Miss Snark's First Victim
Saturday, December 4, 2010
#3 **REMOVED** (BAKER'S DOZEN AGENT AUCTION)
The author of #3 received an offer of representation prior to the opening of the auction!
#2 Women's Fiction: This Side of Crazy (BAKER'S DOZEN AGENT AUCTION)
TITLE: This Side of Crazy
GENRE: Women's Fiction
Cissy, a troubled 16-year-old in 1970s Mississippi, uses humor, OCD tendencies and conversations with "God" to help her cope after killing her abusive father. When her terminally ill grandmother busts her out of the state psychiatric hospital and they go on the lam, Cissy uncovers secrets about her childhood and finds a sense of family and normalcy in the most unlikely places.
For years I escaped to a private place in my mind and daydreamed about killing my daddy. The thing is I never really thought I'd go through with it. When I shot him in the back that July morning, I surprised myself as much as everyone else.
The Harrison County sheriff said I must be some crazy whack of a girl but I know I'm not crazy. I was just born into this world with good boundaries, which, in my opinion, most people lack. My definition of crazy is staying married when you're not all that happy, telling lies when the truth will do in most instances, and believing a gray-haired man in the sky has our lives all planned out for us.
My definition of crazy is bad-touching a child and then pretending to be a normal daddy to the outside world. I don't think it is at all crazy to kill your own daddy to stop the shameful things he's doing to your body and mind and to prevent him from hurting anybody else. Maybe what's crazy is waiting until age 16 to do it.
"Cissy, answer my questions." Judge Carroll's voice cracked. If he meant to sound authoritative, he did a poor job of it. He seemed more nervous than anything. The way he sweated, you'd think the Biloxi sun scorched a hole through the courthouse roof and beat directly down on his head. I wished he'd wipe his forehead because those shiny domes of sweat looked liked blisters waiting to pop.
GENRE: Women's Fiction
Cissy, a troubled 16-year-old in 1970s Mississippi, uses humor, OCD tendencies and conversations with "God" to help her cope after killing her abusive father. When her terminally ill grandmother busts her out of the state psychiatric hospital and they go on the lam, Cissy uncovers secrets about her childhood and finds a sense of family and normalcy in the most unlikely places.
For years I escaped to a private place in my mind and daydreamed about killing my daddy. The thing is I never really thought I'd go through with it. When I shot him in the back that July morning, I surprised myself as much as everyone else.
The Harrison County sheriff said I must be some crazy whack of a girl but I know I'm not crazy. I was just born into this world with good boundaries, which, in my opinion, most people lack. My definition of crazy is staying married when you're not all that happy, telling lies when the truth will do in most instances, and believing a gray-haired man in the sky has our lives all planned out for us.
My definition of crazy is bad-touching a child and then pretending to be a normal daddy to the outside world. I don't think it is at all crazy to kill your own daddy to stop the shameful things he's doing to your body and mind and to prevent him from hurting anybody else. Maybe what's crazy is waiting until age 16 to do it.
"Cissy, answer my questions." Judge Carroll's voice cracked. If he meant to sound authoritative, he did a poor job of it. He seemed more nervous than anything. The way he sweated, you'd think the Biloxi sun scorched a hole through the courthouse roof and beat directly down on his head. I wished he'd wipe his forehead because those shiny domes of sweat looked liked blisters waiting to pop.
#1 Regency Romance: No Other Tart Will Do (BAKER'S DOZEN AGENT AUCTION)
TITLE: No Other Tart Will Do
GENRE: Regency Romance
Struggling to keep her sordid past a secret, Regency London's prim and proper Miss Wescot spies on the daughter she'd given away and hunts for the blackmailer who threatens to expose her as a former courtesan. In order to silence the blackmailer, she must join forces with her daughter's father--the ruthless earl who blames her for his wife's death.
A half-baked plan was better than no plan at all.
Miss Caroline Wescot straightened her feathered mask. She inched out of the shadows, squinting against the light of the chandeliers, and crossed the gallery of the mahogany staircase. The smell of alcohol and cheap perfumes mingled with the cigar smoke rising from the card room below. One of the more pleasant odors, considering this huge beehive was a brothel.
A sense of belonging caressed her spine, and she tipped her nose up in denial. She'd lived a respectable life for most of her twenty-five years, including the last four. And earlier, she'd sat in the Duchess of Kidvale's opera box. Well, she didn't belong there either. She didn't belong anywhere, really, most especially not near her own daughter. The daughter she must protect.
Caro grasped the railing with gloved hands, and a blur of masked faces glanced up at her, some taking a second look. They stared. Heat trickled down her low-cut bodice like sweat oozing between her breasts. Any of them could be her blackmailer.
Three days. She only had three days left to raise a fortune--
"One of your old regulars is being shackled," the House Mistress' husky voice said from the stairs to Caro's left. "Interested?"
Instead of answering, Caro leaned over the railing. She wasn't here to take clients; she came
to dupe the Earl of Greybridge into handing her a fortune. A risky plan, certainly, but he was
willing to pay good money to find Cee--one of Caro's aliases.
GENRE: Regency Romance
Struggling to keep her sordid past a secret, Regency London's prim and proper Miss Wescot spies on the daughter she'd given away and hunts for the blackmailer who threatens to expose her as a former courtesan. In order to silence the blackmailer, she must join forces with her daughter's father--the ruthless earl who blames her for his wife's death.
A half-baked plan was better than no plan at all.
Miss Caroline Wescot straightened her feathered mask. She inched out of the shadows, squinting against the light of the chandeliers, and crossed the gallery of the mahogany staircase. The smell of alcohol and cheap perfumes mingled with the cigar smoke rising from the card room below. One of the more pleasant odors, considering this huge beehive was a brothel.
A sense of belonging caressed her spine, and she tipped her nose up in denial. She'd lived a respectable life for most of her twenty-five years, including the last four. And earlier, she'd sat in the Duchess of Kidvale's opera box. Well, she didn't belong there either. She didn't belong anywhere, really, most especially not near her own daughter. The daughter she must protect.
Caro grasped the railing with gloved hands, and a blur of masked faces glanced up at her, some taking a second look. They stared. Heat trickled down her low-cut bodice like sweat oozing between her breasts. Any of them could be her blackmailer.
Three days. She only had three days left to raise a fortune--
"One of your old regulars is being shackled," the House Mistress' husky voice said from the stairs to Caro's left. "Interested?"
Instead of answering, Caro leaned over the railing. She wasn't here to take clients; she came
to dupe the Earl of Greybridge into handing her a fortune. A risky plan, certainly, but he was
willing to pay good money to find Cee--one of Caro's aliases.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Friday Fricassee
And it all begins TOMORROW!!!!
Our 40 entries for the BAKER'S DOZEN AGENT AUCTION will begin posting at 8:00 am EST on Saturday. They're going up early to give our agents time to read through them prior to the opening of the auction on Tuesday morning, but you can go ahead and leave your critiques at any time.
Please remember to choose a screen name (the Name/URL option in the comments box) instead of being anonymous.
Yep, yep, yep--I'm excited!
It's like going down a slide; at least for now. Lots of work on the front end, lots of fun watching things unfold during the auction. There will be lots of work on the back end, too, but it'll be so worth it.
Entrants: If you notice any glaring formatting errors, please let me know before Tuesday. I am more than happy to fix errors, but I would rather not do it when the auction is live. I'll be busy enough tracking the bids.
Okay, then! I'm headed toward a weekend of reaching 60K on my WIP (hooray!), putting up our Christmas tree (hooray!), and languidly watching the blog run itself for a while (triple hooray!).
Thanks for being part of all this excitement. We're going to have an amazing week!
Our 40 entries for the BAKER'S DOZEN AGENT AUCTION will begin posting at 8:00 am EST on Saturday. They're going up early to give our agents time to read through them prior to the opening of the auction on Tuesday morning, but you can go ahead and leave your critiques at any time.
Please remember to choose a screen name (the Name/URL option in the comments box) instead of being anonymous.
Yep, yep, yep--I'm excited!
It's like going down a slide; at least for now. Lots of work on the front end, lots of fun watching things unfold during the auction. There will be lots of work on the back end, too, but it'll be so worth it.
Entrants: If you notice any glaring formatting errors, please let me know before Tuesday. I am more than happy to fix errors, but I would rather not do it when the auction is live. I'll be busy enough tracking the bids.
Okay, then! I'm headed toward a weekend of reaching 60K on my WIP (hooray!), putting up our Christmas tree (hooray!), and languidly watching the blog run itself for a while (triple hooray!).
Thanks for being part of all this excitement. We're going to have an amazing week!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A December Gift of Song, or Authoress Sings (again)
Last December, the lovely and remarkable Lauren MacLeod judged a fun Christmas lyrics parody contest for us. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I wrote my own, but withdrew it from the contest before it closed.
Then I wheedled my dear husband into recording and producing it for me. Many of you listened last year when I posted it a few days before Christmas. But many of you are new around here (don't be frightened) and missed the fun.
And so I present to you a NEWLY MASTERED VERSION of the Authoress Might-Be-A-Classic-Some-Day Christmas Song, with my best wishes for the season!
SNARK, THE HAGGARD AGENTS SING (lyrics below)
Words by Authoress
Recorded and Produced by Mr. A
Snark! The Haggard Agents Sing
(Hark! The Herald Angels Sing)
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!
No more queries sent from hell,
No more stories I can't sell.
Give me eggnog, rum, and cookies,
Save me from these writing rookies,
I've rejected forty-four
thousand and six, and maybe more."
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone don't ring!"
"Contracts, royalties, and tears,
Fill the weeks and months and years.
Weary, now, I shut my door,
Screaming, as I go, 'NO MORE!'
Editors, I'm tired of waiting,
On my last nerve you've been grating.
Thanks to you, I soon will be
Paying for clients' therapy."
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!"
"Give me sand and surf and sun,
I'm in desperate need of fun.
Farewell partial, full, and ARC,
I have had my fill of snark.
Lock the door and turn the light off;
Can't remember my last night off.
Toss the books and pass the gin!
Let the holiday begin!"
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!"
Then I wheedled my dear husband into recording and producing it for me. Many of you listened last year when I posted it a few days before Christmas. But many of you are new around here (don't be frightened) and missed the fun.
And so I present to you a NEWLY MASTERED VERSION of the Authoress Might-Be-A-Classic-Some-Day Christmas Song, with my best wishes for the season!
SNARK, THE HAGGARD AGENTS SING (lyrics below)
Words by Authoress
Recorded and Produced by Mr. A
Snark! The Haggard Agents Sing
(Hark! The Herald Angels Sing)
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!
No more queries sent from hell,
No more stories I can't sell.
Give me eggnog, rum, and cookies,
Save me from these writing rookies,
I've rejected forty-four
thousand and six, and maybe more."
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone don't ring!"
"Contracts, royalties, and tears,
Fill the weeks and months and years.
Weary, now, I shut my door,
Screaming, as I go, 'NO MORE!'
Editors, I'm tired of waiting,
On my last nerve you've been grating.
Thanks to you, I soon will be
Paying for clients' therapy."
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!"
"Give me sand and surf and sun,
I'm in desperate need of fun.
Farewell partial, full, and ARC,
I have had my fill of snark.
Lock the door and turn the light off;
Can't remember my last night off.
Toss the books and pass the gin!
Let the holiday begin!"
Snark! The haggard agents sing,
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!"
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