TITLE: WHERE THE DOVES FLY
GENRE: Young Adult
Mama comes home when it’s dark outside, the sun fallen beyond the forest outside our window. Krzysztof is asleep in his crib, full after drinking a bottle of powdered soy milk. My stomach clenches—the milk was old, and I worry that it might make him sick, but our father doesn’t give us enough zlote to buy sufficient groceries. He doesn’t care, too drunk during the nights and too overworked during the days. We spread the money among bare necessities and then use the rest for canned fruit and vegetables for Krzysztof. Not enough for Mama or me to be healthy.
I watch Mama come through the front door of our apartment. She sets her basket on the floor under the hanging jackets and then stumbles into the kitchen, barely able to stand after a long day of working as a laundress.
"Tata hasn’t been home yet,” I say. I’m angry now—his late homecoming can mean only one thing: he’ll be drunk and he’ll be vicious. I feel the bile rise up in my throat at the thought of another beating and the muscles along my shoulders tighten.
“Krzysztof’s in bed?”
"Yes.”
She stands at the sink and runs water into a pot for her tea. “How was school?”
“Like always.” I return my gaze to the homework in front of me. It’s difficult to concentrate on the scribbles on my paper. When Mama’s spoon clatters on the counter upon setting it down, I jump.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
18 Secret Agent
TITLE: The Minesweeper
GENRE: Middle Grade Historical Fiction
July, 1944 Italy
Nineteen-year-old Charlie Wissmeyer didn’t have time to dig a foxhole or even a slit trench. The Germans, hidden high in the hills, rained mortar, rocket, and artillery shells down on the 88th Infantry as they approached the ancient city of Volterra. Charlie needed shelter now. He dove into a shallow depression left by the enemy, who had occupied the hill the day before.
As he lay in his hole in the ground, Charlie smelled something awful. He looked at the front of his shirt. It was covered in human excrement. Angry, Charlie knew a German had relieved himself there on purpose. The stench was bad, but the incoming fire was worse. Shells exploded all around him.
Careful to keep his head down, the young American shifted his eyes upward at the two castles which stood prominently within the city’s gates. Charlie knew there must be German watchdogs concealed in the tower windows, relaying information to their gunners. How else would the enemy be able to target the Americans so precisely?
Charlie tried to shrink into the earth around him as ‘Screaming Meemies’ whizzed by. This was the first time his company had faced these German rocket shells. Flying like tormented demons through the air, the rockets made an intermittent ‘whuufing’ sound, which grew farther and farther apart as the ‘Meemies’ came closer to their target. Charlie knew the longer the time between ‘whuufs,’ the more likely he was to be hit.
Whuuf, whuuf, whuuf, …….. whuuf…...…..….. whuuf .….………..…..BOOOMM!!!
GENRE: Middle Grade Historical Fiction
July, 1944 Italy
Nineteen-year-old Charlie Wissmeyer didn’t have time to dig a foxhole or even a slit trench. The Germans, hidden high in the hills, rained mortar, rocket, and artillery shells down on the 88th Infantry as they approached the ancient city of Volterra. Charlie needed shelter now. He dove into a shallow depression left by the enemy, who had occupied the hill the day before.
As he lay in his hole in the ground, Charlie smelled something awful. He looked at the front of his shirt. It was covered in human excrement. Angry, Charlie knew a German had relieved himself there on purpose. The stench was bad, but the incoming fire was worse. Shells exploded all around him.
Careful to keep his head down, the young American shifted his eyes upward at the two castles which stood prominently within the city’s gates. Charlie knew there must be German watchdogs concealed in the tower windows, relaying information to their gunners. How else would the enemy be able to target the Americans so precisely?
Charlie tried to shrink into the earth around him as ‘Screaming Meemies’ whizzed by. This was the first time his company had faced these German rocket shells. Flying like tormented demons through the air, the rockets made an intermittent ‘whuufing’ sound, which grew farther and farther apart as the ‘Meemies’ came closer to their target. Charlie knew the longer the time between ‘whuufs,’ the more likely he was to be hit.
Whuuf, whuuf, whuuf, …….. whuuf…...…..….. whuuf .….………..…..BOOOMM!!!
17 Secret Agent
TITLE: COMPULSION
GENRE: Young Adult Urban Fantasy
I was a month past my expiry date to sanity. Barricaded inside my sky-blue wallpapered room, I desperately wanted to break out, but I couldn’t, not in my current state. Feathery flesh and cartilage wings jutted from my back. Until they were vanished, I needed to stay hidden.
I cloistered with the remnants of my month’s food stores: stale noodle cakes and hard raisins. I drank water from my bathroom tap. My bed weighted against the door.
I had to keep everyone out. I had to keep me in, because only one other person knew about the wings: my best friend and neighbour, Christopher Zhang.
But right now, Chris was out of reach. While his plane from Hong Kong supposedly landed at six o’clock this morning, I held little hope of him coming by soon. Knowing the fussiness of Australian Quarantine restrictions, he was likely stuck in Customs.
Eight o’clock. The minutes crawled by on my analogue clock. I listened to the radio and hummed along to peppy pop songs. I chewed splinters of funny tasting noodles and crunched on raisins. I drew patterns on the dusty walls and flitted by the curtains, longing to peek out the window.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a knock sounded against my door.
Stunned, I froze mid-step, my heart thudding palpitations of panic. I turned to the door, but in my haste, I crashed to my knees in the process. My wings bobbed painfully. Gravity wasn’t kind, especially when the weight of wings felt so foreign on my back.
GENRE: Young Adult Urban Fantasy
I was a month past my expiry date to sanity. Barricaded inside my sky-blue wallpapered room, I desperately wanted to break out, but I couldn’t, not in my current state. Feathery flesh and cartilage wings jutted from my back. Until they were vanished, I needed to stay hidden.
I cloistered with the remnants of my month’s food stores: stale noodle cakes and hard raisins. I drank water from my bathroom tap. My bed weighted against the door.
I had to keep everyone out. I had to keep me in, because only one other person knew about the wings: my best friend and neighbour, Christopher Zhang.
But right now, Chris was out of reach. While his plane from Hong Kong supposedly landed at six o’clock this morning, I held little hope of him coming by soon. Knowing the fussiness of Australian Quarantine restrictions, he was likely stuck in Customs.
Eight o’clock. The minutes crawled by on my analogue clock. I listened to the radio and hummed along to peppy pop songs. I chewed splinters of funny tasting noodles and crunched on raisins. I drew patterns on the dusty walls and flitted by the curtains, longing to peek out the window.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a knock sounded against my door.
Stunned, I froze mid-step, my heart thudding palpitations of panic. I turned to the door, but in my haste, I crashed to my knees in the process. My wings bobbed painfully. Gravity wasn’t kind, especially when the weight of wings felt so foreign on my back.
16 Secret Agent
TITLE:Secret Knowledge
GENRE:YA Fantasy
Tonight Mossy would stand by the Lammas’ fire. She would recite the words, take the candle, then walk into the darkness alone. Tonight everything would change. Tonight she would find her future . . .
Mossy blew out a breath and pushed herself from a jog to a lope. One thing was certain, if she didn’t stop worrying about tonight and start focusing on running, her future wouldn’t include varsity cross-country.
A pair of varsity runners passed Mossy on her left. She willed her legs to move faster, but her muscles tightened and she dropped to the back of the pack. By the time she reached where the jogging path started up the forested hill, she was a good fifty yards behind the team.
As the other runners disappeared over the hill’s crest, Mossy stopped running and hunched over in the middle of the path, hands on her knees, dizziness pulling in around her as she struggled to catch her breath. Of all days, why did practice have to start today?
The thud of a runner’s footsteps came back down the hill toward her. “You okay?” Bethany’s voice asked.
Mossy looked up at her older sister. “I feel like I’m going to puke.”
“I told you to pace yourself.”
“That’s not it.” Mossy took a gulp of air to steady her voice. “I keep thinking about tonight.”
“Why don’t you skip the rest of practice?” Bethany nodded at the forest, indicating the direction of their house. “Take the short cut home.”
GENRE:YA Fantasy
Tonight Mossy would stand by the Lammas’ fire. She would recite the words, take the candle, then walk into the darkness alone. Tonight everything would change. Tonight she would find her future . . .
Mossy blew out a breath and pushed herself from a jog to a lope. One thing was certain, if she didn’t stop worrying about tonight and start focusing on running, her future wouldn’t include varsity cross-country.
A pair of varsity runners passed Mossy on her left. She willed her legs to move faster, but her muscles tightened and she dropped to the back of the pack. By the time she reached where the jogging path started up the forested hill, she was a good fifty yards behind the team.
As the other runners disappeared over the hill’s crest, Mossy stopped running and hunched over in the middle of the path, hands on her knees, dizziness pulling in around her as she struggled to catch her breath. Of all days, why did practice have to start today?
The thud of a runner’s footsteps came back down the hill toward her. “You okay?” Bethany’s voice asked.
Mossy looked up at her older sister. “I feel like I’m going to puke.”
“I told you to pace yourself.”
“That’s not it.” Mossy took a gulp of air to steady her voice. “I keep thinking about tonight.”
“Why don’t you skip the rest of practice?” Bethany nodded at the forest, indicating the direction of their house. “Take the short cut home.”
15 Secret Agent
TITLE: Neanderthals, Wolves, and Us
GENRE: Science Fiction/Fantasy
Genius Arny couldn’t control himself.
His mom and dad argued so loud about him, a grizzly bear might stop by to complain. Arny stilled like a statue in the blind-black outside their tent trying to understand. Were it not his thirteenth birthday he guessed, there’d be no hike alone tomorrow with pretty Terry of rounded face and bottom.
Whoosh. A strafing hunter’s wings stole the boy’s breath, and established who’s boss at night on the Rocky Mountain plains.
What a hoot, he joked to himself.
He remained standing, surrounded by creepy night sounds, that owl hooting away, not too distant cracking branches, thrilled by the dangers. At a distance, a wolf howled followed by the rest of the pack. Arny’s heart ached from the sorrow in their song. He felt one with them, powerful, alpha, and he would act that way. The boy tiptoed away from the tent to the camp perimeter, cocked his head, and let out a little howl. He rejected his mom’s concerns and stiffened in the cool night air, determined to do what any self respecting wolf would do, if in his boots. It would happen tomorrow after he and Terry reached their cozy spot. Insatiable curiosity taunted his imagination.
Arny entered his pup tent big enough for his buddy, a sprawled out Old English Sheepdog. He tackled, cuddled, and fell asleep dreaming a favorite fantasy. He was early boy, stone and spear, running with wolves.
Free.
Well, mom and dad were cooking mammoth at the cave.
GENRE: Science Fiction/Fantasy
Genius Arny couldn’t control himself.
His mom and dad argued so loud about him, a grizzly bear might stop by to complain. Arny stilled like a statue in the blind-black outside their tent trying to understand. Were it not his thirteenth birthday he guessed, there’d be no hike alone tomorrow with pretty Terry of rounded face and bottom.
Whoosh. A strafing hunter’s wings stole the boy’s breath, and established who’s boss at night on the Rocky Mountain plains.
What a hoot, he joked to himself.
He remained standing, surrounded by creepy night sounds, that owl hooting away, not too distant cracking branches, thrilled by the dangers. At a distance, a wolf howled followed by the rest of the pack. Arny’s heart ached from the sorrow in their song. He felt one with them, powerful, alpha, and he would act that way. The boy tiptoed away from the tent to the camp perimeter, cocked his head, and let out a little howl. He rejected his mom’s concerns and stiffened in the cool night air, determined to do what any self respecting wolf would do, if in his boots. It would happen tomorrow after he and Terry reached their cozy spot. Insatiable curiosity taunted his imagination.
Arny entered his pup tent big enough for his buddy, a sprawled out Old English Sheepdog. He tackled, cuddled, and fell asleep dreaming a favorite fantasy. He was early boy, stone and spear, running with wolves.
Free.
Well, mom and dad were cooking mammoth at the cave.
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