talyn cannot bear to stay silent. But when he seeks allies in ousting the king's plot, he only finds more conspirators. Worse, he has drawn the attention of a desperate outcast who needs Talyn's power to save his family – and is willing to kill to get it. Talyn's only salvation hinges on the one person who will listen to him, and who might protect him from the schemers tearing him in all directions: a young, stubborn zealot named Serra.
Unfortunately, her name is next on the list of murderers slated for execution by his hand.
GENRE: Fantasy
Dear [agent],
A year ago, Talyn inherited the gift of lifeweaving: the ability to transfer any affliction, even death, from one person to another. By healing the nobility and punishing the wicked, he believes he lives a righteous life – until one assassination hones his gift into a political weapon.
When the king dies to a foreign ambassador’s blade, Talyn saves his liege's life by weaving the death back onto the supposed murderer. In the process, he discovers the twisted truth: the king plotted his own death, exploiting Talyn’s abilities to incite a war.
Overwhelmed with guilt, Talyn cannot bear to stay silent. But when he seeks allies in ousting the king's plot, he only finds more conspirators. Worse, he has drawn the attention of a desperate outcast who needs Talyn's power to save his family – and is willing to kill to get it. Talyn's only salvation hinges on the one person who will listen to him, and who might protect him from the schemers tearing him in all directions: a young, stubborn zealot named Serra.
Unfortunately, her name is next on the list of murderers slated for execution by his hand.
Public Slushpile #13
TITLE: Trapped In Lunch Lady Land
GENRE: Fantasy
A creamed corn emergency in the Serling Heights Intermediate School lunch room sends Josh and Patty Anne to a strange, exceedingly messy secret world. They soon realize that survival in a land made completely from cafeteria food is not a piece of cake.
These former adversaries grudgingly form a team as they battle the whirling blades of the skybeater, brave the molten cheese geysers of Nacho Valley and scale the frigid heights of Neapolitan Mountain on their quest to learn the secrets of Lunch Lady Land and make it back home, gravy-splattered but alive.
Where do lunch ladies come from, and do they really have wings? Can you swim through Jello if your life depends on it? Just why does cafeteria food taste so bad? TRAPPED IN LUNCH LADY LAND. a chapter book complete at 14,500 words, answers these questions and many more.
GENRE: Fantasy
A creamed corn emergency in the Serling Heights Intermediate School lunch room sends Josh and Patty Anne to a strange, exceedingly messy secret world. They soon realize that survival in a land made completely from cafeteria food is not a piece of cake.
These former adversaries grudgingly form a team as they battle the whirling blades of the skybeater, brave the molten cheese geysers of Nacho Valley and scale the frigid heights of Neapolitan Mountain on their quest to learn the secrets of Lunch Lady Land and make it back home, gravy-splattered but alive.
Where do lunch ladies come from, and do they really have wings? Can you swim through Jello if your life depends on it? Just why does cafeteria food taste so bad? TRAPPED IN LUNCH LADY LAND. a chapter book complete at 14,500 words, answers these questions and many more.
Public Slushpile #10
TITLE: DAUGHTER OF THE MOON
GENRE: YA Urban Fantasy
Seventeen-year-old Selina Kane always knew she was different, but never imagined she was last-living-necromancer different. Not until she starts speaking the language of the Underworld and visiting Acherusian Lake in her dreams. And then Blake storms into her life, claiming to be her bonded protector and making her blush and stumble over her words. Blake warns Selina about Ciara, queen of the undead. Ciara has gained ground in the world of the living, and it isn’t a secret that she feels threatened by Selina’s return.
Before long, the undead attack and Selina watches helplessly through the only spell she can conjure – a protective shield – as Blake is dragged away in her place. Selina assumes the undead have murdered him and she turns to the necromantic powers she hardly knows how to use, risking her life to search for Blake in the Underworld. But Selina doesn’t find his soul resting peacefully in Acherusian Lake. Blake’s been transformed into one of the undead, and the guards of the Underworld expect her to find and destroy him.
Selina doesn’t care what the guards’ idea of her duty as a necromancer is; she’s determined to get Blake back in one piece. There is one spell, one that would save Blake’s soul, but she’d have to kill him to use it, and worse, transform him into a ferryman for the Underworld. There may be other ways to save him though, if she's willing to make dark alliances with the undead. Selina knows she shouldn’t, but with Blake’s life in jeopardy, the line between good and evil starts to blur.
GENRE: YA Urban Fantasy
Seventeen-year-old Selina Kane always knew she was different, but never imagined she was last-living-necromancer different. Not until she starts speaking the language of the Underworld and visiting Acherusian Lake in her dreams. And then Blake storms into her life, claiming to be her bonded protector and making her blush and stumble over her words. Blake warns Selina about Ciara, queen of the undead. Ciara has gained ground in the world of the living, and it isn’t a secret that she feels threatened by Selina’s return.
Before long, the undead attack and Selina watches helplessly through the only spell she can conjure – a protective shield – as Blake is dragged away in her place. Selina assumes the undead have murdered him and she turns to the necromantic powers she hardly knows how to use, risking her life to search for Blake in the Underworld. But Selina doesn’t find his soul resting peacefully in Acherusian Lake. Blake’s been transformed into one of the undead, and the guards of the Underworld expect her to find and destroy him.
Selina doesn’t care what the guards’ idea of her duty as a necromancer is; she’s determined to get Blake back in one piece. There is one spell, one that would save Blake’s soul, but she’d have to kill him to use it, and worse, transform him into a ferryman for the Underworld. There may be other ways to save him though, if she's willing to make dark alliances with the undead. Selina knows she shouldn’t, but with Blake’s life in jeopardy, the line between good and evil starts to blur.
Public Slushpile #9
TITLE: Dark Sight
GENRE: YA Paranormal
16-year-old Seraphine knows what death's like. In fact, she experiences it every time she touches anyone. If only she had listened to her brother about ignoring the visions, then maybe a Berserker (think Mr Hyde) wouldn't have crashed the party resulting in more than one casualty and they wouldn't be on the run - again.
Trying to stay hidden from every oogie boogie isn't easy, especially when Seraphine starts seeing the deaths of students at her new school. This time she’s not going to interfere with her visions, she swears. But that's impossible. Apart from the incredible guilt she's feeling knowing they're going to die, they don't die. Now she has to find out what is bringing the students back without letting her brother find out or he'll probably lock her away for life.
Together with cute and protective J.C. and rebellious Toby, who may or may not be dead, she has to discover why the dead are walking. Along the way she will uncover the truth about her curse and find out why the three Fates are stalking her.
If Seraphine doesn't find out what is happening at school and dodge the Fates her vision of her own death might just become a reality.
GENRE: YA Paranormal
16-year-old Seraphine knows what death's like. In fact, she experiences it every time she touches anyone. If only she had listened to her brother about ignoring the visions, then maybe a Berserker (think Mr Hyde) wouldn't have crashed the party resulting in more than one casualty and they wouldn't be on the run - again.
Trying to stay hidden from every oogie boogie isn't easy, especially when Seraphine starts seeing the deaths of students at her new school. This time she’s not going to interfere with her visions, she swears. But that's impossible. Apart from the incredible guilt she's feeling knowing they're going to die, they don't die. Now she has to find out what is bringing the students back without letting her brother find out or he'll probably lock her away for life.
Together with cute and protective J.C. and rebellious Toby, who may or may not be dead, she has to discover why the dead are walking. Along the way she will uncover the truth about her curse and find out why the three Fates are stalking her.
If Seraphine doesn't find out what is happening at school and dodge the Fates her vision of her own death might just become a reality.
Public Slushpile #8
TITLE: White Lies and Friendship Ties
GENRE: Middle Grade Contemporary
Dear Ms. Agent:
Twelve year-old Connor discovers a good-bye note from his mom. He panics at the thought of living in a foster home, and so begins an adventure drummed up by his two friends, Caitlin and Juliana. They hide him out in an old carriage house, so no one will know that she left. Connor’s life in hiding creates challenges way harder than running a 10K race though, like figuring out if his dad, who died last month, is really talking to him, or if Caitlin thinks about him like that, too. Connor’s mom may never come back and for the first time, the finish line is nowhere in sight.
When Connor is tempted with an offer that may help him make the JV track team, he must decide if it’s worth lying to the girls, the only real family he has left—or worse being found. His decision forces him to see what’s really important, but it may be too late. A nosy classmate lurks, and if the girls can’t keep her from figuring out where Connor is, then he may be taken away from his mom anyway, and the trio’s pact may break for good.
GENRE: Middle Grade Contemporary
Dear Ms. Agent:
Twelve year-old Connor discovers a good-bye note from his mom. He panics at the thought of living in a foster home, and so begins an adventure drummed up by his two friends, Caitlin and Juliana. They hide him out in an old carriage house, so no one will know that she left. Connor’s life in hiding creates challenges way harder than running a 10K race though, like figuring out if his dad, who died last month, is really talking to him, or if Caitlin thinks about him like that, too. Connor’s mom may never come back and for the first time, the finish line is nowhere in sight.
When Connor is tempted with an offer that may help him make the JV track team, he must decide if it’s worth lying to the girls, the only real family he has left—or worse being found. His decision forces him to see what’s really important, but it may be too late. A nosy classmate lurks, and if the girls can’t keep her from figuring out where Connor is, then he may be taken away from his mom anyway, and the trio’s pact may break for good.
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