Why you don't get published.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Friday, October 08, 2010
New Beginning 792
“My dear friend Engel, may I present the most dedicated secretary in the entire Free Russia Association, Nadezhda Volkov.” Sergei’s accent was barely noticeable compared to some in the room. “And Nadezhda, Engel Huber is a reporter from the Fluchtstadt Presse.”
I smiled dutifully as he made introductions, wondering if she was the scoop Sergei had told me about. “She survived a gulag,” he’d said. “Nobody survives the gulags.”
Nadezhda barely glanced up, concentrating instead on prying the pit from the inside of a peach. Some of the juice dribbled down the inside of her arm and soaked into her green silk dress, but it didn’t seem to bother her. “Charmed.”
“She’s the one,” Sergei mouthed.
I quirked an eyebrow. “So, Frau Volkov, how long have you been in the West Germany?”
“Two weeks.”
I was taken aback. “That’s all?”
“What she means,” Sergei interrupted, “is it’s been two weeks since she returned from her trip to the motherland. She’s worked here for over eight years now.”
“A trip to the USSR? That must have been quite a trip.”
Nadezhda smiled flatly. “The borders aren’t impenetrable.”
And neither are you, I thought with a sly smile. At last I would have the chance to prove my ex-wife was wrong when she declared no woman could bear to live with me more than a month.
The way I figured it, a woman who could survive the gulag oughta be able to stand five weeks with me.
Opening: Rachel.....Continuation: Janae/EE
I smiled dutifully as he made introductions, wondering if she was the scoop Sergei had told me about. “She survived a gulag,” he’d said. “Nobody survives the gulags.”
Nadezhda barely glanced up, concentrating instead on prying the pit from the inside of a peach. Some of the juice dribbled down the inside of her arm and soaked into her green silk dress, but it didn’t seem to bother her. “Charmed.”
“She’s the one,” Sergei mouthed.
I quirked an eyebrow. “So, Frau Volkov, how long have you been in the West Germany?”
“Two weeks.”
I was taken aback. “That’s all?”
“What she means,” Sergei interrupted, “is it’s been two weeks since she returned from her trip to the motherland. She’s worked here for over eight years now.”
“A trip to the USSR? That must have been quite a trip.”
Nadezhda smiled flatly. “The borders aren’t impenetrable.”
And neither are you, I thought with a sly smile. At last I would have the chance to prove my ex-wife was wrong when she declared no woman could bear to live with me more than a month.
The way I figured it, a woman who could survive the gulag oughta be able to stand five weeks with me.
Opening: Rachel.....Continuation: Janae/EE
Thursday, October 07, 2010
New Beginning 791
In the summer, moths had swarmed in the glow of the lights above the kebab stand, but the winter had already killed most of them. That night inside the lights' yellow glow, only the falling snow, the kebab seller, and one customer leaning on the kebab stand's counter could be found. The light separated the stand from the rest of the street, as surely as the glass windows and brushed metal counter separated the kebab seller from the rest of the world. Darkness, broken only by passing headlights, cloaked most of the road.The kebab seller, immured inside the cramped, sweaty box, was intently studying the angle of the large knife held in his right hand. With each slice, he removed the uneven parts from the roasted meat slowly spinning on its vertical spit. It was a game he played with himself. Could he even out the lopsided chunk of lamb his colleague from the day shift had left him by the time the night was finished?
“Scharf?” he asked; his hand poised to spoon out the red chili sauce. The customer—on the other side of the counter and the other side of middle age—pulled his cigarette out from between his creased lips and held it in his cracked, thick fingers. He stared at the kebab seller.
Then he dropped the cigarette and, without looking, ground it into the sidewalk with the sole of an Italian loafer. His eyes narrowed. "Scharf? Is that not when you think it is a fart but then you shit yourself?"
The kebab seller, blade in his right hand, ladle in his left, each implement dripping grease across the counter, leaving yellow orbs that echoed the bulbs overhead, said, "No, no, my friend. That is a shart." Scharf is when you shit and barf at the same time. A man in this city in winter should know these things."
The customer pulled a crumpled packet out of his pocket, took out a filterless cigarette and slipped it into his mouth. "You are indeed correct." He slowly lit the tobacco with an old flip-top lighter. "Forget the kebab," he said. "I'll just have coffee."
Opening: Nicole.....Continuation: Anon.
The kebab seller, blade in his right hand, ladle in his left, each implement dripping grease across the counter, leaving yellow orbs that echoed the bulbs overhead, said, "No, no, my friend. That is a shart." Scharf is when you shit and barf at the same time. A man in this city in winter should know these things."
The customer pulled a crumpled packet out of his pocket, took out a filterless cigarette and slipped it into his mouth. "You are indeed correct." He slowly lit the tobacco with an old flip-top lighter. "Forget the kebab," he said. "I'll just have coffee."
Opening: Nicole.....Continuation: Anon.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Face-Lift 829
Guess the Plot
Tenth Grade
1. A novel exploring one year in the lives of a dozen teens as they deal with murder, suicide, gang violence, family tragedy and the other staples of . . . tenth grade. Told entirely in verse.
2. Springfield High was also known as the Temple of Doom, but Sally didn't know why. Now, thanks to the dog that ate her history paper, she is about to find out.
3. After her terrible experiences with the first nine grades of sin, Gladys decides she's had enough and converts to atheism. But can she really get off that easy? Not if Satan has anything to say about it.
4. Swirlies. Atomic wedgies. Bizarre, pointless homework. Girls who've developed too much, too fast, and are oblivious to everyone but the football hero. Yes, for forty-three year old Hugh Smathers, teaching tenth grade is the nightmare he feared it would be.
5. Everyone in the tenth grade at Wharton Memorial High is a vampire. It's so last-decade. But when Steve Chance, a moody, glitterless boy from out west, moves to town, Chastity falls head-over-fangs for him. Trouble is, every other girl in the tenth grade wants a piece of him. Preferably, his jugular.
6. Janelle is a long-lost faery princess with magical powers, but all she wants to do is pass her algebra final. There's only one way to get rid of her pesky faery minions so she can study: wholesale slaughter.
Original Version
Dear Evil Editor,
When adolescents begin to develop their own voices, they are often faced with roadblocks ranging from personal fears to the extreme of violence in their schools and communities. Told in multi-voiced verse, [Whoa. What is this, an epic poem? A Canterbury Tales teens can actually relate to?] “Tenth Grade” explores a year in the life of a dozen teens growing up in an unnamed rural community somewhere in the Midwest. There is Jasmine, struggling with the resentment she feels towards her long-absent father upon his unexpected return.
[Father, I'm glad that you've returned,
Partly 'cause I love you still,
But mostly 'cause now that you're here
You'll be much easier to kill.]
Aaron faces family tragedy when his sister is killed during military service, but his relationship with Alexie helps him not to linger in grief.
[My sister was blown up
By the Taliban yesterday.
Comfort me, Alexie,
With a roll in the hay.]
Sandra struggles with body image and self-mutilation before she meets artistic Javier.
[I wish you wouldn't cut yourself, Sandy,
But since you do insist,
Let me show you how to make
Cool red designs on your wrists.]
Javier spends the year trying to avoid notice, but he is in the wrong place at the wrong time and is murdered. His death rocks the school and the community, and lies and rumors take the place of truth. While the community points to gang activity, the students remain skeptical: those who witnessed the murder refuse to speak out, but the reader has witnessed it all and realizes that it was not a gang shooting. Marquae, a quiet boy who has been targeted by Dustin, [Dustin? Who's Dustin?] is the one who pulled the trigger, but the death is not entirely his fault. Marquae and Javier were friends, and Marquae only had a gun in the first place to frighten Dustin. When Dustin’s ex-girlfriend, Rachel, saw a gun aimed at him, she acted without thinking, knocking the gun to the side.
[But the trigger got pulled,
And the gun went Bang!
And when Javier died
They said, Let's blame gangs.]
Although the school is plunged into grief, gradually things begin to return to normal. The novel ends with fragile resolution for some characters, like Jasmine, while others, like Dustin and Marquae, cease to speak. [They cease to speak? To anyone?] [That sounds like a fragile resolution. You implied it would be an example of a more drastic resolution.]
Complete at 10,000 words, this realistic novel-in-verse will appeal to [fans of Beowulf and Stephenie Meyer.] reluctant and voracious readers alike. [The only thing reluctant readers will like about a 10,000-word novel in verse is that it's only 10,000 words.] The diverse backgrounds and experiences of the multiple narrators paint a picture of a modern American community that will resonate with young adult readers. [Especially those who speak in iambic pentameter.]
My background is rooted firmly in YA literature. I hold a Masters in Library Science with a k-12 media specialist certification, and I have taught middle school Language Arts for the past four years. On the side, I have reviewed books for Voices of Youth Advocates for the past two years.
Thank you for considering my work, and I hope to hear from you soon.
Notes
If someone is pointing a gun at someone else, I wouldn't call knocking the gun to the side "acting without thinking." Possibly Rachel did think. Possibly she thought, My boyfriend's about to be shot; maybe I can save him.
10,000 words is gonna be about 50 pages, on 25 sheets of paper. The spine won't be wide enough for a legible title. And people won't want to pay as much for such a short book, but the book will cost almost as much to produce because the biggest expense is the cover. So the publisher is gonna consider this a money-loser. Thus I recommend turning it into twelve songs and putting out a CD.
If that idea isn't appealing, call it something other than a novel, and be sure to enclose the first few pages so the agent has a strong sense of what you're selling.
It probably seems unfair that telling your story in verse took five times as much work as telling it in prose would have, only to discover that most young adults would rather read the prose version. But unless it sounds like Dr. Suess wrote it, or it's set to music, that may be the reality.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
New Beginning 790
I could hear the fear in my breathing - jagged and sporadic. My lungs screamed for oxygen, and my muscles fought back as I encountered cramps in succession throughout my legs. My brain was wailing in pain, trying to plea bargain with my heart; begging for my legs to stop running, if only for a moment. However, my heart refused this task because I was searching - in the barren darkness of the underground tunnels - for him.
Confused and disoriented, I frantically turned without thinking down another hallway almost entirely devoured by the darkness. The acrid odors previously stinging my nose began to subside as the stale, thick air began to thin, making breathing easier. I continued to run faster than my body wanted; because I knew, I was going to lose the love of my life. Run Carrie, I could hear him say in my head, his voice as smooth as silk was quietly tickling my thoughts. I'm coming, I said without words, and continued pushing myself to run harder as my vision became blurry from tears. Tears of fear, anguish, and love.
The ache was jagged and sporadic, like a pounding in my brain. My eyes were tearing from the fearing, water swirling down a drain. The starkness of the darkness, blackness bringing on the slackness-- courage failing, and my wailing, to my love (whom I was hailing), was the foment of my to'ment, like a beating from a cane.
As I scrambled through the cavern-- dank and smoky, like a tavern-- I espied a glowing fire, at my level, only higher. Up a staircase; through a doorway, like a Dane escaping Norway, ducking ceiling; leaping chasm, 'till one final frightful spasm, sent me sprawling and a-bawling, to the cold unyielding floor.
And then, finally, did I see, like a ship far out at sea, a lone candle in the dim, held up by a hand quite slim: pale whiteness like fine marble, hair of gold, and eyes a-sparkle. T'was my love, my one-and-only! There he stood, alone and lonely. By my side, he bent a knee, and these words he spake to me:
“Where the hell's the circuit breaker?”
Opening: Natbagel.....Continuation: Sean
Confused and disoriented, I frantically turned without thinking down another hallway almost entirely devoured by the darkness. The acrid odors previously stinging my nose began to subside as the stale, thick air began to thin, making breathing easier. I continued to run faster than my body wanted; because I knew, I was going to lose the love of my life. Run Carrie, I could hear him say in my head, his voice as smooth as silk was quietly tickling my thoughts. I'm coming, I said without words, and continued pushing myself to run harder as my vision became blurry from tears. Tears of fear, anguish, and love.
The ache was jagged and sporadic, like a pounding in my brain. My eyes were tearing from the fearing, water swirling down a drain. The starkness of the darkness, blackness bringing on the slackness-- courage failing, and my wailing, to my love (whom I was hailing), was the foment of my to'ment, like a beating from a cane.
As I scrambled through the cavern-- dank and smoky, like a tavern-- I espied a glowing fire, at my level, only higher. Up a staircase; through a doorway, like a Dane escaping Norway, ducking ceiling; leaping chasm, 'till one final frightful spasm, sent me sprawling and a-bawling, to the cold unyielding floor.
And then, finally, did I see, like a ship far out at sea, a lone candle in the dim, held up by a hand quite slim: pale whiteness like fine marble, hair of gold, and eyes a-sparkle. T'was my love, my one-and-only! There he stood, alone and lonely. By my side, he bent a knee, and these words he spake to me:
“Where the hell's the circuit breaker?”
Opening: Natbagel.....Continuation: Sean
Monday, October 04, 2010
New Beginning 789
Men get a hankerin' for war. Every 20, 30 years when a new crop of boys grow into manhood ready to flex their muscle and show their mettle and the old guard starts remembering their glory years and lusting after their youth, it starts to happen. If you listen close you can hear it: in the hush of the children, the whispers of the womenfolk, the shouts of 'duty' and 'honor' over the grime and sweat of work, whiskey and fisticuffs at night, and offering plates passed between pews on Sundays.
It's in the blood. It can't be helped.
Find a cause, take a side. Don't matter which. Most of the time you don’t get to choose anyway. The war chooses for you. Saxon or Norman, Christian or Jew, North or South. Who you were born, where you were born are far more important than what you think.
Charlie Daniels liked war. He liked the pageantry of it -- liked waking to the sound of the bugle and marching to fife and drum. When the muskets fired, he liked breathing in the sharp smell of gunpowder till he could taste the sulfur on his tongue. When the howitzers went off, he was there like a setter on a pheasant, watching the mortar shells tear through walls and men alike.
Now you can be just like Charlie Daniels, marching into battle with your fellow soldiers, happily fighting the most bitter of campaigns, in:
Reenactment: Ain't War Grand!
Available now for Xbox, Wii and Playstation 3.
Experience war as it should be -- where the dead never bleed and they get right up again at four for a cold one at McHale's.
Exclusive online content: Where's Dem WMD? and Anyone for Waterboarding? mini-games.
Opening: Anon......Continuation: anon.
It's in the blood. It can't be helped.
Find a cause, take a side. Don't matter which. Most of the time you don’t get to choose anyway. The war chooses for you. Saxon or Norman, Christian or Jew, North or South. Who you were born, where you were born are far more important than what you think.
Charlie Daniels liked war. He liked the pageantry of it -- liked waking to the sound of the bugle and marching to fife and drum. When the muskets fired, he liked breathing in the sharp smell of gunpowder till he could taste the sulfur on his tongue. When the howitzers went off, he was there like a setter on a pheasant, watching the mortar shells tear through walls and men alike.
Now you can be just like Charlie Daniels, marching into battle with your fellow soldiers, happily fighting the most bitter of campaigns, in:
Reenactment: Ain't War Grand!
Available now for Xbox, Wii and Playstation 3.
Experience war as it should be -- where the dead never bleed and they get right up again at four for a cold one at McHale's.
Exclusive online content: Where's Dem WMD? and Anyone for Waterboarding? mini-games.
Opening: Anon......Continuation: anon.
Sunday, October 03, 2010
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Friday, October 01, 2010
Face-Lift 828
Guess the PlotWhispers in the Dark
1. Leisha is distracted from her mission of tracking a drug ring by a menacing voice that only she can hear. Is she losing her mind, or are revolutionaries from other planets attacking her sanity in a coup against the artificial intelligence programs that control their lives?
2. Every night after she turned out the light, Sonya could hear them under her bed, from behind the closet door . . . damn these time-share telemarketers anyway.
3. In the Cherokee nation of early America, Shines Like Sunshine and Walking Hawk are young and in love. But jealous eyes watch from behind every tepee and totem pole, envious of their simple joy. Can Walking Hawk escape the murderous clutches of his mate's ex-boyfriend, Whispers in the Dark?
4. Iggy the busboy must descend into the basement of Bud's Diner. This time he's on a mission to listen to the wireless for an important breakfast order from the French Underground. But the chatter he hears sounds more like a Guy Fawkes plan to blow up Parliament. Has he entered a time tunnel? Or does the free world now depend on himself and savvy waitress Loretta Muldoon?
5. The kingdom of Roth'na'hersh is threatened. Dark forces of the Fae are rising up like a bad tv dinner. Thirteen-year-old Drychmae has a magic sword, a hankering to kill her some Fae, and mysterious voices telling her how to go about it. But can she believe those . . . Whispers in the Dark?
6. As he wanders in the dark on Halloween, hillbilly boy genius Buddy Boone hears whispering voices and realizes he's near the spot where Fred Jones, bootleg distiller, vanished during Prohibition. And he sees a foggy figure in the shrubbery. Plus his iPhone spectral apparition meter app is buzzing.
Original Version
Whoever said that technology makes life easier was full of it. [And whoever said it doesn't has never tried to get a message to his sister in Hawaii.] For the Colonized Planets, the Artificial Intelligence programs monitor and assist the Colonies, allowing them to remain united and simplifying most daily tasks by administrating the System. With travel, communications, and information networks all automated, humans have very little to worry about. The AIs aren’t quite what they seem, however, and one person knows exactly what they are. [That one person is me, the author, and I'm not talking.] [Dump that paragraph. Anything in it that's essential can be woven into the other three plot paragraphs.]
Maj. Leisha O’Davoren is an undercover operative in the Peacekeepers, the law enforcement organization charged with service and protection for the Colonies. She is very good at her job, especially since she can access the AIs without a computer. [Unless you consider the iPhone Artificial Intelligence System Access app a computer.] [The first half of that sentence is repeated in the next sentence; the second half isn't needed, as we don't know why accessing the AIs without a computer is such a big deal.] Secure in her abilities and her job, she heads off to her next assignment, only to be attacked as soon as she hits the planet.
Nothing about this operation goes according to plan. Leisha is distracted from her primary goal of tracking a drug ring by an attractive stalker, programmed assassins, and a menacing voice that only she can hear. [Does the menacing voice whisper in the dark?] [Pssst. Get a frigging nightlight, lady, or I'll kill you.] With her sanity under attack, she tries to focus on her job, which is easier said than done when she’s ordered to investigate her shadow, a hacker named Wynn Corriden. [An undercover operative who's very good at her job wouldn't have trouble focusing just because she has to investigate a hacker; I'm guessing her focus problem has more to do with the programmed assassins.]
When the System is hijacked by revolutionaries, Leisha is forced to team up with Wynn to return control to the AIs. However, when the true power behind the coup is revealed, she finds that enforcing the law has little to do with doing what’s right, especially if it means a sacrifice that leaves her broken and alone. [That's a pretty vague closing sentence. Change it to: However, the AIs aren’t quite what they seem; they are sentient tools of the Bourgeoisie underground, intent on making human life more difficult by incapacitating all TV remote controls and microwave ovens.]
Whispers in the Dark is my third novel and is complete at 87,000 words. [There's no point in mentioning your other novels unless you name them and are confident that when the agent/editor Googles the titles he/she will be thrilled that someone with your accomplishments has queried him/her.] Thank you for your consideration.
Notes
It isn't terrible, but by cutting out the boring stuff you leave room to throw in another interesting tidbit or two about what's going on. Like, who's the power behind the coup?
If you get attacked the minute you hit a planet and the attack fails, the attackers are incompetent. I mean, if I order my squad of assassins to kill Joe Shmo when he gets off the L bus at Broadway and 5th, I gotta figure at least one of them is gonna get him.
Success Story
David Gaughran, (A Storm Hits Valparaiso, Face-Lift 716) reports that his short story "Into the Woods" is the Story of the Week at Short Story America.
The story will also be published in book-form as part of a compendium in Spring 2011.
You have to register to view it, but it's free. Go to (http://www.shortstoryamerica.com). Once registered, you have access to their entire library and will get a weekly email when they publish a new Story of the Week.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
New Beginning 788
"Alex, it's time for dinner."
"In a minute, mom. I want to see the parade."
"It's not a parade, Alex, as I've told you before, it's a funeral procession. They go by your window nearly every day, do you have to watch every one?"
Alexander's second story bedroom faced the Dead Road, the dirt path from town center to the necropolis. Long, loud processions passed his window every day, and Alexander did not understand them.
His parents told him; he was from Earth, these people were different. He could see that. They said; he was only eleven, lots of time to understand things. Maybe.
The grievers went first, crying and wailing and catching their tears in little vases. Then came the musicians, playing on pipes, horns, stringed instruments, and drums. After them came the liturgists, reading from holy books and making sermons out of the passages. Then came the family and friends. Last came the problem.
The body and spirit. That wasn't a metaphor. For some reason, on this planet, the spirit was visible and it stayed with the body. With the spirit were the spirit tamers, which is to say thugs of the religion, carrying magic-imbued chains with which they whipped the spirit of the dead.
"Come on, Alex!" His mother appeared behind him, urging him to dinner.
"But Mom!" he whined. "It's the bodies." They could both see through the window the wagons carrying the distended, gray corpses, each with a twisted, writhing spirit floating above.
Mom turned away and headed back to the kitchen. Why had they moved to this God-forsaken planet, and why had she believed the realtor who told her this was the quietest road in town?
She opened the liquor cabinet and stared inside. She had some spirits of her own to tame.
Opening: D Jason Cooper.....Continuation: Anon.
"In a minute, mom. I want to see the parade."
"It's not a parade, Alex, as I've told you before, it's a funeral procession. They go by your window nearly every day, do you have to watch every one?"
Alexander's second story bedroom faced the Dead Road, the dirt path from town center to the necropolis. Long, loud processions passed his window every day, and Alexander did not understand them.
His parents told him; he was from Earth, these people were different. He could see that. They said; he was only eleven, lots of time to understand things. Maybe.
The grievers went first, crying and wailing and catching their tears in little vases. Then came the musicians, playing on pipes, horns, stringed instruments, and drums. After them came the liturgists, reading from holy books and making sermons out of the passages. Then came the family and friends. Last came the problem.
The body and spirit. That wasn't a metaphor. For some reason, on this planet, the spirit was visible and it stayed with the body. With the spirit were the spirit tamers, which is to say thugs of the religion, carrying magic-imbued chains with which they whipped the spirit of the dead.
"Come on, Alex!" His mother appeared behind him, urging him to dinner.
"But Mom!" he whined. "It's the bodies." They could both see through the window the wagons carrying the distended, gray corpses, each with a twisted, writhing spirit floating above.
Mom turned away and headed back to the kitchen. Why had they moved to this God-forsaken planet, and why had she believed the realtor who told her this was the quietest road in town?
She opened the liquor cabinet and stared inside. She had some spirits of her own to tame.
Opening: D Jason Cooper.....Continuation: Anon.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Face-Lift 827
Guess the Plot
Spy
1. After forty-nine years of beak-nosed mayhem in the pages of Mad Magazine, the "Spy Vs. Spy" rivalry ends in a bloody total victory... but for which Spy?
2. Hillbilly boy genius Buddy Boone and his sidekick Howie find a pigeon behind the shed. The bird has a computer chip tied to its leg. Buddy hacks the chip using a decoder app on his iPhone and discovers a plot to wipe out mankind and turn the world over to a dog and some monkeys! What faceless fiend is behind this scheme? The boys must go undercover and snoop around until they find out!
3. He's got the gadgets, the black leather bag full of unmarked hundreds, the fake passports--and no memory of whose side he's on . . . except for a faint recollection of a woman wearing jasmine perfume.
4. Ferris Samson runs a counter-intelligence unit in Southern California. After his best operative turns up dead, a parcel arrives containing a children's picture book. Can he find the clues in the images before something BAD happens?
5. The newest member of the spy ring known as Spies Serving Society is also the only adult in the ring. Not only that, he's Black Dragon: the world's greatest spy. But before he even has time to settle in, Black Dragon is captured. Should the SSS try to rescue him? Do they really want to hang out with a big person?
6. When Finnegan is assigned the dangerous task of infiltrating the mob, he knows that one wrong move means he'll be sleeping with the fishes. So when the Don drops in unexpectedly and Finnegan is dining on Fettuccini Alfredo, he must think fast. Luckily he has a jar of Emeril's Kicked-up Tomato sauce in the pantry.
Original Version
Dear Editor,
When the spy ring known as Spies Serving Society gain a new member, they are surprised to find that he is not only the first adult in their small group, but also the infamous Black Dragon, the best stealth master in the business. At first delighted, they soon become worried when their base comes under attack. [Their base? Oh, you mean their clubhouse. Is their clubhouse in a tree?] [When you're under attack, you usually have a stronger reaction than becoming worried. You usually have to fight off the attackers.] Dragon explains that his former leader, General Ursa, did not want him to leave her ring, and the SSS agree to help him, despite their misgivings. [The world's greatest spy becomes a free agent and decides to join a spy ring that's all kids? Would James Bond leave MI-6 to join the Baker Street Irregulars? Hypothetically; I realize he couldn't, because the Baker Street Irregulars are fictional.]
But when Dragon is captured by the nefarious General Ursa, [He's the best stealth master in the business and he's captured five minutes after he gets there?] the SSS's loyalty is put to the test. [Loyalty to a guy who just got there and who immediately brought their base under attack?] [Side note: Black Dragon sounds like the worst stealth master in the business.] They can rescue him – risking imprisonment or death – or leave him to his fate. [Tough choice. Imprisonment and death or . . . nothing.] The choice is theirs, but it may not be as simple as they think, thanks to a traitor in their midst.
At 60,000 words, Spy is a futuristic adventure novel for mid- to late teens.
Thank you for considering my work.
Sincerely,
Notes
The only characters who get named are the villain and the superspy who gets captured minutes after joining the SSS. Is there a main character (for instance, the leader of the SSS) you can focus on, or does everyone in the SSS get equal billing?
An actual spy ring with no adults sounds like it would be an easier sell to a middle grade audience.
You have room on the page for another two or three sentences of plot. Something about what happens after Black Dragon is captured. Maybe something about who the SSS spies on and spies for. Spy rings usually serve a country or a big organization. In what way do these spies serve society?
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