TITLE: The Last Mage
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Each step felt like wading through molasses. It was no surprise she’d already run out of breath while the Dark Magics pumped through Lusa at full force. With the danger night brought in this disgusting stink-hole of a swamp, she let them. Their voices became ambient noise, a constant hum. She sliced her blade across the first row of thick grass two feet above her head.
“Great.” A bunch more stood in her way. It was going to be a long night. She frowned at the dagger and snorted at her luck. The impulse to cast out a giant fire ball was hard to suppress. But fire wasn’t the only way.
“Windosa nu!” A gust of hot wind rushed past her. The magical tempest slammed into the wall of weeds. The roar muted the incessant chirping of insects and when the wind dispersed, all was quiet and the majority of the swamp grass mangled, bent and broken.
An icy tingle rose from her toes up to her torso, her powers palpitating madly. Her sweat had dried. Even the stench momentarily vanished. The night sky was as clear as the silence and she could now see over the long row of bent grass, walled-in by that untouched by her spell. Despite the Magics commanding her to move, she couldn’t ignore her instincts wanting her to stay. Her skin prickled at the thought of what lurked in there.
“Well, here goes nothing.” Smacking a bug on the back of her neck, she sighed and entered the swamp.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
5 Secret Agent
TITLE - Boxes
Genre - Women's Fiction
ARI (author's note: character has Down's Syndrome)
Phyllis said case it out. Look for the pizza and toilet paper and other things for Independent Living, which I’m not doing Independent Living now, but I will, and Phyllis says follow your dreams.
She waited on her green car, the hood of it, and smoked half a cigarette. Someday she will quit. That is her dream.
I picked up the little basket to carry. The toilet paper was with the tissues and pads. My sister uses tampons that I don’t like. She even took them to college, two boxes. She said, “Who knows what stores they’ll have in that podunk town.” Her name is Steffi.
You don’t go to the store just to look and I wanted to buy a Zero. It is backwards that the outside is white. It is still my favorite even though something bad happened with it. Me and Tanya were at lunch and a boy came and another boy. I saw those boys do barking at a girl once.
The boy said, “Dude. The Zero is eating a Zero. That is, like, for Saturday Night Live.”
The other boy said, “Dude, they should make a candy bar called Tard.”
The first one said, “Yeah, you should eat it.”
The other one said, “Shut the f*** up.” He did a kick and they laughed and my pocketbook fell which I was very mad.
I didn’t understand Tard but Dad said it is short for “retard.” He likes to tell it to me straight.
Genre - Women's Fiction
ARI (author's note: character has Down's Syndrome)
Phyllis said case it out. Look for the pizza and toilet paper and other things for Independent Living, which I’m not doing Independent Living now, but I will, and Phyllis says follow your dreams.
She waited on her green car, the hood of it, and smoked half a cigarette. Someday she will quit. That is her dream.
I picked up the little basket to carry. The toilet paper was with the tissues and pads. My sister uses tampons that I don’t like. She even took them to college, two boxes. She said, “Who knows what stores they’ll have in that podunk town.” Her name is Steffi.
You don’t go to the store just to look and I wanted to buy a Zero. It is backwards that the outside is white. It is still my favorite even though something bad happened with it. Me and Tanya were at lunch and a boy came and another boy. I saw those boys do barking at a girl once.
The boy said, “Dude. The Zero is eating a Zero. That is, like, for Saturday Night Live.”
The other boy said, “Dude, they should make a candy bar called Tard.”
The first one said, “Yeah, you should eat it.”
The other one said, “Shut the f*** up.” He did a kick and they laughed and my pocketbook fell which I was very mad.
I didn’t understand Tard but Dad said it is short for “retard.” He likes to tell it to me straight.
4 Secret Agent
TITLE: Violet Midnight
GENRE: Paranormal Romance
Emma Martin had never killed a human, well, not on purpose anyway, but her best friend, Ava, might be the first. “No. I told you, I’m not going on a blind date, so drop it already.”
Considering she battled demons on a regular basis, few things in the world scared Emma. But two things she did fear: falling in love again and witnessing his murder. Been there, done that. Never again.
“Fine. You’re so stubborn. At least come to the party.” Ava wove her arm through Emma’s and dragged her across the campus. “Hey, aren’t you freezing in that tank top?”
“It’s not that cold out.” Then again, Emma didn’t feel cold, or hot for that matter. But Ava didn’t know that.
No one did.
No one could ever know.
“Whatever,” Ava said. “So, come on, already. I’ve got two hours to beautify you.”
“Ava, no. I said no more—” Pulsing pain stabbed Emma’s wrist. She stopped and squatted.
No. Not now. Can’t I get just one night off?
“What’s wrong?” Ava asked.
“Ahhh. Nothing. Uhm . . . just a cramp.” Emma never got cramps, but she had to cover when her wrist flared up, like it often did. “I’ll be fine in a second.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Emma turned her hand over already knowing what she’d see.
Everyone thought it was a normal tattoo, but they didn’t know how it came to life when trouble neared. She slipped her hand over the piercing orange glow.
GENRE: Paranormal Romance
Emma Martin had never killed a human, well, not on purpose anyway, but her best friend, Ava, might be the first. “No. I told you, I’m not going on a blind date, so drop it already.”
Considering she battled demons on a regular basis, few things in the world scared Emma. But two things she did fear: falling in love again and witnessing his murder. Been there, done that. Never again.
“Fine. You’re so stubborn. At least come to the party.” Ava wove her arm through Emma’s and dragged her across the campus. “Hey, aren’t you freezing in that tank top?”
“It’s not that cold out.” Then again, Emma didn’t feel cold, or hot for that matter. But Ava didn’t know that.
No one did.
No one could ever know.
“Whatever,” Ava said. “So, come on, already. I’ve got two hours to beautify you.”
“Ava, no. I said no more—” Pulsing pain stabbed Emma’s wrist. She stopped and squatted.
No. Not now. Can’t I get just one night off?
“What’s wrong?” Ava asked.
“Ahhh. Nothing. Uhm . . . just a cramp.” Emma never got cramps, but she had to cover when her wrist flared up, like it often did. “I’ll be fine in a second.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Emma turned her hand over already knowing what she’d see.
Everyone thought it was a normal tattoo, but they didn’t know how it came to life when trouble neared. She slipped her hand over the piercing orange glow.
3 Secret Agent
TITLE: THE HARLEN WITCHES: RELUCTANT ACCEPTANCE
GENRE: Young Adult Fantasy
Lulled by the words being read aloud in her English class, Brissa Harlen lay back in her seat and let her gaze wander outside, towards the tree line at the end of the field. She stared, sleepy and beginning to dream, unconsciously admiring the brilliant colors of the leaves that were already beginning to change. Her mind slipped outside the bounds of the classroom, to her family’s forest, away from all the drudgery of school.
She didn’t mind her English class in particular. Actually, it was one of her favorites, but the late morning warmth, combined with the gorgeous colors that called to her, was making the day impossible to bear.
In her mind, she began to mix her colors to imitate a particular shade of amber glowing from one of the trees when her attention was very subtly, but steadily, engaged by a slight shimmering that kept growing, until it morphed into a group of gorgeous butterflies fluttering together, almost in formation. She sat up in her seat, trying to get a clear view of the butterflies. Pale green and gauzy, infinitely delicate. Brissa was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to run outside and play amongst them, whirling around in a dance. She saw herself, in the woods, her long black hair blowing softly in the wind, a long pale dress to match the butterflies, barefoot. It was completely out of a hippie handbook and the image was comical enough that she laughed out loud, abruptly interrupting the reading that the whole class had been intently listening to.
GENRE: Young Adult Fantasy
Lulled by the words being read aloud in her English class, Brissa Harlen lay back in her seat and let her gaze wander outside, towards the tree line at the end of the field. She stared, sleepy and beginning to dream, unconsciously admiring the brilliant colors of the leaves that were already beginning to change. Her mind slipped outside the bounds of the classroom, to her family’s forest, away from all the drudgery of school.
She didn’t mind her English class in particular. Actually, it was one of her favorites, but the late morning warmth, combined with the gorgeous colors that called to her, was making the day impossible to bear.
In her mind, she began to mix her colors to imitate a particular shade of amber glowing from one of the trees when her attention was very subtly, but steadily, engaged by a slight shimmering that kept growing, until it morphed into a group of gorgeous butterflies fluttering together, almost in formation. She sat up in her seat, trying to get a clear view of the butterflies. Pale green and gauzy, infinitely delicate. Brissa was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to run outside and play amongst them, whirling around in a dance. She saw herself, in the woods, her long black hair blowing softly in the wind, a long pale dress to match the butterflies, barefoot. It was completely out of a hippie handbook and the image was comical enough that she laughed out loud, abruptly interrupting the reading that the whole class had been intently listening to.
2 Secret Agent
TITLE: Of Oak and Dragons
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
When I was six years old, I found a human skull. A grownup would have shuddered and mentally filed the experience under the heading of a Real Bad Day. The kicker for me was the knife jutting from the empty eye socket. Finding something like that would give anyone years of bad dreams.
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when after several months of peace my screaming woke me again. Fifteen years after finding the bony skull, the nightmare was like the oh-surely-he’s-dead-now monster rising from a premature grave in a horror flick.
It was the cold hour before dawn. Ignoring my shaking hands, I straightened the bedspread, took one look at the rumpled result, groaned and pulled the sheets flat and straightened the blankets.
My whispering OCD nagged me to plump the pillows, but I resisted and headed for the shower, ignoring my racing heart and the disheartening realization that my wake up call from hell had returned.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked from the bathroom with towel-wrapped hair and wearing a tattered blue robe. It had been with me since junior high, witness to many episodes of teen-age angst and fallen movie heroes. And many mornings when I preferred to wake less abruptly, say with a jackhammer in my ear. I heard the rattle of cups and a chair drawn across the kitchen floor.
Eva sat at the table with her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, a newspaper spread on the table and an unopened bottle of my caffeinated drug of choice.
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
When I was six years old, I found a human skull. A grownup would have shuddered and mentally filed the experience under the heading of a Real Bad Day. The kicker for me was the knife jutting from the empty eye socket. Finding something like that would give anyone years of bad dreams.
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when after several months of peace my screaming woke me again. Fifteen years after finding the bony skull, the nightmare was like the oh-surely-he’s-dead-now monster rising from a premature grave in a horror flick.
It was the cold hour before dawn. Ignoring my shaking hands, I straightened the bedspread, took one look at the rumpled result, groaned and pulled the sheets flat and straightened the blankets.
My whispering OCD nagged me to plump the pillows, but I resisted and headed for the shower, ignoring my racing heart and the disheartening realization that my wake up call from hell had returned.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked from the bathroom with towel-wrapped hair and wearing a tattered blue robe. It had been with me since junior high, witness to many episodes of teen-age angst and fallen movie heroes. And many mornings when I preferred to wake less abruptly, say with a jackhammer in my ear. I heard the rattle of cups and a chair drawn across the kitchen floor.
Eva sat at the table with her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, a newspaper spread on the table and an unopened bottle of my caffeinated drug of choice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)