Face-Lift 303

Guess the Plot

Disposable People

1. They're convenient, cheap, and easy to come by. But when the landfill starts to overflow, the consequences are worse than global warming.

2. An inside look at the publishing industry, from the politics to the heartbreak. At last, the startling truth about what editors, publishers and agents think about authors.

3. On his way home from school, fifth-grader Tyler Sykes falls through the Portal of Contrivance and finds himself in Pamperland, an enchanted world populated by sentient diapers. Can Tyler escape before he’s nappy-handled and fed to the evil People Genie™? Well . . . it depends.

4. When an engineer at Weta makes a breakthrough in artificial intelligence, it means that the computer-generated "people" in their movies become almost too real. When the engineer comes in one morning to find they've unionized and are going on strike, production on the latest epic fantasy movie grinds to a halt.

5. They're called the Disposable People--the clueless college kids who enroll when they can barely read, who come from tiny communities where crime consists of a beer run, who've never eaten Thai. And Dr. Ravitz can't wait to begin the process of eliminating those who've dared set foot on his campus.

6. When John's life and marriage begin crumbling around him, he turns to Internet chat rooms for solace, and meets a psychotic woman named Eva. Now it's just a matter of which one will orchestrate the downfall of the other one first.


Original Version

Dear [Agent/Publisher]:

When a beleaguered crime scene cleanup employee, John Leland, turns to Internet chat rooms to help deal with the stress of his job, [Though Evil Editor was unfamiliar with this job, he has been enlightened by Google, and now saves his minions the trouble of researching it themselves:

Main duties of a crime scene cleanup employee:

1. Erasing chalk outlines of dead bodies.
2. Disposing of criminals' teeth and other evidence of police brutality.
3. Scrubbing getaway-car tire treadmarks off the streets.
4. Cleaning pools of blood out of white carpeting.
5. Hanging naked corpses from meat hooks and hosing them off.]

he unwittingly befriends a psychotic woman, Eva, who ruins his life. My 65,000-word first-person novel, Disposable People, is a suspenseful contemporary story for adult readers who appreciate the work of authors such as Chuck Palahniuk and Bret Easton Ellis. [The only thing I know about Chuck Palahniuk is that his name is an anagram for Haiku Lack Punch. Here's a Haiku he wrote, and it definitely does lack punch:

Bret Easton Ellis
If you can stand him, you'll love
Chuck Palahniuk]

After Eva makes a simple request of Leland--clean me up when I die-- [Which Internet chat room do you go into when you're looking for someone to hose you down when you die?] his life quickly devolves in a series of seemingly disjointed incidents. Eva weasels her way into Leland's confidence before inexplicably disappearing, and John, at loose ends, turns to his new white collar ex-con neighbor, Murph Norris, for friendship. The two men hit it off, and Murph finds employment at Leland's crime scene cleanup company by covering up his past.

As John grows more detached from his family, seeking solace from his profoundly disturbing line of work on the Internet, [Move "on the Internet" after "solace."] one of his children dies. The loss sends him into a tailspin, and Leland can do nothing but watch his life and marriage fall to pieces. Staring down the barrel of crushing failure, he decides to bury his mistakes in a giant workload by starting his own cleanup company with the help of his criminally inclined neighbor, Murph. As Leland's mental devolution picks up speed in the following months, he paradoxically becomes more successful as a businessman.

Following the cast of characters through a series of criminal and tragicomic events--from Tijuana, Mexico to Anytown, America--the events [Is it the events that are following the cast of characters?] that lead to Leland's ruin become increasingly interconnected and sinister, as he spends his free time justifying growing moral compromises with magical thinking. [Magical thinking?] When Leland hits the pinnacle of pop culture success--fast cars, loose women, soaring stock price, and a ruined family--his initial relationship with Eva turns out to have been coldly premeditated, as Murph and Eva orchestrate his downfall towards their own nefarious ends. [What incredibly bad luck he had. The one time Evil Editor befriended an ex-con and a psychotic woman, everything worked out great.]

As a full-time freelance journalist I've published a wide range of articles in the areas of technology, business, and pop culture, themes that factor heavily in my novel. My short fiction has been published in the San Diego-based culture and fiction e-zine, Turbula. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Regards


Revised Version

When beleaguered crime scene cleanup employee, John Leland, starts visiting Internet chat rooms to deal with the stress of his job, he unwittingly befriends a psychotic woman, Eva, who weasels her way into his confidence before inexplicably disappearing. John, whose life and marriage have been in a tailspin, turns to his new white collar ex-con neighbor, Murph Norris, for friendship.

After one of his children dies, Leland buries his pain in a giant workload, starting his own cleanup company with the help of Murph. Strangely, the worse things get in John's personal life, the better his business does, until he reaches the pinnacle of pop culture success: fast cars, loose women, soaring stock price . . . and a ruined family.

As Leland spends his free time justifying his moral compromises, a series of criminal and tragicomic events, increasingly interconnected and sinister, lead to his ruin. His initial relationship with Eva proves to have been coldly premeditated, when Murph and Eva orchestrate his downfall to their own nefarious ends.

My 65,000-word first-person novel, Disposable People, is a suspenseful contemporary story for adult readers. As a full-time freelance journalist I've published a wide range of articles in the areas of technology, business, and pop culture, themes that factor heavily in my novel. My short fiction has been published in the San Diego-based culture and fiction e-zine, Turbula. Thank you for your time and consideration.


Notes

The following excerpt is a bit heavy on the figures of speech:

The loss sends him into a tailspin, and Leland can do nothing but watch his life and marriage fall to pieces. Staring down the barrel of crushing failure, he decides to bury his mistakes . . .

My goal was to shorten the letter, and I hoped to make the book sound less depressing by eliminating the following phrases: his life quickly devolves; crushing failure; profoundly disturbing; mental devolution; ruined family. It still sounds like a downer, however, because there isn't enough here about the suspense aspect. I think we need to know more about the scheme Eva and Murph pull off, and less about John's abject misery. Right now, it sounds like, How much misfortune can I pile on this guy before he breaks?

If the suspense lies in wondering whether the good guy or the bad guys win, we need to know what the bad guys are up to.

The Next Line 18

"Steven, what are you looking for?"

I ignored the small voice behind me, my meddling little sister, and continued to push the spade into the hard earth of our garden.

"Mom's going to be upset with you when she sees what you've done to the grass."

"Irene, go away," I said in my meanest voice and carried on digging.

"Tell me what you are looking for or else I'm telling Mom!" Her voice had that telltale whine; I knew she meant it.

I took a deep breath and put down the spade.

"Will you help me dig if I tell you?" I didn't want the help, but if she were a part of the digging then she'd be much less likely to rat me out. "It's Mrs. Lassiter, from next door. I didn't bury her deep enough and she's starting to smell. Now go get a shovel."


Dialogue: Sylvia.....The Next Line: Bunnygirl

New Beginning 246

"Never convince me it's spring – freezing rain, icy bridges, flooding streams." Detective Sergeant C. Harold Blantan adjusted his plastic rain slicker. Cold water crept inside as he walked towards the accident. Traffic patrol had found the silvery, $70,000 extravaganza of a car – no skid marks, a broken guardrail, hood crushed into a tree, fourway blinking, "What’s so special that the Chief of D's woke me? It looks like every other wreck caused by late winter storms." Steam still poured out of the engine, trying to rise but rain beat it down.

"Ice cubes, Detective. CSI says green tea cubes." Lightning illuminated six or seven policemen picking up ice cubes. Blantan's Bluetooth earpiece crackled with interference.

"What the hell?" Blantan looked at the patrolman as if he spoke some alien language.

"Each ice cube has diamonds frozen in the center. The wreck tossed them all over. We picked up over 1000 so far."

Blantan held on to his cup of Starbucks Java Blend and made his way down to the wreck, careful not to lose his footing on the slick grass. "Lexus, huh?" he said as he looked inside the car. "Figures." The driver was slumped over the wheel. Blantan leaned in and pulled a business card out of his pocket. "Ryo Kobayashi."

The detective used his free hand to wipe the rain off his face and looked up to where the patrolman was standing. "Officer, you can just write this up as an RTA. There's no crime here." He took another swig of his coffee. "This guy's just a salesman."

Blantan struggled back up to the road. He surveyed the wreckage again while he drained the last of his coffee. "Last week pearls, now diamonds. Those damned Japanese'll do anything to get us to drink their stinkin' green tea."


Opening: Anonymous.....Continuation: Anonymous

Face-Lift 302

Guess the Plot

Time Slice

1. After months of watching that insipid infomercial, Blake Pinter gives in and orders a set of kitchen knives that can slice through aluminum cans. But when he chops his first vegetable, a rutabaga, he’s transported to the twelfth century. Can Blake find the food that will time slice him back to the present, or will he forever hop through history cursing his lost $39.95.

2. Dragged to the mall by his wife, Roy stumbles upon a metal cylinder that allows him to travel back and forth to different civilizations. Will he use it for his own pleasure, or to assist the tall, gangly creature known as . . . The Traveler?

3. In a San Antonio restaurant, Burt expected lime with his Corona, never noticing that the menu actually said "comes with a slice of time." When the waiter asked him what year he desired, he answered 1836 on a lark. Now how will he survive Santa Anna's attack on the Alamo?

4. Shady realtor Ted Cutter thought he could market vacation time-shares, but business does not take off until he develops the one hour time-slice. Trouble ensues when he merges his company with an escort service and the neighbors start to complain.

5. Nina is a small business owner, Evan is a stay-at-home dad, and Rory is a short-order cook. What do they have in common? Nothing--until a flawed time-space continuum experiment shifts each of them into the life of one of the others.

6. The Great Witch who jellified the year 1532 has decided to slice it up and sell weeks. Who is buying? Scamps, scoundrels, and devil-may-care princelings who screwed up royally the first time and would like another go. But can bonnie Prince Robert meet the witch's price?


Original Version

Dear Evil Editor:

Thank you for taking the time to review the query for my 81,000 word science fiction novel, Time Slice.

Even though Roy Washburn has [only] been retired [only] a few months, he's already bored. When he finds a small metal cylinder with odd markings on an all-too-routine trip to the mall with his wife, he can't help but investigate. With just a nudge of the cylinder's triangle shaped pointer, Roy finds he can [focus a beam of light on a nearby wall. Astounded, he calls a press conference to reveal what he calls the most remarkable discovery in the history of mankind. Three reporters show up and laugh him out of the room.] float back and forth in the time stream and learns that countless civilizations inhabit "his" Earth, each occupying their own thin slice of time. Roy also encounters a tall, gangly creature, The Traveler, who knows more than a little about the cylinder, and who needs Roy's help. [Is this the same "Traveler" who appeared three times on Star Trek: The Next Generation? The Traveler whose greatest gift to humanity was taking Wesley Crusher with him to explore the universe, and thus off the series?]

Roy's clandestine experiments with the cylinder continue even after learning that his wife, Emily, is terminally ill. [I've said it before and I'll say it again: when your spouse is terminally ill, common courtesy demands that you suspend all time travel experimentation.] Roy's daughter, Ann, sees her father's inattentiveness to Emily as further proof that he hasn't changed over the years and is self-centered as ever. The chasm between father and daughter widens.

[Emily: Your wife is dying, and you're going where?

Roy: The Etruscan civilization. But don't worry, I'll be back two months ago.]

Faced with his wife's terminal illness, a daughter who resents him, and an alien who needs his help, Roy must decide whether to use the cylinder to satisfy his own wants or to help his family and new friend through their crises. [Why is this an either/or decision? The cylinder can be used only once?] Much to Roy's surprise, the goals are not mutually exclusive.

Thank you for your time.

Regards,


Notes

Where does Roy find the cylinder? In the pocket of a shirt on a rack at Abercrombie and Fitch? Is it a coincidence that he finds it, or was it preordained?

I'd like more information about what happens when Roy uses the cylinder. Also, what it is the Traveler wants from Roy.

On the other hand, less (or no) information about Emily would be fine in the query.

New Beginning 245

The dying sun spilled its light on the walls of the forbidden palace, turning the even, grey stones to beaten gold. On the high battlements, bathed in the fading warmth, Nestor propped herself up on one elbow and raised the spyglass to her eye.

She scanned the horizon in lazy swoops, considering the best way to remove the skewtle stains from her second-best kirtle. A cool breeze tickled her neck and blew a lock of sweaty hair across her face. She sighed. The sun was nearly at the horizon, soon she would be off-duty and could take a much-needed bath.

A dark smudge on the distant plain caught her eye, and she fiddled with the spyglass until the image sprang into sharp focus.

“Hedera’s tits.” Nestor scrambled to her feet, almost dropping the spyglass before she thrust it in the band at her waist. In moments she was down the rope ladder and sprinting along the deserted inner corridor. “Captain,” she yelled. “Captain!”

The Captain rose from his repose and adjusted his minkle. "What noise is this?"

Nestor retrieved the spyglass from her waistle and handed it to him. "They're coming this way! I saw them. On the horizon."

The Captain scrambled up the rope ladder and focused Nestor's spyglass. Sure enough, they were there, two distant dots on the horizon. "So . . . " he said. "At last." He leaned over the gankle and shouted, "Hedera! Come out of the bedchamber. I think we've found them."


Opening: Caitlin Macdonald.....Continuation: Anonymous

The Next Line

If you haven't been by lately, we're trying a new feature. Someone submits a dialogue excerpt and someone else contributes . . . The Next Line.

So far we've done it only with dialogue excerpts that were posted 3/16 to 3/18. The ones that already have a "Next Line" are now posted directly beneath this post. The others are still archived in the 3/16 - 3/18 range, if you'd like to try one. The goal is to come up with something unexpected and/or amusing. The next line needn't be dialogue. If you do add dialogue, you may precede it with one line of action (She threw her drink in his face. "Does that answer your question?" she asked.)

If you submit your "Next Line" as a comment to the original dialogue it'll be easier for me to see which dialogue it is.

The Next Line 17

"Konichiwa Mama-san Mei-Li," Shane asked using Galen's phone.

Galen's smacked the back of Shane's head with his open palm.

"Stop using my phone, asshole." Galen grabbed the phone.

"But it's your sister."

“If she answers you're dead." Galen drew in a deep breath. "I'm going to rip your head off and shit down your fucking neck,” he bellowed. Then he listened.

"Tomorrow, the high will be 85 and the low . . . "

Galen cut the connection. Holding his hand to the side of his face with his thumb to his ear and his little finger at his mouth, Shane mocked Galen."You think-ie I phone gull-flend? No! Papa-san. I phone your sista. What you think she say, Galen-San?" Galen clenched his jaw. Shane continued without pause. "She say; Fie doll-ah, papa-san. We fuckie-fuckie all night for fie dollah.” Shane shook his hips, smacking his manhood against his stomach.

“Bastard! Your mother's a whore and your father's a psychotic degenerate." Galen slapped Shane's cock and chucked the phone into the toilet. It sizzled and hissed as the automatic sensor flushed it away.

The two men froze as they heard the locker room door open and an authoritative voice call out, "Brother Galen, Brother Shane? Are you in here? Get your vestments on, the choir's almost ready and you know we can't start without the descant."


Dialogue: Dave Fragments.....The Next Line: Anonymous

The Next Line 16

I kept looking, far longer than a polite glance.

"You're staring," he said.

"I'm sorry." I blushed. "You look like someone I knew when I was a kid."

"Could be." He scratched his chin. "I've lived here my whole life. My name's Robert Briddle."

"I'm Stephanie Maypeace. I lived here until I was six."

His eyes went wide, and I remembered where I knew him from. A cashier started to open a new line next to us, and he made a motion as if to join it.

I shook my head. "You go ahead."

"Next," the cashier said. She began ringing up my items. I handed her my credit card and turned to Rob who was already finished.

"You look good," I said.

"You too. All grown up. How old are you now? Twenty-four, twenty-five?"

"Twenty-six in a month."

He shook his head. "It doesn't seem like it could have been all that long ago."

The bag boy handed me my items, and I gave Rob a little wave. "It was nice seeing you."

"Hold up a minute." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Here's my card. Call me sometime. If you'd like."

I snorted. As if! Sure, he was cute, but no way was I calling a guy I'd met in juvie.


Dialogue: Anonymous.....The Next Line: foggidawn

The Next Line 15

"Well, Mr. . . . Devlin," the guidance counselor said, checking the file in front of him. "Do you know what you want to do with your life?"

Lance had known since he was eight what he wanted to do with his life. He pointed to the ceiling, "I want to go up there."

Mr. Royer looked up. "The second floor cafeteria?" he asked. "You do seem qualified, but I don't think the school has any openings right now."

"No, I want to go into space," Lance said. He knew his dream might be silly, but who cared if this freak laughed at it.

The guidance counselor did not laugh at all; he merely lowered his head to Lance's file. After twenty seconds consideration, he looked up. "That might be tricky, Mr. Devlin. While testing shows that you have some raw intelligence, your grades are not the best."

"I've heard the University of Mars at Olympus lowered their academic standards," Lance said hopefully.

"Lowered yes," said the guidance counselor, "but not eliminated."

"Oh," said Lance. "Do you suppose there would be anywhere else that would take me?"

"Possibly. It's not a school, but it might be right up your alley: I'm told an expedition is being organized to study the crack in Uranus."


Dialogue: Anonymous.....The Next Line: Evil Editor

The Next Line 14

She’d grown to expect it. Sooner or later, everyone asked. No, that wasn’t precisely true. Sooner or later, everyone who didn’t know better, asked.

“So, what are you, anyway?”

She turned to Daniel and stared at him. “What am I?”

“You know,” he said, running his finger up and down his face. “Your looks, where do they come from?”

Why did everyone always want to know? “I don’t know, actually.”

He looked puzzled. “You don’t know? But...?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I mean, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know that you were...” He looked to her for help.

She raised her eyebrow. Waited. Shook her head a little.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged and walked away. Jerk, she thought. You'd think he'd never seen a six-foot tall parrot.

Dialogue: Kaylea.....The Next Line: Evil Editor

The Next Line 13

The man staggered back, hand pressed to his rapidly blackening eye. "What the hell was that for?" he slurred.

"Ye're Douglas Sinclair, aye?"

"Yeah."

"Then be glad I dinna do more. It's only that she's chosen you that stays my hand. Take care of her, aye, and see ye do her nay harm, or by God and all that is Holy—"

"Wait." Sinclair held up an unsteady hand. "Take care of who?"

"Elspeth," he said. "My wife."

Sinclair tilted his head and frowned. "Are you . . . Alec?"

"So my friends call me. I am Alasdair Colin MacGreg—oof!" His words were cut off as Sinclair's fist impacted his midsection. This one was remarkably fast for a drunk man.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Sinclair backed away, shaking his head and dropping his voice. "She told me you were dead."

"Aye, that I am, lad, that I am." Alec gripped his stomach, trying to get his breath back. "Or at least it feels that way when ye've lived in Scotland long as I have."


Dialogue: JRC.....The Next Line: Pacatrue

The Next Line 12

Soren, a R&D engineer, and Shani, a scramjet pilot, are making out in her office behind a closed door.

THWAP THWAP

"Two hours to pre-flight!" a baritone voice said.

Soren and Shani sprang apart, looking at each other guiltily. "Bastard," Shani muttered under her breath. "I've got a clock in here, James!" she shouted. "I know what time it is!"

James's chortle came through the door clearly. "Just didn't want you getting wrapped up in something."

"I can see your smirk in here," Shani retorted.

More laughter, multiple voices. Soren turned bright red and buried his face in the crook of his arm.

"I'll be there!" Shani shouted. "Jeez!"

The voices moved away; Soren breathed a sigh of relief.

"You OK?" Shani asked.

"I will be," he said, fighting the blush.

"Well, it's not like we're a secret," she pointed out.

"No, not since you got tanked and played cave woman at the Christmas party!"

"Well, you wouldn't pick me up!"

"Not in front of everybody!"

Shani laughed. "Wimpy engineer boy. It's not that hard. Here, let me show you again."

Soren let out a yelp and dodged around the desk. "No! I don't need to be bench pressed again!"

"Awh, come on. Please?"

"No!"

Shani slid her palms slowly forward on the desk between them. "Come on, you know you want to. We've still got time for a nice quick clean and jerk."


Dialogue: Gerri Baxter.....The Next Line: Robin S.

The Next Line 11

“Impressive,” Michael said.

“Wasteful,” Indigo replied.

Though nearly empty at the moment, the cavernous cathedral could seat over a thousand. Behind and above them was a balcony area where two hundred more parishioners could share space with a sizeable choir. Indigo pointed these facts out cheerlessly, like a tour guide in a museum of the mundane.

“Too many empty seats?” Michael asked.

“On the contrary, the place is filled every Sunday.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy, then? I mean, to reach so many –”

“Many are here, detective, but I wonder about how many we reach. Most seem to enjoy the anonymity afforded by such a large gathering.”

“Anonymity? As if church were someplace they don’t want to be seen?”

“I think some don’t want to be noticed on the Sundays they are here so they won’t be noticeable by their absence on the Sundays when they aren't.

Michael nodded. He had never been much for attending church himself.

“They needn’t worry,” Indigo continued. “Beyond the core group that sit up front and volunteer for every project, I couldn’t name many names. Do you know how we keep track of our active parishioners, detective? Personalized envelopes. We send them out to everyone at the beginning of each month and use the ones that get dropped in the collection plate to take attendance. Can you believe that? We count the faithful like box office receipts.”

"And what are the latest trends?"

"This March saw a 15% rise compared to the previous year, due largely to the release of our double Bingo program. We expect a strong April, as we've booked a choir conductor with some of the sweetest buns this side of Jericho--he really packs the old ladies in."


Dialogue: jrmosher....The Next Line: Pacatrue

The Next Line 10

"Whoa. What's that smell?"

Tracy stepped out of the elevator behind me, sniffed deeply and gagged. "It smells like . . . " She stopped mid-sentence, her mouth opened and her fingers clenching the end of her nose.

"Crap."

Tracy nodded and nasaled out, "Yeah."

"Or an old folks home. Pine cleaner and rotting adult diapers and..." I paused while my heart skipped to double-time. "And death."

"What?"

A ding sounded and the elevator abandoned us before we contemplated fleeing. My attention was drawn further down the hall, to a lifeless foot protruding from an alcove, and a neon sign blinking for us to LOOK HERE! LOOK HERE! Like idiots, we did.

"Oh my God, is she dead?" Tracy let go of her nose for a second before squeezing it shut again. "I'm going to puke." She looked around, apparently needing a trashcan. "And what the hell is with the smell?"

"I've heard when you die your body purges itself."

Tracy stared at me in a new kind of horror. "She shit herself? Is this what you're telling me?"

I cupped my hand over my mouth and nose but it didn't help. The smell seemed to invade the pores. "Yeah," I breathed out. "I guess no one ever told her . . . Never, never order the chili at Del Taco."


Dialogue: Brenda Bradshaw.....The Next Line: insanity

The Next Line 9

At lunch, as Melissa and Sheryl walked toward the tables, Peter caught up with them.

"It's so cool about your solo," Peter said.

Sheryl raised her eyebrows. "What solo?"

"Melissa might dance a solo in our studio's recital," he answered.

"It might not be me," Melissa said. "Jade may get it."

"Who's Jade?" Sheryl asked.

"She's this snotty girl in our class," Peter blurted out. He grinned. "Wouldn't it be great if you showed her up?"

"Yeah, it'd put her in her place," Melissa agreed, enjoying a vision of the black-haired girl stomping out of the practice room.

"What kind of dancing is it?" Sheryl asked.

When Peter hesitated, Melissa said, "Ballet." She set her lunch bag on a table.

Sheryl sat beside her. "I always wanted to learn to dance." She exhaled loudly. "But Mom says there's no money for lessons."

"I just started a year ago," Peter said. "My sister was taking lessons, and I went with her one time. They let me take the class, and I — I liked it . . . But it . . . " He broke into sobbing. "It doesn't mean I'm gay!"


Dialogue: Anonymous.....The Next Line: Evil Editor

The Next Line 8

A guy hops out of the U-Haul and stretches while I stroll down the sidewalk. He's cranking the rear rolling door open and I say, "Hey, moving in?" because I'm a banal asshole.

He turns around, smiling, wearing these gigantic black sunglasses and a huge mountain man beard. This dude looks like the kind of guy I always wanted to be. He says, "Yup, sure am. Murph Norris," he sticks a hand out.

"John Leland, nice to meet you." We shake.

"Yeah, you too."

"So…" I say. I'm bad at this sort of thing. "What brings you to town?"

"Change of pace," he says, shrugging. "Looking for a new job and this seemed like a good spot."

"Ah. Anyone else on the way?"

"Nope, just me. Don't have any family."

"Need any help with the truck?"

"Sure. Thanks." For the next couple hours while we chuck the stuff into his house, Murph tells me all about his life. He drops a bomb. "The first thing that you need to know, just so you don't hear it from someone else . . . " he says. "What I said about looking for a new job? That's true. But it's been hard because I just got out of prison."

We're hauling a couch across the middle of his lawn and I stop, holding one end, giving him this look like I'm about to take off running. He says, "No, don't worry though. It was nothing serious. You know, I didn't shoot anyone or anything. It was just embezzling."

"Oh." We start walking again. "That's rough."

Because you know, I could see myself embezzling one day with enough money on the line. Prison makes him infinitely more interesting. I want to know all the details. Look at me. The closest I ever got to prison was Sunday school. "What was it like?" I ask.

"I had it pretty easy," he says. "White collar criminals, we go to federal resorts. I had satellite television in my cell. You have no idea. I did a lot of reading."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. It makes finding a job a bitch though."

"Yeah, you mentioned you were looking for work."

He snorts. "Yeah, but I have a felony. You know anywhere that doesn't care if you have a felony on your record?"

"Actually," I say, "I do." I pause for a moment before continuing: "I'm with the Republican party and . . . "


Dialogue: Torrey Meeks.....The Next Line: Pacatrue

The Next Line 7

"She looks closer." Was that a trick of the early morning light?

"The grubber? Aye, it's closing." Joe jerked his head towards the supply ship. "Increased its fucking speed since we braided off the bloody islands and the old Weaver is wearing it."

Des slowly nodded. "You think and it will catch us?"

Joe shrugged. "If this fucking wind keeps its way, they'll be down on us fair and all. Those barnies can work a ship, but if they try jumping us, we'll crack the bloody fuckers back to their mamas soon enough." He grinned.

The frigates had hundreds of men on board. How many more must something that big carry? "There must be hundreds of them," Des said. "They will and overrun us."

"Elf says a fucking grubber has no more hands than it bloody needs, probably balance a line with us, and fucking few of them can wag steel."

"Those that can have better weapons and training."

Joe snorted. "You fucking think so?"

The grubber approached with astonishing speed and Des could soon hear words from a loudspeaker aboard: "Second dinner seating starts in 20 minutes; thank you once again for taking a Princess cruise."

"It's fucking worse than even fucking I fucking thought," Joe fucking stated.


Dialogue: Xenith.....The Next Line: Pacatrue

The Next Line 6

There was a sound of a bolt being slid back, and the shutters opened, spilling light into the darkness. "What are you doing here?" Robert asked. "Go away, before someone sees you."

"Let me in." When he tried to close the shutters, she stopped him. "I'll make a scene!"

"You're already making one."

"Then let me in."

Robert stepped back, glaring as she hoisted herself onto the windowsill and dropped into the room. "See that rectangular object in the far wall?" he said. "It's called a door. You'll find they're convenient for—"

"I figured you'd send me away. And I need to talk to you."

"If this is anything like what you had to say to me at the church, I'd rather you leave."

Diana straightened her shoulders. "I know you hate me. But this is business."

"I don't hate you," Robert said, walking across the room.

"Then why—"

"Will you just state your business, please?"

"Fine. I want a new assignment." When Robert frowned at her, she went on. "I want something less bloody." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm tired of killing people. Please, Robert . . . Can't someone else operate the guillotine?"


Dialogue: Bunnygirl.....The Next Line: Evil Editor

The Next Line 5

Dalin, a second-rate pickpocket, wants to apprentice himself to the more experienced Finneas, and has stolen some money from him in an attempt to impress him. Finneas has just discovered the theft.

"There are ten gold royals missing from my coin pouch," Finneas hissed into his ear. "Where are they?"

Dalin could hardly breathe. He tried to gasp out a reply. Finneas's grip eased a little, but the blade nicked Dalin's throat, and blood trickled down his neck. "Your cloak pocket," he managed to say. Finneas removed the blade from Dalin's throat and dragged him to where he'd hung the cloak. "It's your life if they're not," he said roughly, and began to search.

"Other pocket," urged Dalin.

Finneas found and retrieved the missing coins, counted them, and released Dalin abruptly. Dalin fell to the ground. "What sort of game do you think you're playing?" Finneas growled as he replaced the coins in his pouch.

"I wanted to show you what I'd learned," said Dalin, rubbing his throat as he stared up at Finneas. "About being invisible in plain sight."

"When did you steal from me? When you were borrowing the sword oil?" Dalin nodded. "If you thought I'd be impressed, I'm not. I don't want an apprentice, and I have no time for games."

Dalin wondered whether he should point out that while Finneas was choking him, he'd removed Finneas' pants, painted sea otters on his butt cheeks, shaved a stripe of hair from the older man's head, and tied his shoelaces together.

Maybe this wasn't the moment.


Dialogue: Anonymous.....The Next Line: Pacatrue

The Next Line 4

The sand was marbled with dark goo, and not far from us, a seagull struggled across a shallow rock pool. He toppled over again and again, flapping one wing to struggle back on to his feet and stagger a few steps, only to topple over again. The other wing hung from his side.

"What happened?"

"Listen to you, all talky talky. Don’t waste your few golden words on stupid questions. You know what happened. I’m sure you’ve never even kissed a boy, but you do biology, you know where babies come from."

"That’s not what I mean."

"I can’t tell you what happened. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone we were even going out, let alone . . . you know, doing it."

"Does he know about the baby?"

"No."

"You’ve got to tell him."

"I will when I get the chance." Down at the rock pool, the seagull toppled over onto his side.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Chatty today, aren’t you? Lots of questions."

"This is important. I can talk if it’s important."

She looked at the seagull for a while, and I didn’t think she would answer, but she did. "Nobody else knows. And don’t get any big ideas about telling anyone, because I will kill you, I mean, literally kill you if you open your big mouth."

"I'm not gonna tell anyone," I said. "Heck, I didn't even know it was possible to do it with a seagull."


Dialogue: McKoala.....The Next Line: Pacatrue

The Next Line 3

"Sweetie, I know the last four years have been hell, but are you sure trying to bag a hockey player is the right solution?"

Christina sighed. "Heather, don't you know me? I haven't been trolling for husbands since Reggie died, and I'm not about to start now. It's just lunch. I owe him at least that much."

"But why now? You haven't been remotely interested in dating anyone, much less a hormone-stuffed hockey player. Why this guy?"

With a wan smile, Christina said, "I think it was the way he looked at Mishayla. He looked at her with respect, and she's only six years old. It was as if he saw her future."

Her sister laid a reassuring hand on her cheek. "Whatever you do, just be careful." She stood and headed for the door, but was suddenly slammed into the boards with a ferocious crosscheck. Mr. Wonderful turned to Christina. "Ready to go back to my place for a little highsticking?"


Dialogue: Chumplet.....The Next Line: Pacatrue

The Next Line 2

Laying back, watching through the cover of the branches at the people moving far below us in the parkland at the bottom of the cliff, I asked my father what it meant to be Scotch-Irish. I hoped it was good to be that, and I hoped that he didn’t mind, as he hadn’t been included in the Scotch-Irish head count earlier in the day by an elderly relative.

“Honey, this is a dry county. That means all those people sitting there below us are pretty dry, too,” he said, with a certain look in his eye, a little bit of an eye smirk as he explained this to me.“You know that beady-eyed cow, your grandma’s mother?” I nodded, fascinated with his frankness but unsure about what this had to do with anything.

"The stupid … " He waited just a minute. “Look. She won’t even eat rum cake.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but my father wasn’t the kind of person to question. You had to be careful.

“Is that bad?”

“What’s bad is not knowing how to have a good time. But the cow’s husband liked to give it a try sometimes.” He told me a story about something that happened before I was born - how he drove my great-grandfather on a grand adventure to the next county to pick up a six-pack of beer that they drank all the way back to town. That my great-grandmother had lost her sense of smell so they knew she couldn’t smell the beer on their breath, but she had found them out anyway. “You’d have thought the goddamned devil was gonna shoot up from the gravel in their driveway and claim his beer-soaked soul. Jesus!

“No way I’d put up with that. No way,” my father said.

I believed him. But to this very day, I still don't know what it means to be Scotch-Irish.


Dialogue: Anonymous.....The Next Line: Evil Editor

The Next Line 1

"How dare that preserved codfish stash his ancient whore in my province!" Khismar swore as a servant helped him dress. "And now he wants me to fetch her to him, as if Il-Aggarhed were just down the road! Does he think I have nothing better to do than run hither and yon at his direction?"

"He knows you would rather plot against him, naturally," Markus replied. "Do you take him for an imbecile?"

Khismar smiled. "Markus, when will you realize Olgaroth is not a mindreader? He's no more powerful than I."

"He is a vile, perverted, parody of a man, but even so, I would not insult him with comparisons to you. At least he is noble born and not some bastard spawn of a diseased prostitute." Markus assisted the baron with his coat.

Khismar laughed. "I shall miss your wicked tongue when I complete the spell on you. Your free mind trapped in an enslaved body is wonderfully entertaining. It must be hell for you."

"Wicked tongue?" Markus said. "Enslaved body? If I didn't know better I'd guess you were describing my encounter last night with your wife."


Dialogue: Anonymous.....The Next Line: Pacatrue

Face-Lift 301

Guess the Plot

The College

1. When the computer industry nosedives, one geek decides to switch majors. Follow Cole, as he spends an entire biology lab attempting to dissect a computer mouse.

2. Before his death Hitler sent a guy to America to start a college, training people for leadership roles in all walks of life. Sixty years later, alumni of the college are ready to make their move, and if they succeed . . . the U.S. will have its first Nazi president.

3. This tell-all expose on the Electoral College shows what really happens on election night and in the months following: the shocking S&M parties, illicit use of hallucinogens, strip poker, and even drinking games based on FOX News shows. Is this any way to choose the leader of the free world?

4. When a group of college professors attempt to take over the world, and educate all the illiterate by force, only one thing stands in their way... some of the professors can't read.

5. The farmers didn't mind Tim setting up his "college" on the Perkins place. It was cute that all them girls wanted to get eddy-cated. Suspicions arise, however, when the girls start coming home . . . different.

6. When Tera wins a scholarship to her local community college, she is thrilled. Now she can achieve her dream of becoming a taxidermist. But soon after she starts classes, she discovers someone is practicing taxidermy on the students.


Original Version

Dear Sir,

I see on your website that you represent mystery/suspense, among others. [Be more specific: say "among other stuff."] My novel, THE COLLEGE, is complete at 80000 words.

One week before the fall of the Third Reich in 1945, Hitler secretly sent off his teacher from Berlin to America. [His teacher? Whom are we talking about? Hitler probably hadn't been in school for forty years, and when he was in school he surely had more than one teacher.] The man faded into obscurity in upstate New York while his death was faked in Istanbul. Soon after, a college more exclusive than Harvard was born in New York State with a single-minded vision of training up the next generation of white extremist leaders. More than 60 years had now gone by. In that time, THE COLLEGE had successfully placed its leaders in all areas of commerce. [Unfortunately, most of them have now taken early retirement.] [So, is THE COLLEGE the name of the college? Has the administration ever heard of lower-case letters?] [I can see not wanting to call the place Nazi University, but if you want your graduates to get jobs in all areas of commerce, it might be better if job interviews don't go:

Interviewer: And where did you get your business degree?
Applicant: THE COLLEGE.
Interviewer: What college?
Applicant: Just THE COLLEGE.
Interviewer: STOP YELLING. We'll be in touch. Next.]

Now it had its first Senator. With the Presidential elections looming in the near future, [No need to provide the definition of "looming."] THE COLLEGE’s plans were coming to a head. But all its careful planning could become undone when THE COLLEGE hired its first non-white faculty member. Lee, a top Stanford graduate, was hired to fulfill accreditation purposes. [If full accreditation requires a racially diverse faculty, I would argue that hiring one black guy isn't gonna do it.] As Lee inadvertently discovered the secrets of THE COLLEGE, [He looked through the catalog of course offerings and put two and two together:

English 212: Fantasies of Literature, from Wonderland to Oz to the Holocaust
Religion 160: Why God likes white people best
History 265: The 20th century's most benevolent leaders, from Gandhi to Hitler
Political Science 115: Getting away with genocide in the 21st century
Chemistry 101: Building your own home gas chamber]

he became a target for elimination.

[We must kill Lee.
Why, Herr Dean?
He knows too much.
But he's the only black guy on campus.
That's the other reason.]

Will he survive and expose THE COLLEGE’s past and its plans for the future before America, unknowingly, elects a Nazi President? From corrupt officials to racism, THE COLLEGE is a mystery/suspense novel that combines historical facts [Historical facts like, There was once a guy named Hitler.] with current issues.

Can I interest you in a few sample chapters?

Thank-you very much for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,


Notes

If you don't want to put the whole thing in the present tense, at least do so with the part that takes place in modern times. It'll read much better.

Not sure why they need to fake the guy's death in Istanbul. Plenty of Germans died in Germany during the war.

I'm not sure what's involved in starting a college, but I'm pretty sure they aren't just born.

I think you've got your work cut out for you if you want people to buy into this plot. I mean, the first graduates of THE COLLEGE are now about 70. The first faculty members are probably dead. Finding new faculty members on a regular basis for a Nazi curriculum wouldn't be easy. Sure, there are neo-Nazi groups, but how many of their members are qualified to teach college classes?

New Beginning 244

Jenna knew she was in trouble when Will called asking for a favor, especially one that he needed to request in person on a Friday. As if she had no plans for the weekend. The fact that she did not have plans other than working for the weekend was beside the point. They’d been friends too long for her to ignore whatever he wanted now. So rather than ignore his latest scheme, she disregarded her better judgment and promised to make time for him. She scanned her desk and sighed, frustrated for having allowed him to distract her from the mounds of pleadings that littered her desk and whose deadlines were rapidly approaching.

“Will, I really don’t have time for this.”

She barely kept a civil tone. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, something he only did when excited. Worse, after ten minutes he was still working up to the point.

"Will, really, are you going to tell me what you want?" He was jiggling up and down like an excited schoolchild; she was all but ready to get up from her desk and strangle him.

"This is kind of awkward," he said, blushing. "I . . . Ah . . . I was wondering if I could borrow some of your underwear?"

Jenna looked up at him, her mouth wide open. She thought she knew everything about Will. "What?"

He glanced away, reluctant to meet her gaze. "It's . . . It's just that I've been wearing this thong of yours ever since Mary found it under the car seat, and frankly, it's getting a bit ripe."


Opening: King's Falcon.....Continuation: Anonymous

Q & A 105 Does No Mean Yes?

Last fall I spent some time researching literary magazines, both online and print. I sent the opening chapter of my novel, having revised it in places so it was capable of standing alone, to two print lit mags. From one, a very polite but note-free rejection. From the other, I received the following:

Thank you very much for submitting work to _____________. This piece isn’t right for the magazine, but please keep us in mind for other pieces. We are interested in reading more of your work.

I submitted a much shorter novel excerpt, reframed as a short-short story, to two online magazines. Same story, from one, a very polite but note-free rejection, and from the other:

Thank you for submitting ________ to __________. Though your story was given serious consideration, I ultimately decided not to select it for the upcoming issue of the magazine.

My question is, are these notes meaningful? Do they mean, straightforwardly, what they say?

The only way to know for sure is to send some truly horrible writing to the publications that sent you the encouraging notes, and see if you get the same responses. I've seen form rejections similar to the second note. "Your story was given serious consideration" doesn't mean it was given more serious consideration than other stories; literary magazines like to think they consider all submissions seriously. Note that they not only decided not to select it for the upcoming issue, but did not hint that they might want it for a future issue.

The first note, on the other hand, is unlikely to be something they say to everyone. The last thing Evil Editor would tell a writer is that he wants to see more of his work--unless he actually, inexplicably, did want to see more.

Of course they're hoping that if you send more, it'll be right for the magazine. Apparently it's up to you to figure out why the first submission wasn't.

Face-Lift 300!!

Guess the Plot

Chance Encounter

1. Who knew that a game of strip Monopoly would be the end of their affair? An unpleasant encounter over a Chance card, and Lyle storms out. Until he learns the meaning of "Do Not Pass Go," Kitty won't take him back, no matter how often he compliments her Community Chest.

2. Love is kindled at a Monopoly tournament, when Muffy and Ken touch hands reaching for the same Chance card. When Ken reveals he recently got out of jail, will Muffy hop on the Reading Railroad? Or will they settle down at Park Place?

3. Saxophonist Geoffrey Lunt's life is a mess. His wife has left him for a cushy lifestyle with her dentist, his children want nothing to do with him, and he keeps hearing a Kenny G solo in his head. Will a chance encounter with the famous saxophonist cure Geoffrey of his ills? Or will it make his life even more miserable?

4. Sure, her boss wants her dead, the FBI wants her in jail, and there's a hitman waiting on her sofa. But when Delia runs into an intensely handsome man, all bets are off. She slips him her card and says, "Call me." Turns out she slipped him someone else's card. It's just not her day.

5. Tracey Robinson wasn't supposed to even go to her aunt's wedding, but a last minute change of plans had her driving south. Little did she know that a chance encounter with a dashing stranger at a rest stop would end with her engaged to the antichrist, who has at his command a thousand zombies waiting to take over the world.

6. When Hillary meets Chance in a bar, her life is about to change forever. Is Chance really from another planet? Does he have superpowers beyond human comprehension? Will he take her with him when he returns to his home world? Or has Hillary just fallen for another loser with a big imagination?


Original Version

Dear Mr. Generic:

Query for A Chance Encounter, a romantic suspense novel of 72,000 words

Delia Weintraub has done something foolish. She has handed another woman's business card to an intensely handsome man, saying, "Call me." [This happens to Evil Editor a lot. It gets pretty awkward if I do call:

She: Hello?

EE: Hi. It's me. From the Star Trek convention?

She: Pardon me?

EE: You remember. I was the Klingon with the pince-nez.

She: Listen, pal, I don't know what you're--

EE: Not again. Sorry, misunderstanding. Someone apparently thought it would be funny to slip me your card. Probably didn't even realize I was Evil Editor.

She: Whatever. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to watch Dancing with the . . . Did you say Evil Editor?

EE: I did.

She: Now I remember. I'll be in the lounge at the Ritz Carlton in a half hour.]

Now the woman whose name is on that card is lying dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs, murdered, and Delia just might be next. Adding to her woes, her boss wants her dead, [Firing an employee isn't easy for some bosses, but if the relationship has reached the point where you literally want your employee dead, you've waited too long.] the FBI wants to arrest her for murders she didn't commit, [After years of wasting resources trying to capture people and arrest them for murders they did commit, the FBI has finally realized it's much easier to capture people who didn't commit murders.] and a hired killer is relaxing on her living room sofa. [Who is this woman? Her problems seem a bit extreme if it turns out she's a manicurist or a florist.] And as if that were not enough, Brad Blackburn, the man who may have killed the woman of the business card, claims he's fallen in love with her. [There's gotta be a way to avoid the embarrassment of referring to one of your characters as "the woman of the business card."]

My published work, Samantha and the Bear, was released in 2001, by Neighborhood Press, when they were still a small but real publisher. [Now they're a small but imaginary publisher.]

I've included the synopsis, and a few pages, and as I am certain you have already guessed, I would be delighted to submit the entire manuscript.


Notes

It's awfully brief. If it answered a few of the following questions it would be more informative and less listy:

1. Did Delia pass the woman of the business card's business card intentionally, and if so, why?

2. Is Delia aware the woman of the business card has been murdered?

3. What does Delia do for a living?

4. Why does her boss want her dead?

5. Who hired the hired killer?

6. Is Delia in love with Brad? Is Brad hunky?

8. The FBI wants to arrest Delia for murders she didn't commit? Murders besides the murder of the woman of the business card? Whose murders? Why is she a suspect? If the FBI wants to arrest her, why don't they? Is she on the run?

You don't need to answer everything, but by elaborating on your points, you'll show the ability to string ideas together rather than just list them.

New Beginning 243

The bouncer at the door pointed me toward the back of the club, after making eyes at me only a dead man could miss. I shouldered through the tight-packed crowd, trying to ignore the overblown makeup, strategically bared flesh and studded leather. The throbbing pulse of the music made my clenched teeth buzz. And the smoke - not all of it legal - irritated my lungs.

Eyes followed me as I headed for the door leading backstage. My torn jeans and the crumpled linen jacket didn't exactly fit in. I was just edging past the dance floor when I felt hands and the brush of a hip. I jerked to a halt. A man writhed around me like he was a pole dancer and I was the pole. I smelled the sharp scent of his sweat as he raised his arms and shimmied against me.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice high like a girl's.

He put his hand behind my head, pulled me in, and thrust his tongue into my mouth. I tried to pull back, but he reached around me and gripped my ass cheeks. "Come with me," he growled into my ear.

I recognized his voice immediately. "Detective Simpkin?"

"That's right, officer." He ground his pelvis against my thigh. "Just look at the ceiling and keep moving toward the back."

I tilted my head up and tried to ignore the feeling of my boss bumping against my hip as I shuffled toward the door.

Somehow this wasn't what I'd envisioned when they said "undercover."


Opening: writtenwyrdd.....Continuation: Sylvia

Face-Lift 299

Guess the Plot

Andromeda's Tear

1. Mild-mannered astronomer Evelyn Winningham, investigating the disappearances of several other female astronomers, meets the hunky Duke of Winterset. Together they uncover a plot to snatch the fabulous diamond known as Andromeda's Tear.

2. When seamstress Sondra Blair is summoned to NASA, she is assigned the most important mission in the history of the universe. Can she stitch up the rip in the neighbouring galaxy in time to save ours?

3. Andromeda liked her clothes tight. Too tight. The morning of her first day as a White House page, she realizes she's in trouble as she hears the rip and feels the draft on her rear.

4. Okay, so her real name's Mary, she's Irish-Italian, not Greek, she was a drama major, and her crystal ball is cracked, but still -- if Andromeda bursts into tears while reading your tea leaves -- you're in trouble.

5. It's Risky Business meets The Thomas Crown Affair when a Dale, a New York aristobrat, has an unauthorized party in his father's penthouse apartment. The strippers, stiffed at the end of the party, make off with Dale's dad's original Rembrandt painting of Andromeda chained to the rock. Dale gets the painting back, but . . . was that tiny tear in the canvas there before?

6. The vanguard from the Andromeda galaxy has come to Earth, demanding the return of the sacred stone, Andromeda's Tear, and they're not leaving without it. Even if it means destroying the planet.


Original Version

Dear ________,

The obsession of one man and the protection of another--she’ll need all her strength to survive them both…

There is a legend surrounding the Greek myth of Perseus and Andromeda that tells of a rare comet whose charted path is the key to discovering a priceless diamond. [The diamond is buried directly beneath the comet's path.] [Whenever there's a legend surrounding a myth, you can bet there's also a fable based on a folk tale encompassing the legend surrounding the myth.] 1845 marks the return of that comet--and the sudden disappearance of several members of the Ladies’ Astronomical Society.

Mild-mannered astronomer Evelyn Winningham is determined to investigate the disappearances of her colleagues. When an intruder forces her to flee the safety of her home, she runs headlong into the arms of Alistair Bainbridge, the infamous Duke of Winterset. [Not clear what that sentence has to do with the previous one. Was she investigating the disappearances in the safety of her home?] More worrisome than her unruly attraction to the rakish Duke, however, is his ability to draw out a stubbornness she never knew she possessed.

Alistair’s aunt has enlisted his assistance in finding her missing daughter. [Is her daughter one of the missing astronomers?] Thus far, his inquiries have met with dead ends, until a bundle of silk hurdles out of the darkness and into his arms. [How does a bundle of silk change things?]Evelyn's ability to penetrate his cool exterior is making him damned uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. However, they'll need to learn to work together if there’s any hope of survival, let alone a happily ever after. [I had no idea they were in danger of not surviving. Who's the villain? What's going on?]

Andromeda’s Tear is a completed 90k word historical romance. I've been writing for ten years, and am a member of Romance Writers of America, Capital Region-RWA, and several on-line writers’ groups. I am also a reviewer for TCM Reviews, focusing on romance and erotica, and I maintain an active author web site, ________________ which currently draws more than 6,000 unique visits per month. My current work-in-progress is a dark paranormal.

The completed manuscript for Andromeda’s Tear is available upon your request. Thank your for your time and consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Regards,


Revised Version

Legend tells of a comet whose charted path is the key to discovering a priceless diamond known as Andromeda's Tear. 1845 marks the return of that comet--and the sudden disappearance of several members of the Ladies’ Astronomical Society.

Mild-mannered astronomer Evelyn Winningham is determined to investigate the disappearances of her colleagues. But when she gets too close to the truth, she is forced to flee the safety of her home--and runs headlong into the arms of Alistair Bainbridge, the infamous Duke of Winterset. Alistair’s aunt has enlisted his assistance in finding her daughter, one of the missing astronomers.

Evelyn develops an attraction for the Duke that is matched only by the stubbornness he brings out in her. Meanwhile, her ability to wheedle beneath his cool exterior is making Alistair damned uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. Working together, they discover the astronomers are being used by the criminal mastermind known as The Silkworm to chart the comet's approach. But can they find The Silkworm before he finds . . . Andromeda's Tear?

Andromeda’s Tear is a completed 90k word historical romance. I am a member of Romance Writers of America, Capital Region-RWA, and several on-line writers’ groups. I am also a reviewer for TCM Reviews, focusing on romance and erotica, and I maintain an active author web site, ________________ which currently draws more than 6,000 unique visits per month.

Thank your for your time and consideration.


Notes

If you start by saying "The obsession of one man and the protection of another--she’ll need all her strength to survive them both..." you might want to mention both men in the query. I can't tell if Alistair's the Obsessor or the Protector. Likewise, if you mention the bundle of silk, you might explain its significance.

The sentences in the original didn't seem to build on each other strongly enough. There needs to be a logical progression of ideas. The revised version may not have all the facts right, but that should be easily remedied.

How many female astronomers are there in 1845 Winterset? This reminds me of the plot we had in which all the female porno film directors in Tennessee were being killed.

New Beginning 242

The court adjourned for lunch and everyone left. The clerk remained alone at the front of the courtroom, awash with black apart from the white bib at her neck. She sat back down with a sigh, contemplated the papers in front of her for a long moment, then she picked up the first one and started sorting.

Tom, hovering at the door, wished that the clerk had looked less engrossed in her paperwork. Well, he would have to be even more charming than usual to win her support. He took a moment to pat his hair, still neatly tied back, and glanced down at his attire checking it was impeccable from his polished brown top boots, up his long legs, all the way to his straight collar. Satisfied, he walked to the front of the courtroom, an appealing smile already settling across his features.

"Madam Clerk? I am sorry to intrude," he began in his pleasant voice.

"And yet intrude you do," she replied without missing a beat or looking up. "On my lunch break. When, although I am hungry, I'm still working."

"Yes, about that . . . I may have just what you need," he crooned.

She sighed, set down the papers and looked up. "Please," she said apathetically, "do enlighten me."

"Well, Madam Clerk, it's about . . . my daughter. You see, it's that time of year, and . . . well . . . Can I put you down for a couple boxes of Thin Mints?"


Opening: Aimee....Continuation: Annie

Face-Lift 298

Guess the Plot

Fear of Landing

1. After Sylvia gets her pilots license, her boyfriend comes up with an idea to get her out of his hair: a quest to visit every island in Great Britain and write a book about it. But some of those runways look more like driveways.

2. Now that she's at 27,000 feet, watching the landing gear fall toward Kansas, Wanda Carson realizes she should never have agreed to fly for Bare Budget Air Freight. But that free carpet shampoo was irresistible.

3. Tommie Landing has bullied the entire school all year, and not even the teachers can control him. The staff are terrified of what will happen when Tommie is promoted to third grade next year. Will the district recommend home schooling? Or can little Tara Smidley tame his savage heart?

4. Three year old Jeannie is just figuring out staircases. The straight up and down ones aren't too bad--just a matter of velocity adjustment near the bottom. But word from her older brother is that the ones that turn halfway down have monsters on them.

5. At first, Erica was agoraphobic, fear of the outdoors. Then she was aviatophobic, fear of flying. Now it’s fear of the Dead Cat Bounce (Felinus-Bouncy-Bouncy-Thudda-phobia).

6. The last three starships to return to Earth exploded upon reentry to the atmosphere. As physicists back home try to discover the cause, the captain of the Hephaestus, returning from Alpha Centauri, considers an unscheduled layover on Uranus.


Original Version

Dear Agent,

I understand that you represent non-fiction books and would like to introduce my work-in-progress: Fear of Landing, about my travels in single-engine plane around the British Isles, told from a unique international viewpoint.

I am a 39-year-old German-American (brought up in both countries) currently living in Spain with my British boyfriend and very confused son. After I received my Private Pilots License, I found I wasn't keeping the hours up without a goal. My boyfriend set the challenge: fly to every island possible in the British Isles. [Recommendation 1: Dump this guy immediately.]

I have identified 38 islands with usable runways within the geographical British Isles, from Jersey off the coast of France to the icy Faroes, located halfway between Iceland and Norway. Ireland and the Aran Islands lie to the West and the Scottish Shetlands are my unexpected Eastern boundary. [Recommendation 2: Has it occurred to you that with a sea plane you could get to islands with no runways? 38 isn't bad, but 100, now that would be a feat.]

Highlights include Lundy in the Bristol Channel (population 7 [8, if I survive the landing]); Mainland, an intriguingly named island in the Scottish Orkneys; Barra in the Outer Hebrides with a runway only available at low tide [Technically it's available at high tide, but the landings tend to be a bit abrupt.] and Walney Island in English Cumbria, which appears to have no redeeming value whatsoever. [Recommendation 3: Make sure you have plenty of fuel when you land on Walney Island. The last time someone got stranded there overnight he literally died of boredom. True story.]

I have a blog about the project at http://www.fearoflanding.com/ featuring planning and historical information and photographs from my trips.

Excerpts from my initial travels have appeared in Piper Flyer and the Guernsey Star and Press.

Fear of Landing will be my first full-length book. I am happy to send you a more detailed overview and the first three chapters at your request.

Thank you for your time,


Notes

It's not clear whether the book is about the islands, flying, or you. In other words, I'm not sure whether the book is intended mainly for travelers, with photos and information about each island, in which case it wouldn't matter how you got to them, and the book might seem more complete if you made it to the Italian Chapel at Lamb Holm , or to Iona Abbey, even if you can't fly in; or if it's intended more for other pilots who might want to try something similar; or if it's mainly about the personal accomplishment of flying to these islands. The title is clearly more appropriate if it's the latter. But the query doesn't make it clear that this is an amazing feat. Have you given yourself a limited amount of time to pull this off? Is it amazing because you do have a fear of landing?

"Available only," rather than "only available."

Recommendation 4: In view of the book's title, and to make it a more daring accomplishment, include Sealand as one of your stops.

New Beginning 241

Me and my temper didn’t like boys who stood across the street and shot at me with a pea-shooter and hit me on the tender skin between my fingers with a goddamned hard pea.

I didn’t know or care anything about pea velocity, but I did care a lot about pain. When I was in physical pain, I wanted to share it. With the giver of it.

It was a reflex more than a response. I don’t even remember running across the street that day; it was something like magic. I just remember a sudden, stabbing pain between my fingers, a look across the street at the tall skinny asshole who I could see had inflicted my pain, standing there laughing at me, and then there I was, across the street, feeling the hard bone feeling of my knees on the bones of his hips after I jumped on him. Looking at him eye to eye, I felt the hardness of his belt dig into the skin of my thighs and my knees, but I didn’t care. Then there was the feeling of slick, stringy rope in my hand as I reared his head back with his own hair and punched him right in the middle of his long bony face. Hard.

It wasn't long before a noisy circle formed around us, drawn by the wails of this hooligan with the blood and snot pouring out of his broken nose. It was Jimmy Simmons, the scourge of our town. Everyone hated him, and with good reason: it was Jimmy Simmons who farted in the library and cut through people's backyards and sang out of tune in Sunday choir. And now, the pea shooter. The final straw.

I gave the bastard one last hard kick in the ribs, sending him slumping back to the ground with a grunt. He lay there, sobbing. I wiped my hands on his shirt.

An old woman shuffled forward. It was Mrs. Nelson, whose flower garden had been walked through. “Bless you, Sister,” she said.

“Peace be with you,” I replied, and continued on my way to the convent.


Opening: Robin Sinnott.....Continuation: ril

Face-Lift 297

Guess the Plot

Jelly Time

1. Kit always dreamed of owning her own doughnut shop. As an intern, she's worked her way up from cake through glazed and even sprinkles. But is she really ready for . . . Jelly Time?

2. Horace and Elizabeth, two residents of the Orchard Hills community, show how it is possible to stay actively intimate well into the senior years.

3. Women of three generations converge in a hot kitchen full of jars, kettles, sugar, etc. to make the year's supply of jelly. But where's the fruit? Sandra was supposed to bring peaches, grapes, and blueberries, but the only sign of her is a strange text message about going "south" with "Jack."

4. When Marie Wensley's baby son flings his lunch at the kitchen clock, the gears of time itself become sticky, and soon history is replaying itself in devastating ways. If Marie can't undo the damage, the world will be stuck forever in . . . Jelly Time.

5. Pherto Dallowish, having failed to publish his novel, embarks on a quest to know the true nature of evil by immersing himself in a psycho-surrealistic world he calls Jelly Time. He expresses his revelations in a new novel based on the evolution of elephant tusks. But will his agent have any better luck selling this one?

6. Judy Moore is the meanest secretary in the world and she will take all the time she needs to eat her jelly donuts on Friday afternoon--no matter how important Tom Johnson thinks his little letter to Hing Ho about the blasted widgets might be.


Original Version

Dear Agent X:

While a quirky, mentally ill, professor-turned-novelist is trapped in his car and immersed in Jelly Time (a psycho-surrealistic world), he tries to recall and jot down the circumstances of his life that led to his crash. Will he survive long enough to be rescued?

As a boy growing up in Pittsburgh, Pherto Dallowish is told his mother lives in Africa saving children from starvation, [And, incredibly, he buys this.] only to find out later at age ten that she’s in a mental hospital. When he visits her, she tells him she could never love him and rants on about the impossibility of any kind of peace in a world where good and evil are indistinguishable; he reacts to the rejection by opposite-acting. For years Pherto obsesses over the paradox of his mother, [The paradox?] and struggles to cope with her overbearing nature. The added stress from losing his professorship and then failing to publish a novel, prompts him to resolve the longstanding conflict with her.

Pherto believes reconciliation is only possible by disproving her fatalistic theory. He starves himself to understand the pain of evil; [Me, I would have jabbed a pointy stick into my thigh to understand the pain of evil, and then raided the fridge.] and then, to define evil, he visits and pesters a couple convicted of starving their adopted children. [That's the third reference to starving already. Suddenly my stomach is growling. Which means . . . it's Peanut Butter and Jelly Time!] The quest becomes a romp in Jelly Time, and borders on the ridiculous when Pherto spreads food [Jelly?] on street corners and organizes a ride on the Peace Train. Neither his friend, Chess (dreamer but conformist), nor his literary agent, Vernon H., are [is] able to bring order to his quest. [Out of curiosity, do you happen to know if Vernon H. is taking on new clients?] With the Pittsburgh media and police searching for the mystery man who littered the city, Pherto has a breakthrough. He expresses his revelations in a novel called The Elephant Dentist, which is partly influenced by the Hindu beliefs of Ganesh and his past research on the evolution of elephant tusks. [I had no idea Ganesh researched elephant tusk evolution; perhaps he was searching for a way to repair his own broken tusk.] Will his efforts prove that peace (and good) is possible and lead to reconciliation with his mother? And why has she been bitter all these years? And, if Pherto is not rescued, who writes Jelly Time and why? [You already wrote it. Jeez.]

Jelly Time is a literary mainstream novel of 90,000 words and explores universal themes from a son’s need for a mother’s affection to his need to be cared for in his own mental illness [to world starvation]. The protagonist is a former scientist; I have experience in this area as an assistant professor for six years at The Universities of Ohio, Cincinnati and Alabama. I published twenty-four peer-reviewed scientific papers and twelve book chapters and reviews and now am a full-time writer with two other novels in the works. Mr. X, the managing editor of X, heard my pitch at the X conference and suggested I contact you. [That bastard X again? He's always sending me his castoffs.] May I send you the manuscript? Thank you very much for your time.

Sincerely,


Revised Version

While a quirky, mentally ill professor-turned-novelist is trapped in his car and immersed in Jelly Time (a psycho-surrealistic world), he tries to recall and jot down the circumstances that led to his crash.

As a boy, Pherto Dallowish was told his mother lived in Africa saving children from starvation; at age ten he learns that she's actually in a mental hospital. When he visits her, she declares she could never love him and rants about the impossibility of peace in a world where good and evil are indistinguishable.

Into adulthood, Pherto struggles to cope with his mother's overbearing nature. Eventually the added stress of losing his professorship and failing to publish a novel prompts him to resolve their longstanding conflict. He believes reconciliation is possible only by disproving her fatalistic theory.

Pherto's quest becomes a romp in Jelly Time, and borders on the ridiculous when he spreads food on street corners. With the media and police searching for the mystery man who littered the city, Pherto has a breakthrough, a revelation that could lead to the reconciliation he desires. But rushing home, he drives into a ravine and becomes inextricably trapped in his car. Will he survive long enough to be rescued, end starvation and bring peace to the world?

Jelly Time is a literary mainstream novel of 90,000 words and explores universal themes from a son’s need for a mother’s affection to his need to be cared for in his own mental illness. Mr. X, the managing editor of Y, heard my pitch at the Z conference and suggested I contact you. May I send you the manuscript? Thank you very much for your time.


Notes

Okay, you don't want my ending (unless I've yet again guessed correctly). But you don't want yours either. I wouldn't read the book to get the answers to the questions you pose, which aren't that interesting.

It was too long. No need to tell us everything. Though it might be interesting to know at what point Pherto slips into mental illness. Also, while I've shortened it, what it may need is for you to decide what's really important (Pherto's breakthrough? The mother/son interaction?) and concentrate on that. There's a lot of stuff in here, and some of it sounds pretty nutty in the query, though I'm sure it's well-handled in the book.

Not clear how a novel could prove peace is possible. And even if it did, it would probably take twenty years to find a publisher and another three to get into print and it would come out the same day as Harry Potter and the Triple Bypass.

Anagrams of Pherto Dallowish: Worship Hell Toad, Death Whirlpools, Adolph Hitler Sow

Face-Lift 296

Guess the Plot

One Wrong Move

1. So it was one little mistake. A guy can't make a mistake? Thank God it didn't affect my reelection and now, if I move fast, I can invade Iran, too!

2. Kidnapped CIA Agent Garth Pelter wakes to find a bomb strapped to his body and a chessboard in front of him. If he loses the game, the bomb goes off. But Pelter doesn’t even know how the Prawns are supposed to move.

3. If Lonnie Lambert can get his right hand onto a red circle, he might just win the World Twister Championship. On the other hand, if his arm makes contact with Pretzel Jackson's breast, he's sure to get a black eye. With the ESPN cameras rolling, will Lonnie make . . . One Wrong Move?

4. The Smythe family moves, on average, every eight months. Denver, Chicago, Atlanta -- they've seen them all. When they move to Bucksnort, TN, however, the Smythes meet their new neighbors, the Smiths, who keep a pig for a pet and brew moonshine in a backyard still. Can the Smythes get beyond their stereotyped opinions of their neighbors, or will they have to admit they've made . . . One Wrong Move?

5. Twinkie Thompson thought his fortunes had changed the night old Mrs. Billiard traded a Holstein for his magic beans. He was so happy he ran to the Smith's and got engaged to Maryanne. But in the morning he discovered that beast in the barn was no banal bovine, but . . . a zombie cow.

6. When Monica decides to ride in a hot-air balloon, her life takes off in a new direction. Will her boring friends and family bring her down to Earth, deflating her dreams? Or will she soar to new heights?


Original Version

Attn. Evil Editor:

Funny, absurd and overly cautious--all describe Monica Baker, a 33-year-old single girl with more baggage than a Boeing 747. [Not sure what you mean by baggage, but overly-cautious people usually don't accumulate it in great quantity.] When Monica decides to dump her cautious act and really live--talk up a cute stranger, ride a hot air balloon, brave a hot tub-- [A hot tub?! Throwing caution to the wind is one thing; this woman is a maniac!] her life takes off in a direction she never imagined.

But where's the old Monica? Some want her back. Some need her help. Ex-boyfriend Sammy is a Fruit Loop-eating drummer with a talent for making women hum. [Hum? I gotta get out more. Is that hum like a finely tuned engine, or hum like when they don't know the words?] Teddy, her dad, camps on his La-Z-Boy and buys tulip bulbs and steak knives from The Home Shopping Network. [Regularly? How many steak knives do you need?] Duffy, her mom, can't be bothered as she gambles, downs gin and amasses a collection of gnomes to rival Tolkien. [If you mean to rival the number of gnomes in Tolkien's published works, this is one puny collection. Try the Brothers Grimm, or Discworld . . . Or are you talking about Tolkien's personal collection of garden gnomes, which I understand numbered in the tens of thousands?]

I would be happy to submit "One Wrong Move", complete at 80,000 words. A stamped envelope is enclosed for your convenience, hoping you'll want to see more. [Personification is a fine literary device if not overused. Using it while informing me of your SASE in a query letter is probably going too far.]

Sincerely,


Notes

That's it? Where's the plot? All we have is four characters and a few tidbits of information about each of them. What happens in the book? What's the new direction Monica's life goes in? Does her new-found boldness lead to hilarious disaster? How so? Does it lead to Happily Ever After with a hunky guy who eats a more mature breakfast cereal? Tell us about it. Is there a villain? A challenge? A pivotal life-changing moment toward which the book inexorably marches? Once we know your plot, if you have more room on the page you can tell us all about Monica's father's shopping choices, but not a moment before.

Isn't that spelled "Froot Loops"?

Q & A 104

I've been planning to write a children's nonfiction book for some time on Language. It's supposed to fit into those series of nonfiction guides for 7-11 year olds that have titles like Pirate, Weather, Ancient China, and Music. I would be adding one - Language. The most prominent publisher of these sorts of guides is DK with their Eyewitness series, but B&N seems to do their own print, and there are a couple more as well. Anyway, the guides all do seem to have a single author, so someone is writing the main content, but the guides are extremely visual. Typically, there is a single paragraph that's general and then there are drawings and images covering the whole thing with little 3 sentence explanations for what they are seeing.

The question comes with these images. There is a huge list of credits in the DK books for people who located and acquired the images, as well as the illustrators who created new ones. The problem for me the writer is that I can't write the book without knowing the visuals. I can plan all the topics, as I am doing. I can brainstorm the types of things to find, but the final content is somewhat beyond my control. So, how do I handle this? Do I essentially write a book proposal with what should be in there and then fill in the details later? I've read some useful stuff about writers looking for illustrators in children's books, but not really yet on the non-fiction side. DK simply states that they don't take submissions, so go find an agent.

If I were in your shoes, I would shelve the whole idea and go play golf. But I sense you are determined to go through with it. If you take DK's advice and find an agent, the agent will find out everything you need to know. Of course, finding an agent for a book you haven't written may be tricky.

As I understand the question, you want to write an illustrated children's book, and you want to see the illustrations before you write the text? All you need is an artist with a bunch of pictures of languages. Good luck.

I'm going to make a wild guess and say that the text gets written first, the illustrations are then created or located, and the editor then makes any appropriate adjustments in the text that might be needed to deal with unexpected oddities in the illustrations. I can't imagine a publisher approaching an artist and the conversation going:

Publisher: We're planning a book on language, we need you to provide some illustrations.

Artist: Sure, what do you have in mind?

Publisher: Your guess is as good as mine. The book hasn't been written. The author's waiting to see what you come up with.

Artist: Hmm. I can do alphabet blocks. Those are easy. And smoke signals. I'm really good at drawing puffs of smoke.

Publisher: Perfect. I think we've got a winner here, as long as the author doesn't screw it up.

Face-Lift 295

Guess the Plot

The Bad Girls Club

1. Tired of being seen as nerds and goody-goodies, the girls of the Central High School Chess Club don skimpy disguises and take on alternate identities as they hit the clubs for a little excitement.

2. The women at Alderson Federal Prison Camp decide they've had too much of worthless boyfriends, rotten kids, bad drugs, and reckless driving. They form a club to do good-girl stuff -- singing, knitting booties for orphans, baking cookies for soldiers, and home decorating. Everything's going great . . . until Martha Stewart moves in.

3. Morticia (nee Heidi) paints her finger nails black and joins the Bad Girls Club in hopes of trashing her parents' reputations. Two lackluster camp-outs and one fondue session later, she realizes that it isn't the (Bad Girls) Club; it's the Bad (Girls Club).

4. Beth, Juliette and Imogen form a club in which they dare each other to do "bad" things. Their sex lives are suddenly more exciting. But can their friendship survive when a "real" bad girl enters the picture?

5. Louanne, Sally, and Tiffany are so mean and stupid they have no friends. They spend all their time watching TV, eating junk food, being rude -- until a tornado sucks Sally's house up and plops the girls down on Cannibal Island, where they are suddenly very popular.

6. Bethany thought St. Agnes' Catholic school was strict. But when she arrives at Saint Helga's Girls School for the Unusually Unruly, she finds out that the "bad girls club" there isn't an extracurricular group. It's an actual wooden club.


Original Version

I am currently looking for representation for The Bad Girls Club, a sizzling chick lit novel (80,000 words).

The Bad Girls Club is about dares – dark and sexy and full of forbidden pleasure. It is about breaking free of nice girl rules. It’s also about friendship.

The Bad Girls Club is off to a rocky start. Imogen starts the club because she wants to get laid, but she's not sure she can become a bad girl until she loses a few pounds. Beth wants to schmooze her way into meeting her hero, Imogen's mother while Juliette thinks it beats another night playing Nintendo with her boyfriend. The only bad girl they know is Poppy – boss, friend, relative and all round bitch. Poppy, the girl who has everything.

Bad girls don't have rules, but they have an obligation to complete a series of dares. Dares that don't always go as expected but always push them out of their comfort zone. [Failing to complete your dares results in expulsion from the club? But what are the advantages of being in the club? Even though I'm uncomfortable with the idea of having sex with a complete stranger in an elevator, I will do so, so that I can remain in the club and . . . do something else uncomfortable next week?] [Are there parties, orgies, field trips to Bangkok?]

Imogen inspires the others with her stories of a hot encounter on a nudist beach but, in reality, she has a hard time shedding her clothes, let alone her inhibitions . Juliette gets transformed by a bad girl makeover and transfixed by a visit to an S&M club, but discovers she can't be a bad girl and keep her boyfriend. [Horrors! The boyfriend who wants her to play Nintendo every night? What's he got going for him?] Beth dreams of a magazine life but the Bad Girls Club pushes her into a life more like Hustler than Vogue. She's happy to be a bad girl so long as no one finds out.

As each of the girls gets pushed too far, they turn on each other and the club is disbanded. [The end.]

Without the support of the club, Imogen goes to crazy lengths to prove her desirability while Juliette, fearing her dominatrix power, returns to frumpy comfort. A drunken fling jeopardises Beth’s career. [So the club was a failure, and disbanding the club was also a failure. What's the moral?]

Then Poppy invites all three girls to her house warming party. Secrets are exposed and friendships betrayed. Are the girls ready to take the final leap that will have them branded as bad girls for real? [Yes. Spoiler alert: They kill Poppy, bury her in the woods, and feel closer and more exhilarated than ever. Not even Poppy was this bad. They resolve to kill again and again.]

Although this is my first novel, I have had several short stories published in anthologies of erotic fiction. I would be happy to forward a partial/full manuscript and thank you for your consideration.


Notes

I don't get the point of the club. Sometimes women get together to go to male strip shows because they don't feel comfortable going alone. But these women don't do their dares together, so there's no real "support" involved. Normally I would never go to nude beach and have a hot encounter, but if my fellow club member has declared she is going to an S & M club tomorrow, bring it on?

Has Beth considered telling Imogen she wants to meet her mother? Has Juliette considered breaking the Nintendo controller? I don't see that adopting a Hustler lifestyle and murdering Poppy is going to advance their cause.

New Beginning 240

I dreamed of being a spy since I was a child. I fell in love with James Bond when I came to America and saw all the movies. But to think that my fantasies would come true when I was still in college? I’d have never believed it myself. And yet, thanks to Ali Chalabi, I managed to get recruited by the Mossad when I was a junior at Columbia.

Ali sat next to me in Western Civilization. He was handsome in a slightly exotic Middle Eastern way with a prominent nose, skin of tawny bronze, heavy-lidded almond eyes and full, sensuous lips. I used to watch him out of the corner of my eye, but that was simply because I liked his looks. I did not suspect him of anything and had no idea that he was about to become my entry ticket to the world of espionage. When we finally spoke after class, Ali turned out to have a British accent, which only made him more intriguing. I guess his accent reminded me of 007.

"I really appreciated your comments on the Roman senate today, " I mentioned as we filed out the door.

"Ta," he replied. "Yers're bloody smashing as well. The dog's bollicks. Up fer some rumpy pumpy in me flat?"

"Thanks," I replied, wondering what he'd said, flattered that he'd noticed me at all. I leaned casually against the wall as crowds of students rushed past. "Hey, would you like to grab some pizza or something?"

"Oi, luv," he said to me, winking. "Tha's a nice bit o' totty. Giv'n me a stiffy, it 'as. Wot say you 'n' me 'ave a pint 'n' then shag ourselves rotten?"

He sounded so sophisticated. I knew right then that I had fallen for him.


Opening: Katerina.....Continuation: G. Clemmons, foggidawn