TITLE: Kunitsu Eyes
GENRE: Fantasy
The animal was calling him again.
Darkness clogged Arekkusu’s vision, an oppressive force so black that it seemed to blot out sound as well as sight. His arms and legs felt weighted down by it, and as he struggled to move every fiber of his being ached to answer. Yet he could not even tell where the call was coming from, or what sort of creature made it.
He swung his head wildly from side to side, trying to sort out direction, to get some bearing amidst the shifting sand of his senses. The need to answer bordered on pain, and yet he could make no reply.
Suddenly a real sound cut through his confusion. Heavy breathing. Not the animal, something alien. Something dangerous. It stank, and was so close that Arekkusu was too frightened even to cower. He could hear each rasping intake of breath, and smell rotten teeth on the exhale. It was so close. Where was his mother? Was she all right?
The animal’s call came again, and joined with Arekkusu’s urgent need to find his mother, to protect her from the looming danger. But no, he was too small. He clenched his hands to fists, feeling nails dig into the palms of his hands. Something wasn’t right, his hands weren’t strong enough. He needed help. Desperately, he called out to the animal, but his cries melted into the darkness.
It was no use. He was too weak. And with the strange beast looming so near, Arekkusus retreated into his own terror and lost himself in the dark.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
15 Secret Agent
TITLE: SHIFT HAPPENS
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
“How, exactly, is a parasitic dick-fish a selling point, Doc?” Adrian’s voice rose, as did his eyebrows, not that Doc Soc could see him over a thousand miles of telephone lines.
“C’mon, Adrian. It’s the Amazon jungle. There’s amazing flora and fauna. Like the carnero. It swims up your urine stream, into your penis. Local tribes use it to determine guilt—you live, you’re innocent; you die...”
Adrian shuddered, his shoulder-length curls tickling his neck. “Well, I…”
“That a yes? Great! I’ll just—”
“Whoa, Doc! Time out.” Adrian paced his living room. “Sorry, Doc. Fascinating as your dick-fish sounds, not to mention the monkey-brain salad, I can’t just take off and go tooling around the rainforest.” He yanked a loose thread from his dress slacks. A tiny hole appeared in the seam.
“But the cave paintings, the lost temples, the shamanic miracles? You can’t say no to shamanic miracles! I need you, Adrian. You did your post-grad work on the Temple of Transfiguration. And you’re so good with languages. And photography. We’re going to find it. You’re going to find it!”
Professor Socrates Kawasaki could be very persuasive, hitting all Adrian’s anthropological hot buttons. (Except maybe the dick-fish. Adrian felt pretty sure he preferred his dick fish-free.) Finny parasites aside, Adrian heard the siren call of all things rainforest, shamanic, and miraculous.
“I’ve got a job. A career,” he amended. “I just got promoted to HR Manager.”
“But you’re an anthropologist. What happened to your dreams? Going on one little expedition isn’t going to hurt you!”
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
“How, exactly, is a parasitic dick-fish a selling point, Doc?” Adrian’s voice rose, as did his eyebrows, not that Doc Soc could see him over a thousand miles of telephone lines.
“C’mon, Adrian. It’s the Amazon jungle. There’s amazing flora and fauna. Like the carnero. It swims up your urine stream, into your penis. Local tribes use it to determine guilt—you live, you’re innocent; you die...”
Adrian shuddered, his shoulder-length curls tickling his neck. “Well, I…”
“That a yes? Great! I’ll just—”
“Whoa, Doc! Time out.” Adrian paced his living room. “Sorry, Doc. Fascinating as your dick-fish sounds, not to mention the monkey-brain salad, I can’t just take off and go tooling around the rainforest.” He yanked a loose thread from his dress slacks. A tiny hole appeared in the seam.
“But the cave paintings, the lost temples, the shamanic miracles? You can’t say no to shamanic miracles! I need you, Adrian. You did your post-grad work on the Temple of Transfiguration. And you’re so good with languages. And photography. We’re going to find it. You’re going to find it!”
Professor Socrates Kawasaki could be very persuasive, hitting all Adrian’s anthropological hot buttons. (Except maybe the dick-fish. Adrian felt pretty sure he preferred his dick fish-free.) Finny parasites aside, Adrian heard the siren call of all things rainforest, shamanic, and miraculous.
“I’ve got a job. A career,” he amended. “I just got promoted to HR Manager.”
“But you’re an anthropologist. What happened to your dreams? Going on one little expedition isn’t going to hurt you!”
14 Secret Agent
TITLE: The Some Day List
GENRE: Single title contemporary romance
Quinn Adams looked out at the glazed-over expressions of the audience. She’d started her presentation two hours ago imaging them in their underwear to rid herself of nervousness. Not only did the trick not work, but it was also unnecessary; these people didn’t care what she had to say. She would’ve been better off spending the two hours in a classroom full of hormonal teenagers.
She tugged at the polyester blend of her pleated skirt, longing for a pair of jeans and comfortable shoes. It would’ve been unprofessional to show up looking like a student.
Her workshop—Using Classic Literature to Engage At-Risk Youth—was full of research and anecdotes. She’d spent months preparing for this conference, only to be placed as the last presentation of the day. She’d been filled with an equal mix of excitement and dread. Success was as important to her here as in the classroom. Jones High School also needed some positive attention. Maybe if she’d titled her workshop “What the Dead White Guys Can Teach Inner City Kids” like she’d planned, she might’ve had a better response. Her principal requested she change the title. She, of course, obliged.
A new title wouldn’t have changed the outcome. No one cared about these kids or how she taught them. They only stayed the entire time so they could get their continuing education credits for attending. Some day she might have a job where she made a difference.
Some day.
GENRE: Single title contemporary romance
Quinn Adams looked out at the glazed-over expressions of the audience. She’d started her presentation two hours ago imaging them in their underwear to rid herself of nervousness. Not only did the trick not work, but it was also unnecessary; these people didn’t care what she had to say. She would’ve been better off spending the two hours in a classroom full of hormonal teenagers.
She tugged at the polyester blend of her pleated skirt, longing for a pair of jeans and comfortable shoes. It would’ve been unprofessional to show up looking like a student.
Her workshop—Using Classic Literature to Engage At-Risk Youth—was full of research and anecdotes. She’d spent months preparing for this conference, only to be placed as the last presentation of the day. She’d been filled with an equal mix of excitement and dread. Success was as important to her here as in the classroom. Jones High School also needed some positive attention. Maybe if she’d titled her workshop “What the Dead White Guys Can Teach Inner City Kids” like she’d planned, she might’ve had a better response. Her principal requested she change the title. She, of course, obliged.
A new title wouldn’t have changed the outcome. No one cared about these kids or how she taught them. They only stayed the entire time so they could get their continuing education credits for attending. Some day she might have a job where she made a difference.
Some day.
13 Secret Agent
TITLE: Unraveled
GENRE: YA Mystery
The Thursday afternoon a vile stranger broke into my house and killed my sister, he actually committed mass murder. With each stab wound to my sister’s torso, he extinguished a member of my family. Dr. Kubler-Ross created the five stages of grief, but there should be six. I consider the first stage to be Parallel Death. The moment someone you love with every living cell in your body dies, you die, too. Eighteen hours, a thousand and eighty minutes, sixty-four thousand and eight hundred seconds ago, I was a blissfully unaware and naive sixteen year old. Untouched and unblemished by death.
Now there was a gapping hole in my heart that would, one day, be sealed over with rough, gnarled scar tissue. No, the Katalina that loved to watch her sister run cross country track, enjoyed Sunday dinner at Tia Sandra’s, and wanted to catch serial killers for a living was dead. But hatred resurrected me and gave me purpose. I’m not especially proud of that since it’s not how I was raised, but it is what it is.
Stage two is Anger, but I wonder if in cases like mine ‘anger’ is too polite of a word. Before my sister, Celeste’s murder, my world was whole. My family and I were happy, blessed to be part the Covarrubias clan. Now, we were all broken.
Eighteen hours ago.
No question about it, this was going to hurt. The expression on Kung Fu Barbie’s face spelled out- fatal mistake.
GENRE: YA Mystery
The Thursday afternoon a vile stranger broke into my house and killed my sister, he actually committed mass murder. With each stab wound to my sister’s torso, he extinguished a member of my family. Dr. Kubler-Ross created the five stages of grief, but there should be six. I consider the first stage to be Parallel Death. The moment someone you love with every living cell in your body dies, you die, too. Eighteen hours, a thousand and eighty minutes, sixty-four thousand and eight hundred seconds ago, I was a blissfully unaware and naive sixteen year old. Untouched and unblemished by death.
Now there was a gapping hole in my heart that would, one day, be sealed over with rough, gnarled scar tissue. No, the Katalina that loved to watch her sister run cross country track, enjoyed Sunday dinner at Tia Sandra’s, and wanted to catch serial killers for a living was dead. But hatred resurrected me and gave me purpose. I’m not especially proud of that since it’s not how I was raised, but it is what it is.
Stage two is Anger, but I wonder if in cases like mine ‘anger’ is too polite of a word. Before my sister, Celeste’s murder, my world was whole. My family and I were happy, blessed to be part the Covarrubias clan. Now, we were all broken.
Eighteen hours ago.
No question about it, this was going to hurt. The expression on Kung Fu Barbie’s face spelled out- fatal mistake.
12 Secret Agent
TITLE: SHADOWLAND
GENRE: YA urban fantasy
It followed her.
A soundless, invisible something.
She wasn't imagining it -- of that she was almost certain.
Like a glare across a crowded room, the silent something made itself known with an itching, burning pressure on the back of Eden's neck. She picked up her pace, refused to look over her shoulder for the tenth time, and fumbled in her pockets for her phone. Her heart sank when she remembered she'd hidden it at the bottom of her bag at lunchtime, after Janice warned her Mr Collins was on the prowl.
A ghost of disturbed air brushed the bare skin of her forearm, tearing a gasp from her chest the instant before a flash of black crossed her path. She stopped, caught on the corner of Broomfield Close, frozen in uncertainty and in full view of the entire neighbourhood. The black something vanished when she tried to get a proper look at it -- nothing but a shimmering wisp in the corner of her eye.
She peered through the weak rays of early-Autumn sunshine, heartbeat loud in her ears, found nothing in the deserted street but Mrs Haversham's cat slinking beneath a parked taxi. The sweet scent of baked goods hitched a ride on the breeze from the newly-occupied number 8, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The black thing was nowhere to be seen, the stillness of the street seizing Eden's breath in her throat.
GENRE: YA urban fantasy
It followed her.
A soundless, invisible something.
She wasn't imagining it -- of that she was almost certain.
Like a glare across a crowded room, the silent something made itself known with an itching, burning pressure on the back of Eden's neck. She picked up her pace, refused to look over her shoulder for the tenth time, and fumbled in her pockets for her phone. Her heart sank when she remembered she'd hidden it at the bottom of her bag at lunchtime, after Janice warned her Mr Collins was on the prowl.
A ghost of disturbed air brushed the bare skin of her forearm, tearing a gasp from her chest the instant before a flash of black crossed her path. She stopped, caught on the corner of Broomfield Close, frozen in uncertainty and in full view of the entire neighbourhood. The black something vanished when she tried to get a proper look at it -- nothing but a shimmering wisp in the corner of her eye.
She peered through the weak rays of early-Autumn sunshine, heartbeat loud in her ears, found nothing in the deserted street but Mrs Haversham's cat slinking beneath a parked taxi. The sweet scent of baked goods hitched a ride on the breeze from the newly-occupied number 8, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The black thing was nowhere to be seen, the stillness of the street seizing Eden's breath in her throat.
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