Talkin' Heads Critique Guidelines

Submissions were low this time, so we only have 8 entries to critique. This should translate as more critiques per entry, yes? Let's give our fellow writers some love today. :)

Guidelines for Critique on MSFV:

• Please leave your critique for each entry in the comment box for that entry.
• Please choose a screen name to sign your comments. The screen name DOES NOT have to be your real name; however, it needs to be an identifiable name.  ("Anonymous" is not a name.)
• Critiques should be honest but kind, helpful but sensitive.
• Critiques that attack the writer or are couched in unkind words will be deleted.*
• Cheerleading IS NOT THE SAME as critiquing.  Please don't cheerlead.
• Having said that, it is perfectly acceptable to say positive things about an entry that you feel is strong.  To make these positive comments more helpful, say why it's a strong entry.
• ENTRANTS: As your way of "giving back", please critique a minimum of 5 other entries.

*I can't possibly read every comment.  If you ever see a comment that is truly snarky, please email me.  I count on your help.

Talkin Heads #8

TITLE: Blue Fang
GENRE: YA

Brothers, Will and Mikey, live together in an apartment. Will supplements his income by removing ‘marked’ electronics from select stores and selling them. This is younger Mikey’s first venture.

We're there!" Mikey hit the back of the seat.

Will shut off the car and turned to Mikey. He put his index finger over his lips. "Shhhh. From now on, until we're back home, no talking unless absolutely necessary. Understand?" Will whispered.

Mikey nodded and mimicked Will's finger.

Will continued in a hushed tone. “You only do what I say. When I say it’s time to leave, we leave. Don’t touch anything not marked with an ‘X’. You bring the smaller boxes near the front of the store to the back near the receiving window. Got all that?”

Mikey nodded and smiled. “I’ll be real good.”

Will put a black knit hat over Mikey's light brown hair. He pulled another over his hair, though his was a darker brown. "And keep your gloves on."

Will's blue eyes met Mikey's gray ones until Mikey's head bobbed again.

"Good. Let's go." Will mouthed the words, making no sound.

They exited the car, heading for the delivery window. On the way to the delivery window, Will stopped at the alarm box.

In front of the box holding the wiring to the alarm system, Will flexed his shoulders loosening his muscles under his leather jacket. He clasped his hands and thrust them out in front of him, fingers facing him, until the knuckles cracked. Satisfied, he took out his picks from an inner pocket in his jacket.

Opening the locked box in seconds with his picks, he cut all the wires.

Talkin' Heads #7

TITLE: In Jake's Shoes
GENRE: Adult contemporary southern

Jake and Mack: members of a Mortuary Affairs Unit in Afghanistan. They’re discussing the recent suicide of a member of their unit. Jake recalls a classmate’s suicide 10 years earlier.

I walk over to a desk and straighten an already evenly stacked set of DD forms. A coffee mug holds a handful of pens, so I pick one up, click it once, twice, then place it on top of the stack of forms.  
“I knew a guy who killed himself, Mack…when I was a kid.”

            “No s***. How old were you?

            “Eleven.”

“Jesus! How’d he, you know, how’d he do it?”

            “Drank some drain cleaner.”

            “That’s brutal, man.”

            “Yeah, well, it was a long time ago.”
          
“Why’d he do it? Did he leave a note or anything?”

            “No. But he was really mixed-up, and his family was messed up. Old man on drugs. Beat him and his mom. I think he figured things would never change or get better.”

            “You sound like maybe you were tight with this guy.”

            “Yeah, I guess I was. He was in my fifth-grade class.” I reach down to smooth the black plastic on the body bag.

            Mack is quiet for a moment. I look up at him and then turn away.

            He reaches out and touches my shoulder.

“Climbing inside that thing is still nuts, Jake. You scare the shit outta me sometimes. Know what I mean?” Mack turns and walks over to a table where we all play cards in-between recoveries. He picks up a deck and starts thumbing through it.

            Suddenly, Sergeant Danbury sticks his head inside the tent flap.

            “Get the unit together, girls. And grab your gear. We got a recovery site.”

Talkin' Heads #6

TITLE: Cat and the Dog
GENRE: Adult Romance

Officially, Riley, the dog, belonged to Seth’s roommate, Brandon, but Seth was the one who loved her and took care of her. When Brandon moved out, he left Riley behind.

Seth opened the door to a young woman, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, with a curly pony tail bobbing behind. His roommate search prospects suddenly looked brighter. Her sharp, dark eyes took him in and he felt analyzed and categorized on the spot. An engaging smile spread across her face and Seth couldn’t help but return it.

“Seth Woo? My name’s Catrina Gomez. I’m a friend of Brandon’s”

“Sorry, Brandon’s not here. He moved out a couple days ago. Can I help you?”

“Maybe.” She craned her neck slightly, as if to see into his apartment. Seth instinctively inched the door closed a bit more.

“What’s this about?”

“Brandon left a few things here and he said I could have them. That brown suede chair he’s always despised?” Seth nodded. He knew it. “And some dishes with moons and suns on them.  We bought them together at the LACMA gift shop. And, oh yeah, he said I could have his dog.”

Seth peered at the interloper. “What do you mean?”

“The dog. Riley. Brandon doesn’t want her so he gave her to me.”

The woman whistled and called the dog’s name, and the little traitor came running, whimpering and scratching at the door, until Seth had to let Benedict Riley out. The dog covered Catrina’s face in sloppy kisses and wagged her tail so hard, Seth was sure he’d have welts on his legs.

Obviously, these two knew each other.

“Ms. Gomez, you can send movers for the chair and I don’t give a damn about the dishes, but Riley is my dog. Brandon left her with me.”

Talkin' Heads #5

TITLE: Getting Away With It
GENRE: YA Contemporary

Karma and Kevin are two gifted 9th graders in special ed who desperately want to get into a high school program where they would flourish but who are waitlisted.
          
           She’s making me talk on the phone.

           Laying in my bed, I texted Karma about Witkowski. Apparently, I could not text fast enough for her liking. She made me phone her. Do people even talk on the phone anymore? I’m not sure I have observed this in anyone my age.

            “Hi Karma,” I said. “How are you?” Greeting technique courtesy of my old social group. Mastered that like a boss.

            “You know how I am, Kevin. So spill. Tell me what is happening!”

            I told her the story of Witkowski.

            Karma screamed in my ear. “Oh my God, Kevin. This is great!”

            I pulled the phone away and rubbed my ear. Loud sounds suck. Cautiously, I put the phone close to my ear again.

            “Please don’t yell in my ear.”

            “I’m sorry, Kevin. I’m just excited. I am number 6 now.”

            “And I am number 7.”

            “That’s true! What do you think the odds are of us getting in now?”

            I stopped and sipped a straw full of chocolate milk from my bedside table. “Probably the same as getting on the moon.” I wondered when a travel schedule to the moon would be a reality, the same way there are train schedules all over the U.S. That would be fun to memorize. Karma became very quiet. I needed to fill the quiet somehow. “You know, there’s a list of all the people who got in to D’Ascoyne and the first 10 on the waitlist. It’s posted on the Arrington Public School website. You never know. Maybe other people will move. Or die.”

Talkin' Heads #4

TITLE: Choices
GENRE: Adult Historical fiction

Liam, an Irish boxer, has asked Deirdre to marry him after being away for four years on a boxing tour. This is something she has dreamed about for years.

“I can’t marry you, or anyone, not now. Clare’s always wanted to be a doctor. Mom and Dad told her they couldn’t afford the tuition, so I promised Clare that I’d get a job. My wages could help send her to college, and then to medical school, where she is now. I can’t break that promise.”

“Is that all, love? I’ve a wee bit saved that I thought we could use to buy a house in Queens or Brooklyn, but we can always rent an apartment for a few years instead, and give those few coins to Clare. So, now that we’ve settled all that, when should we get married?”

“Oh, Liam, if only it was that easy.”

“It is, love.”

“You don’t know the worst of it yet. I didn’t either, until tonight. Tonight, I looked across the ring and saw my sister, Fanny. She was with a man. A married man!”

“And how would you know that, love?”

“I saw his wedding band. On the third finger of his left hand, that’s how, Liam O’Mara. Do you think I go around making crazy guesses like that? She’s brought disgrace to the whole family. Your mom would never allow you to marry someone whose sister is no better than a common woman, and Mr. Donovan wouldn’t want to hire someone who had a sister-in-law like that. Someone who could bring disgrace to the New York Athletic Club, would he? She’s always only cared about herself. I hate her!”

Talkin' Heads #3

TITLE: Untitled
GENRE: YA Sci-fi Romance

Cerine belongs to a genetically engineered species of sea women, living in post-apocalyptic times. She, her mother, and a young woman are conversing in their underwater village.

Cerene swam up behind her mother, listening to the murmured exchanges between the women.
    “No snook today?” Raissa, a silver-haired woman asked.

    Her mother shook her head. “Not today, chéri.”

    Now in her year of training, Cerine knew the snook were difficult to catch. They were ever cautious about approaching bait, much more so than many of the other fish species they hunted.

    “But I know you enjoy kelp,” Alyse said, handing the woman a large bundle. Alyse’s other hand rested on her protruding belly.

    “When will your baby join us?” Cerine asked the young woman.

    “Mid-October.” Alyse smiled in that way expectant mothers so often did when speaking of their unborn child. “Her name will be Mae.”

    “It’s a lovely name,” Cerine said. “And I’m sure she’ll have your beautiful golden hair.”

    Alyse’s smiled broadened. “I hope so. My firstborn was a red-head, but you probably know that.” She nodded toward a group of younger girls playing catch-the-conch in the distance. Waving locks of auburn framed the face of Alyse’s daughter. Cerine remembered the girl, though she couldn’t recall her name off-hand.  

    “Isn’t it wonderful she’s having two?” Cerine’s mother interjected, handing another sea woman two cod. “I wish I could have, but. . .”

    Thérèse didn’t finish, but Cerine knew the story. The second embryo hadn’t taken and Queen Genevieve didn’t allow additional chances. Embryos were as precious as diamonds had once been on land. Probably more so. Without them, the sea women would cease to exist. Their small community would dwindle into nothingness, becoming merely an insignificant blip in the history of the earth.

    “Just a few more years, and it will be your turn,” Alyse reminded Cerine.

    Cerine tried produce the appropriate pleased expression, but her face wouldn’t cooperate.

Talkin' Heads #2

TITLE: DESIGNING GHOSTS
GENRE: Adult Paranormal Mystery

Middle-aged single women Veronica and her BFF Roberta are discussing men, marriage, and the lack of good men to marry.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I was desperate,” Roberta said, “but at our age, the ocean is drying up. There’s not as many fish in the sea as there were ten years ago. Now all that’s left are the cranky old crabs and bottom feeders. You landed the last good catch.”

“I didn’t land him,” I said. “That sounds like I plotted to ‘get my man’, like in a Jane Austen novel or something. Riley and I just fell for each other; neither of us was even fishing. So you’re in a dating dry spell, no biggie. The next round of divorces should be clearing, and soon, your dating pond will be well stocked with good catches again.”

Roberta sighed. “I know, it’s just, well, forty-five is a hard age. I always thought I’d be married and have 2.5 kids by now...”

“You hate kids,” I said.

“...driving them to soccer in the minivan...” she continued.

“You hate minivans,” I said.

“...and at the point in my marriage where my husband and I are comfortable, even a bit bored, but content with life,” she finished.

“You hate being bored and really really hate boring sex. And you’ve been married. Twice. They didn’t work out. I think you enjoyed the weddings more than the marriages.”

“Of course I did,” she said, with a shake of her pretty red hair. “What woman doesn’t want to wear a fabulous dress and be the center of attention at a celebration just for her?”

Talkin' Heads #1

TITLE: The Alphabet From A to Zero
GENRE: Adult Caper/Thriller

Zed Argonne has sold his winery for $3M, brokered by attorney Arthur Spurrier. Argonne has phoned Spurrier to note the problem.

“The money for the winery.” Argonne came across as bemused. “You said it transferred this afternoon, right?”

“Right. I got a message around 3:00 that everything was set. That’s when I called you.”

“Just to be clear, by ‘all set’ you mean the money transferred from your escrow account to my investment account, correct?”

“Right. I got confirmation. I even viewed the account to triple-check, using the code you sent.”

“The code I sent.”

Spurrier felt the world tilt ever so slightly on its axis. “Two days ago. You said it was a one-time code that would allow me to confirm the balance in this account.”

“Ohhh, I forgot. How, exactly, did I send you this code?”

“In email. I even replied to the mail to tell you I received it.”

A long silence. Long enough for Spurrier to feel the jungle creeping back in. Tripwires on the trails. Safe as long as he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t disturb the night.

Argonne broke the peace, drawl gone. “May I presume, by your lack of response here, that you’re starting to comprehend the problem?”

Spurrier put his hand behind him, feeling for the solidity of the wall. “There must be some mistake.”

“Indeed. Whose, I wonder?”

“Um, I…. I….”

“I hear the sounds of a dining establishment seeping through what I’m sure is your latest iPhone. Are you out to dinner?”

“Yes, but I can—”

“With your wife, or someone you’re trying to get into bed?”

“My wife.” Spurrier snapped the answer at him.

“Well, then. Since you’re not going to get laid tonight, perhaps you might get a doggie bag, head back to the office, and….” He paused, one second, two. “And find my f***ing money.”

TALKIN' HEADS -- SUBMISSIONS NOW OPEN!

Go HERE to enter your lead-in and 250-word excerpt. Remember--TALKIN' HEADS focuses on passages that are DIALOGUE-RICH.


GUIDELINES:

*Submissions will be open from 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM this Thursday, October 31.
*Submit an up-to-30-word lead-in plus 250 words of dialogue-rich story. (Look for a passage that is *more than 50 percent dialogue.)
*Submit HERE.
*This will be a lottery; the bot will choose 20 entries at random after the submission window has closed.
*Entries will post on Monday, November 4 for public critique.

PLEASE NOTE: The lead-in is important because it will help us to understand what's going on in your scene. If you want the most helpful feedback possible, please don't neglect to include this!

Talkin' Heads Critique Guidelines

Here you go -- 15 dialogue-rich excerpts for your sharp eyes!

Is the dialogue natural-sounding (do people really talk this way)? Is there distinction between character voices? Does the dialogue move the scene forward?

Have at it!

Guidelines for Critique on MSFV:

• Please leave your critique for each entry in the comment box for that entry.
• Please choose a screen name to sign your comments. The screen name DOES NOT have to be your real name; however, it needs to be an identifiable name. ("Anonymous" is not a name.)
• Critiques should be honest but kind, helpful but sensitive.
• Critiques that attack the writer or are couched in unkind words will be deleted.*
• Cheerleading IS NOT THE SAME as critiquing. Please don't cheerlead.
• Having said that, it is perfectly acceptable to say positive things about an entry that you feel is strong. To make these positive comments more helpful, say why it's a strong entry.
• ENTRANTS: As your way of "giving back", please critique a minimum of 5 other entries.

*I can't possibly read every comment. If you ever see a comment that is truly snarky, please email me. I count on your help.

Talkin' Heads #15

TITLE: Invisible Me
GENRE: YA Science Fiction

(no lead-in provided)

“I wonder who that is.” Mom washed her hands and dried them on her apron as she headed to the door. “Oh.” She sounded confused. “Hello, officer.”
Officer? My stomach tightened and I slid off the barstool.
“Are you Mrs. Roberts?” a male voice said.
My eyes widened. Didn’t I know that voice?
“Yes.”
“And is that your Volvo?”
I definitely knew that voice. What was he doing here?
“Yes, it’s the one my daughter uses for school. Why?”
“Was she driving it recently?”
“She only got home a few minutes ago. What’s this all about?”
“Well, Mrs. Roberts.” He drew in a breath. “The station received several complaints of that car in town, apparently driverless.”
What? But the raincoat. I was so careful.
I felt the top of my head. It was hot. Of course. I was sweating during that intense drive.
The sweat from my head must’ve gotten to the hood. What a fool I was. I pressed my hand against my throbbing chest.
Mom snorted. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
“There must be some mistake. That’s impossible.”
“Whatever the case, I’d like to speak with your daughter.”
“Okay.” She sounded skeptical. “Let me get her for you. Ana.”
What do I do? He can’t see me. I tried to flatten my messy hair. But he literally can’t see me. I bolted up the back staircase just before Mom reached the kitchen.
“Ana?”
I crept along the upstairs hallway and struggled to slow my breathing. I was about to press my sweaty palms against the wall behind me but stopped myself. It wouldn’t help matters if I made part of the house disappear.

Talkin' Heads #14

TITLE: Elvish Has Left the Building
GENRE: Adult Hard-boiled supernatural mystery

(no lead-in provided)

I stood when she walked into my office. Regardless of how I felt about Eleanor Steele, she was a lady.  I’m too much the Southern gentleman to disregard my upbringing.
   “What can I do for you, Mrs. Steele?” I managed to ask without snarling at her.
   “I’d like to hire you, Mr. Drago. Again.”
   We sat. “You have a tribe of government spooks, and I do mean spooks, already on the payroll. What do you need with me?”
   “We often use outside contractors. It helps us keep our hands clean.”
   “Aside from me and a few vampires, nobody has a clue the Supernatural Investigations Bureau even exists, much less has hands to worry about keeping clean. Not even whichever department it is that your funding is hidden in. Who is it this year? Agriculture?”
   “Housing and Urban Development,” she answered. “Would you be willing to come out to the house and discuss this opportunity with the Colonel?”
   I snortled. “At least this time you did ask beforehand.”
   “That was very considerate of us, I’m sure you’ll admit.”
   “If forced to, yes.” I checked my chin for stubble and decided I could go one more day before changing out my razor blades. “My rates have increased.”
   “That shouldn’t pose any impediments. Chances are good that we’ll be sub-contracting you out to a third party at some point.” She twitched a brief smile at me. “That will save the tax-payers some money.”
   “As if that was ever a consideration,” I said. “For you, anyhow. Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced that mummy I helped you reanimate last fall.”
   “As far as I know, Kha-Set-Mespha is safely hidden away, exactly where we put him.”

Talkin' Heads #13

TITLE: The Third Gift
GENRE: MG Fantasy

(no lead-in provided)

Ducking her head, and fending off the sun with a hand, she didn’t see the youngest member of the crew, Caleb, as he walked past her carrying a load of finished lumber. She tripped, and then raised her head just in time to hit the underside of a board. “Ahhh,” she said crossly.
The firm bonk tipped the long piece of lumber. Caleb lost his balance, caught himself, and looked back with a frown. When he saw Marisi the frown disappeared. “Oh, Miss. I, uh, I’m…”
“It’s okay.” Miss. Not Missy. She liked the way that sounded.
“Real, okay?” asked Mogul as he directed deck traffic.
“Yes.” She rubbed her head. “And, really, it was my fault.”
“Then both say, sorreee.” said Mogul.
Caleb ducked his head until he was staring straight at the teak decking, “Sorreee.”
But Mogul only shook his head. “Do again. Look at Missy Marisi when you say.” He pointed to his eyes. “Eyes window of the soul. How she see your soul, see your sorreee, if you don’t look at her?”
A red blush bloomed from his neck to the top of his ears. Caleb took a deep breath, raised his head, looked directly at Marisi and said, “Sorreeeee.”
She blinked in surprise. His eyes were so dark she always they thought they were brown. But they weren’t. They were as deep blue as the ocean’s depths. “S-s-s-sorreee,” she stammered back.
“All good. Now, done.” Mogul clapped his hands.

Talkin' Heads #12

TITLE: The Flame Dancers
GENRE: MG dystopian future

The 12 year old school-leavers are waiting to take part in the Trials, hoping to be accepted to train as one of the privileged Flame-Dancers. Among the trialists are members of the subclass Toilers.

Extract:  Imogen squeezed Josie’s arm. “Remember … Zip it,” she warned.
“Don’t worry. I won’t utter a single word,” said Josie.
“You just have,” pointed out Emmalina.
“You know what I mean,” Josie said. “I’m only going to say nice, positive things that nobody could object to.”
“Like don’t the Toilers look nice and tidy?” said Deeba. “But oh look - their plaits are tied with string, poor things.”
“There’s one with a sash!” said Emmalina, goggling. “How would he get hold of that? Oh wow! He’s got a brown armband! Guys - brown armband - you know what that means don’t you?”
“Shuddup, don’t look, they’ll see you,” hissed Josie.
But the tall, pale-faced Toiler wearing a yellow sash had spotted them. He flushed scarlet and covered the armband with his hand. Josie turned away quickly. She’d have like to look a bit longer, to see if the girl from the Burning was there but then the boy would think she was staring, like Emmalina.
 “I’d love to know why he’s a Toiler,” Emmalina said, still staring. “He must have done something terrible.”
“It might not have been him, it could be someone in his family,” said Josie. “Anyway, we’ll never know.”
“I bet that Brother by the door knows,” said Emmalina.
“Emmalina! You can’t just ask,” said Deeba.
“Why not? We should ask. He could be a murderer for all we know.”
“Of course he couldn’t,” said Josie. “Emmalina no…!”
“Yes,” said Emmalina, setting off towards the door.

Talkin' Heads #11

TITLE: Let the Canyons Weep
GENRE: Adult Historical

Jesse was abused by her now-dead brother & is having violent nightmares about him, endangering her pregnancy. Old Katie, using the Celtic power of insight, tries to relieve her fears.

The spell grew deeper as the old woman caressed the girl's temple. A memory encroached upon the empty spaces the poppies had left behind, making its way into Katie's consciousness as their spirits joined together.
“Mama,” the girl whispered. “Mama.”
The old voice soothed her, the gentle fingers continued their circular journey. The girl moaned softly and, turning to the old woman, wrapped an arm around her waist, held on to her as a baby would.
“Mama.” The stress was gone from her voice.
“Yes, my dear. I am here.” Katie resumed her caress, circling the girl's temple with light fingers. Time passed, and still her hand did not stop, did not tire. The girl twitched.
“What is it, my dear?” This is the moment. She has found the flaw in her happiness. “What has frightened you?”
“Oh, Mama, it was Russell.”
“Hush, macushlah. He cannot harm you. I am with you.” The tense little body relaxed and Katie ventured a new question, “What has he done?”
“He hurt me. Mama, don't let him hurt me.”
“No, macushlah.” Tears stung the old lady's eyes. “None shall harm you. You are safe. I am here.”
“But Evelyn...”
“Has Evelyn harmed you?” Katie did not believe this could be so.
“Oh, no, Mama. Only Russell... oh, don't let him, Mama. Don't let him hurt Evelyn.”
“Evelyn is safe,” crooned the old woman. “You are safe, also. I will protect you. There is none who shall harm you. None who shall harm Evelyn.”

Talkin' Heads #10

TITLE: Dust after Slaying
GENRE: NA Urban Fantasy

Dee, a homeschooling mother, slays the occasional vampire that comes her way. She and her friend Hope follow a map that may lead to the source of the vampires.

Dee was grateful they were walking on grass that didn’t crackle too much, since it was still soft from September rains. “I suppose now I should start waving my flashlight around for no reason as we walk, the way all those stupid people do on TV shows where they’re hunting vampires or werewolves.”
Hope brought the smartphone closer to her face. It was finally lit enough to show she was frowning. “You really watch the werewolf stuff?”
“I guess there’s not as much on TV about werewolves as there is about vampires. But those novels in bookstores with threatening covers—eyes filled with contempt, strange tattoos, edged weapons—and those are just the women!”
“Doesn’t it bother you that they portray werewolves and other such things as sexy nowadays?”
“Sex sells, sister.”
Hope came to a dead stop. “This makes no sense. The path we’ve been following from this map keeps going straight. But you can see where the trail we’re walking on goes.” She gestured to the left, where the trail curved.
“Isn’t that just some tiny blip your map doesn’t show?”
“No, this trail we’re on doesn’t curve back to match the online path. You can see why.” She pointed to the steep hillside ahead of them. “Are we supposed to climb up and hike cross-country?”
“The answer is in front of your face.” Dee pointed with her flashlight.

Talkin' Heads #9

TITLE: Curse Of Climate Change
GENRE: MG Contemporary Fantasy

(no lead-in provided)

Natalia continued kicking stones, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back. Miguel joined her kicking small stones. They both love playing soccer at school.
“You are quiet today,” Miguel said.
“I’m thinking about helping my mother today and doing homework,” she said. “And Diaro de Chiapas rejected my short story.”
“But last time the newspaper published your story about the coffee plantations in Chiapas,” Miguel said. “Just keep writing new stories.”
“I want to write a story about a special woman, but which one?”
“Maybe you can write about La Llorona,” Miguel suggested.
Natalia loved meeting ghosts, except one. She didn’t want to meet La Llorona. No way. That would bring nightmares and make Natalia crawl under bed.
 “Hmm,” Natalia said. “It’s scary to write about her. I want to write about someone brown and chubby like me. But, I’ll send my story about seeing ghosts to the newspaper.”
“Good luck. It’s amazing that you’ve seen ghosts. I didn’t see any. Do you still see them?”
“All. The. Time,” she replied. “But …”
“But what?” he asked.
“The ghosts talk to me but I don’t hear their voices. Their lips move and their mouths open, but no sound.”
“Do they hear you?”
“I think that they do,” Natalia replied. “When I talk to them, they talk back. Last time when my grandmother came, I put a paper and a pen on the table and asked her to write what she said. She tried and tried to pick up the pen, but could not.
“Ghosts are like clouds,” he said.
“My parents believe that I see ghosts. Papa said that it’s part of our Mexican culture.”

Talkin' Heads #8

TITLE: The Academy (working title)
GENRE: MG Middle Grade

A politically precocious 11-year-old presents her case before her new principal hoping it will make her popular with her classmates.


Principal Gardner waved the three stapled sheets of paper. “What is this, Isabella?”
 “It's a petition from two-thirds of the sixth grade for tacos,” Isabella said.
“Okay,” Mr. Gardner said, stretching out the word like a lazy cat. “Requesting what exactly?"
“According to the State Department of Education, Ronald Darby is a C-rated school with overcrowded classrooms, below average math scores, and suspiciously smelly water fountains. That last one's my opinion, not the reports.” Mr. Gardner crossed his arms, and Isabella rushed on. “None of that takes away from Darby’s sense of community, though. Today, that community rallied around what some would say is Darby’s finest asset.”
She paused for effect like the old YouTube videos she’d studied of Senator Ted Kennedy on the Senate floor.
“And that would be our tacos."
“Our award-winning tacos according to the Florida State Legislature.”
Principal Gardner leaned back in his desk chair. "While I appreciate a newly matriculated sixth-grader being so well-informed, it still doesn’t explain your petition.”
“Right.” Isabella launched her argument. “Logically, since the first day of school fell on a Tuesday, we expected tacos, sir. We got Sloppy Joes instead. During my investigation—”
“Your investigation?”
“Yes. I visited with the Food Services Manager. She said since school began on a Tuesday this year, the Food Service department still considers it the first day of the school week. A culinary Monday, so to speak. So..."
"No tacos.”
“Correct. The petition requests regardless what day school begins, the time-honored tradition of Taco Tuesday be upheld. For student morale, of course.”

Talkin' Heads #7

TITLE: Dream Keeper
GENRE: YA Fantasy

Jade has been tasked with keeping an eye on Ash, the new student in the College. They cross paths on the stairwell.

I studied him carefully. “I’m perfectly aware there are Renegades out there who flout the rules and create an imbalance in the dreamworld.”
Ash’s face froze into an incredulous expression that lasted for several seconds. “That’s what they’ve told you?”
“It’s common knowledge.”
“Common inside these walls, maybe.”
I pressed my mouth together, dislike for this boy weaving through my stomach. “Well, as long as you’re here, you might want to make an effort to fit in.”
Ash raised an eyebrow. “All I need is to find the Master tower.”
“Why?”
“Because my brother’s a Master, and I want to see him.”
His brother?
“You can’t see him.” I laced my words with as much patience as I could muster. “The Master students are cloistered. We only see them in passing.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You should know this,” I said. “If he’s been here all this time, surely you’ve visited him each year.”
“No, I haven’t.” Ash blew out a stream of air. “I’ll have to see for myself.”
I bristled. “You think I’m lying?”
“No.” His voice was strangely gentle. “I think you’re convinced that everything’s normal here, but it’s not.”
Who did this boy think he was? “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Darion.”
I stared. “You’re Darion’s brother?”
“You know him?”
“Yes. But you won’t be able to see him; he’s already moved to Masters.”
Ash smiled. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.”  He started down the stairs.
“You can’t make your own rules,” I called after him.
Then I set my teeth and followed him.