Why you don't get published.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Face-Lift 312
Guess the Plot
The Lies That Bind
1. Pinocchio was just getting used to that little problem with his nose when he started having issues with regularity that not even lots of fiber would help.
2. Incarcerated bank robber Joe Johnson tells his cellmate, extortionist "Thumper Tom," that if Thumper protects Joe from harm in the joint, when they get out he'll split his take from his last robbery. Thumper agrees. But who's sincere and who's lying?
3. Liz survived years of lies and deception from her oppressive husband, but now that he's dead, she wonders if he's the man haunting her. Good news: it's not her husband's ghost; it's just some guy who's been hired to kill her. And, he's pretty good looking.
4. Evelyn told her mother-in-law that she wears a size 12, when a 16 is closer to the truth. With the family reunion drawing near, will Evelyn resign herself to wearing the ill-fitting gifts her mother-in-law sent her for Christmas, or will she find a way to escape. . . The Lies that Bind?
5. The letter was simple: Pastor Bob wasn't an ordained minister, so her marriage to Jason was false. But should she tell Jason, or should she say nothing, and let the lie keep them bound together forever?
6. It started as a fib--she was just going to the store, she said. But fib upon fib now has Cara so wrapped up in lies that she can't remember who she is or where she lives.
Original Version
A name whispered in the dark, ghostly appearances taunting her, and the betrayal of her dearest friend leave Elizabeth Cooper with no one to trust save for one man: the one hired to kill her.
["Trust" Rankings of Everyone Elizabeth Knows (Last Week):
1. Her dearest friend.
2. Everyone else.
3. The hitman hired to kill her.
[Current "Trust" Rankings of Everyone Elizabeth Knows:
1. The hitman hired to kill her.
2. Everyone else.
3. Her dearest friend.]
Now flourishing on her own in her Texas hometown, inner determination fuels Liz to rebuild her life after years with an oppressive husband who controlled her with heinous lies and seemingly insurmountable deceptions. [Only odds and obstacles can be described as "seemingly insurmountable." It's a rule, and a good one.] Liz finds her world begin to collapse once again as her friend tries to save her from herself with quick wit, undying devotion, and rational explanations to the bizarre happenings around her. [That sentence must go.] Is she slowly slipping into the world of the insane, or is her estranged husband, now deceased, truly haunting her?
Thousands of miles away, Victor Scofield [Assuming "thousands" means at least two thousand, my check of the mileage from Texas to Portland, Maine, Vancouver, British Columbia, and Panama shows that none is thousands of miles away. Thus I assume Victor is in Honolulu, Buenos Aires, or Casablanca.] is adamant that the bastard child his father now seeks will prove to be nothing but a mockery to the family traditions, family name, and most importantly to him, the family wealth. He attempts to cover up his father's unfaithful indiscretions of years ago by defying the family and decides this child, now grown, is better off buried in the ground than risk her being brought into the fold. [That sentence must go.] As sadistic obsession overcomes Victor, he sacrifices one sister to prevent this new one from surfacing. [Explain.]
When Alex Clevenger, (anagram: clever ex-angel) the man hired to murder Liz, begins to speak, she realizes this is the man "haunting her," the one causing old doubts and fears and insecurities to reign once again. Her best friend, Elle, has a secret she has never shared with Liz. [What secret?] With Elle suddenly and uncharacteristically leaving town, Alex has Liz questioning all she has believed in regard to her best friend. [Apparently there's an Alex-Elle connection you haven't mentioned? Either leave Elle out of this paragraph, or tell us what she did that's so bad.] Liz must now lean on Alex and pray he does not decide to fulfill the contract on her life as she lays her trust, and ultimately her heart, at his feet. Liz knows she must release all perceptions she has about herself, her adoption, and her friend in order to stay alive, as well as deal with the scars of deception that still linger in her heart. [That paragraph must go.]
THE LIES THAT BIND is romantic suspense, complete at 90,000 words. Thank you for your time and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Sincerely
Revised Version
A name whispered in the dark, and betrayal by her dearest friend leave Liz Cooper with no one to trust--other than the man hired to kill her--in my romantic suspense novel, The Ties that Bind.
Rebuilding her life after years with an oppressive husband who controlled her with heinous lies and deceptions, Liz seeks rational explanations for the ghostly apparitions and bizarre happenings that have been tormenting her. Is she slowly slipping into the world of the insane? Or is she truly being haunted by her deceased husband?
Victor Scofield is convinced that the bastard child his father now seeks will tarnish the family name--and reduce his share of the family wealth. He would rather see this child, now grown, buried in the ground than risk her being brought into the fold. As sadistic obsession overcomes Victor, he makes the necessary arrangements.
When Alex Clevenger, the man Victor hired to murder Liz, begins to speak, she realizes this is the man "haunting" her, the one bringing her old doubts and fears to the surface once again. She appeals to his kinder nature; and Alex quickly comes to see that Liz is the one woman with whom he can find a lifetime of happiness--though only if he doesn't put a bullet in her brain. So they kill Victor and live happily ever after. Right?
THE LIES THAT BIND is romantic suspense, complete at 90,000 words. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Notes
Okay, everything I know about hitmen I learned from Grosse Pointe Blank and Day of the Jackal, so I could be wrong about this, but I'm thinking once a hitman takes a job to kill you, it's kill or be killed. You ain't talkin' him out of it.
My ending probably isn't the real one, but at least it's not vague. That third plot paragraph needs to tie the other two together and it needs concrete details. I wasn't even sure the hitman was hired by Victor, as you seem to say Victor eliminates his other sister, thereby preventing Liz from surfacing. Why does Victor have to sacrifice another sister if he's hired someone to kill Liz?
Your ending brings in Elle's secret without explanation, implies that Elle leaving town is a betrayal without explanation, brings up adoption as an issue, when it hadn't been mentioned that she was adopted . . . If a statement leads to questions you aren't going to answer, best not to make it in the first place.
It's not clear why Liz has no one she can trust except a guy I assume she's never met until he shows up with a gun in his hand. Does she know him? If so, that's worth mentioning, as it'll make it easier to swallow him not killing her.
New Beginning 254
"Hey, new kid! Catch!"
Maggie Reid spun and grunted as the football smacked her in the chest. Reacting on instinct alone, she wrapped her arms around the ball and ran, dodging like crazy and heading for the end zone.
I can make it. I can make it!
THUMP!
Her ears rang with the impact as a defender knocked her to the ground, his heavier mass crushing the air from her lungs. Her head rebounded off the turf, and she grunted again. Then the weight was gone and she sucked in a painful draught of blessed air, choking on it and rolling limply to her back.
"Geez, Pete! Easy! Touch football means no tackles."
"Hey, new kid. You okay?"
"She's tough. She'll be fine."
"She was gonna score. I had to stop her somehow."
Blinking up at the ring of concerned and amused masculine faces hovering above her, Maggie focused on the single sheepish one. Pete. Pete had tackled her.
She clenched her fist and slammed it as hard as she could into Pete's groin. A collective groan ran through the little crowd as Pete collapsed to the ground, rolling around like a beetle who's fallen on its back.
Maggie stood up and tossed the football to Pete. "It doesn't look like you'll be scoring for a while either," she told him.
Opening: Gutterball.....Continuation: Pacatrue
Q & A 108, 109
Can we submit another possible opening from the same work we'd submitted before?
I believe that all chapters need a opening worthy of starting the book. Why should the reader settle for a bland chapter? Can we submit openings to chapters other than chapter 1?
If the feedback you received from your opening submission has led you to go a totally different way, you may submit your new opening. If you've merely edited it, and it's recognizable as the same opening, no.
As for chapters, I feel certain some people would submit the opening to every chapter in their book if this were allowed. Plus, I prefer not to preface the New Beginnings with explanations of what's happening. In the book, the reader may be familiar with the setting and character and backstory at the opening of a new chapter.
On the other hand, we tend to run low at times, so for starters, a compromise:
It's not unusual for an early chapter of a novel (unless it's written in first person) to introduce a new POV, a new main character whose story will eventually intersect with that of a previously introduced character. For instance, in The Da Vinci Code, chapter one stars Robert Langdon. Chapter two stars Silas. Chapter two could have been chapter one (eliminating the first three words). If this describes your book and you want to submit the opening to the later chapter, feel free.
I believe that all chapters need a opening worthy of starting the book. Why should the reader settle for a bland chapter? Can we submit openings to chapters other than chapter 1?
If the feedback you received from your opening submission has led you to go a totally different way, you may submit your new opening. If you've merely edited it, and it's recognizable as the same opening, no.
As for chapters, I feel certain some people would submit the opening to every chapter in their book if this were allowed. Plus, I prefer not to preface the New Beginnings with explanations of what's happening. In the book, the reader may be familiar with the setting and character and backstory at the opening of a new chapter.
On the other hand, we tend to run low at times, so for starters, a compromise:
It's not unusual for an early chapter of a novel (unless it's written in first person) to introduce a new POV, a new main character whose story will eventually intersect with that of a previously introduced character. For instance, in The Da Vinci Code, chapter one stars Robert Langdon. Chapter two stars Silas. Chapter two could have been chapter one (eliminating the first three words). If this describes your book and you want to submit the opening to the later chapter, feel free.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Face-Lift 311
Guess the Plot
Revenge in Sulamar
1. A motorist in Sri Lanka cut him off, and Sidney exacted his revenge, sideswiping the offending BMW off the road and into a fireball. Now Sid's upset about the roaming charges on his phone, and the customer care center in Sulamar isn't issuing a credit. Sidney's packing his bags . . . and an Uzi.
2. Jivat and Bardi's marriage is off to a rough start, and they're still on their honeymoon. The planet Varda is lovely, but first Bardi flirted with the waitress in Rangapur, and now he's spending more time on the golf course than with his bride. Looking at the next stop on their itinerary, Jivat plots her vengeance.
3. Glamorous superspy/lingerie model Twinkie Tompkins is relaxing on the beach at Sulamar with her sidekick, photographer/stuntman Jack Tornado, when a motorized "seagull" buzzes over, and explodes. Obviously the dastardly computer-hacker fiend "Whirlwind McGee" has launched yet another revenge project. Soon the hotel and all of Sulamar will crash and burn -- unless Jack and Twinkie can find McGee's lair, cut his power, and thwart his evil scheme.
4. The Magess of Krataal has a problem--too many fashions, and not enough fashion models to wear them all at her elaborate balls. But finding humans is difficult--they live only in the forests of Sulamar. By sending a Makaka Marenta Marella to steal some humans, she'll get everything she wants, without having to pay a single bloin to Tremente Jabaal.
5. Tamar has no idea her handsome slave Fazil is actually a Sulamarian spy. When Fazil escapes, he leads a raid on Tamar's city, capturing her and bringing her home to be his slave . . . and concubine. Now Tamar plots her own escape. Or . . . should she remain in Sulamar with the hunky Fazil, who pleasures her like no man ever has?
6. They drink out of their boots, and eat their hats for lunch. Everything is done differently in Sulamar. Especially revenge! The police find two men in an oversized pickle jar, suspended from an electric wire, while their wives live it up in a neighborhood bar.
Original Version
Dear Evil Editor,
REVENGE IN SULAMAR is an erotic fantasy/romance complete at 62,000 words.
Tamar has a perfect life as a beautiful and wealthy aristocrat. She has her own household, an adoring lover and a high position at the royal court in the medieval city of Talgar. Then she ruins everything by buying a slave. [That's remarkably similar to what happened to Evil Editor. I was on the rise in the biggest publishing house in the country, editing the likes of Grisham and King, living the good life, and then this new CEO comes in and decides it doesn't "look good" for her top editor to be involved in the slave trade. Hey, who doesn't have a few skeletons in their closet?] He is Fazil, a captured warrior from the enemy city of Sulamar, a city of barbarians that have raided Talgar for centuries. [If you've been raiding a city for centuries, and they're still holding you off, you're giving all barbarians a bad name.]
Tamar does not much care for barbarians, and though Fazil is handsome, well-behaved and outwardly humble, [I'll take a well-behaved barbarian over a smug aristocrat any day.] she does not treat him well. She humiliates him in front of her lover and when she finds him kissing a maid, she orders him whipped. What Tamar doesn’t know, is that Fazil is a spy. He has allowed himself to be captured in order to find out where the royal treasury keeps its secret store of gold [and also to get it on with the cute maids in Tamar's household]. But after Tamar’s cruel treatment, gold will no longer be enough. He lusts after her and plans to take her as his share of the loot. When he learns where the gold is kept, [If you let a barbarian slave from a place that's been raiding you for centuries discover where your secret store of gold is, you had no business calling it a "secret" store of gold.] he escapes and leads a raid to capture it, taking Tamar with him. In Sulamar, he forces her to submit and makes her his slave concubine. She plots her escape though he gives her more pleasure than any man she has ever known. [Smoother transitions are needed between some of these ideas. Just because the finish line's in sight doesn't mean you should fire yourself out of a cannon.] Then she learns that she is unjustly blamed for the raid in Talgar and sentenced to death as a traitor. And so there is only one thing left -- revenge at any price. [Revenge against those in Talgar who unjustly blame her for the raid? Or against Fazil?]
Thank you for considering REVENGE IN SULAMAR. May I send you sample chapters or the complete manuscript?
Notes
Was that the first ten chapters, or the prologue? Based on the title, I might guess that this was all setup for the real story, which is the revenge plot. If the book is about Tamar's revenge, you could condense all of this into something like, Captured by barbarians raiding her city, the beautiful aristocrat Tamar discovers that she has been blamed for the raid and sentenced to death as a traitor. Then tell us about the main storyline.
A wealthy aristocrat ought to be able to afford servants and gigolos. What does she need with a slave? What are his duties?
Saturday, April 07, 2007
New Beginning 253
The problem with the women of the Bright Moon coven was they insisted on doing outdoor rituals without shoes on. Prudence knew it could be worse. The thought of going skyclad—naked—filled her with horror.
But now the circle had ended, and Prudence, unable to find her sandals, was picking her way through the woods to find fuel for the bonfire while pebbles and sticks scraped and poked her feet.
Good thing it was Beltaine, and almost summer. She couldn't imagine doing this at Samhain in the October chill. They better have the fire ready before the ritual then. If she was still in the coven.
Ignoring the large logs she couldn't easily carry, Pru filled her arms with smaller sticks. One load down. She'd head back, drop these off and—
"Where is it?"
Pru gasped and spun around, dropping the sticks. One of them landed squarely on her poor bare foot.
"Oh, dear, Prudence!" Pru's best friend, Michelle, exclaimed. "I didn't mean to--"
"Let it be. Something in the way you moved startled me. It's just been a hard day's night and I've been working--"
"Yes, I know, Pru. We all have. But we can work it out. It's for the goddess. Remember, She loves you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, but she's across the universe."
"No, she just came in. Yesterday."
"Why didn't I see her?"
"Because. She came in through the bathroom window."
Pru looked at her swelling foot. I should have known better, she thought, and she wondered if she'd be able to carry that weight down the long and winding road back home. "It's too rocky in the woods," she said. "I don't think I can do it."
"Hey, then why don't we do it in the road?"
Opening: December Quinn.....Continuation: Pacatrue/EE
Face-Lift 310
Guess the Plot
Through the Veil
1. Jody Winesap tries to remember anything that would help her locate that guy she met at Woodstock, for the sake of their son, Sunbeam Starchild. The boy has grown into an insurance executive who calls himself "Todd Johnson" and can't stop talking about market share. If Jody can reunite him with his father, Prince Sequoia, there might be hope for him yet.
2. Martian Princess Cora desperately wants to avoid what she sees Through the Veil: an arranged marriage to the cross-eyed, drooling Prince of Titan.
3. Michael Roberts loves his job as a CIA agent. But when he is assigned a new post in Iran, he gets more than he bargained for--he must pose not only as a private citizen, but as a woman! Fully cloaked in his burqa, no one will ever know except his "husband"-- but when he falls in love with a beautiful Iranian woman, all bets are off.
4. Slavenka Philopovna wants a storybook wedding so much she becomes a mail-order bride. But as she dresses for the wedding, she realizes she's never even seen the man she's about to marry. Can she make a quick getaway if she doesn't like what she sees . . . through the veil?
5. Amelia McDonald's brother has been kidnapped by monstrous creatures, and the only way to save him is to follow him "through the veil" into the fairy kingdom. But now Amelia has her own problems: she's being hunted, by the entity known only as . . . The Steward.
6. Annette has been planning her wedding day since she was five, and when the date is finally set with super hunk Stud Ripken, all her dreams are about to come true. However, her veil is so thick she finds herself having just said "I do" to 3-eyed Orville in the wrong church. Will she get a refund from the wedding shop? And will she find love with Orville?
Original Version
Dear Agent,
The daughter of a fairy princess can expect certain perks: first pick of the season's Spinken-spun silks, preferred seating at the Moonspring Renewal Festival, and not having to obsess about looking fat in a puffy pink bridesmaid dress. Unfortunately, nobody told thirteen-year-old Amelia McDonald about her royal heritage- she doesn't even know fairies exist- so obsessing is just what she is doing when her days of blissful ignorance come to an abrupt end. [I don't care if she knows she's the daughter of a fairy princess or not; if she looks like a pregnant water buffalo in the pink dress, she'll obsess. Any female would, perks or no perks.]
Amelia is busy bemoaning her father's upcoming wedding to her town's Martha Stewart when Morta, a know-it-all fairy with a regrettable chocolate allergy, crash lands in her room. Just as Amelia is warming to her tiny visitor, the two discover that Amelia's brother Sam has somehow managed to get himself kidnapped [He's been kidnapped. Why make it sound like it's the victim's fault?] by monstrous ice-flecked creatures called dureks. [How do they know who kidnapped him? Did they find a trail of ice cubes?] Determined to find Sam, Amelia uses a charm to disguise herself as a fairy and, despite her inability to fly without running into things, she and Morta journey into the fairy kingdom.
As if one [her] missing brother wasn't [weren't] problem enough, Amelia soon learns that the fairy world isn't all buttercups and Tinkerbells; it is often [it's also] bone-chilling dureks and fairy-eating trolls. Worse, she is being hunted by the Steward, an ambitious fairy who is not about to let anyone interfere with his plans for Sam, [I don't see a ruthless, ambitious guy calling himself "the Steward." It would be like Martha Stewart declaring that henceforth she wanted to be known as "the Stewardess."] and the Wanderer Silira, a charmcrafter who has done something evil enough to warrant eternal banishment from the kingdom. Only if Amelia can stay a step ahead of them- and manage to subsist on the less-than-satisfactory local diet of nuts and berries- can she hope to be reunited with her brother.
Through the Veil is a 70,000 word standalone novel for young adults with fantastic series potential. [Unfortunately, very few young adults have fantastic series potential.] Thank you for your consideration, and I hope for the opportunity to speak with you further about this project.
Sincerely,
* The Veil (invisible to humans) is a cascading curtain of shimmering light that separates the mortal world from the fairy kingdom.
Notes
Not bad. Nice tone, nice specifics. I'm not crazy about these names: the Steward, dureks, the Wanderer Silira, Morta. The minions who agree with me are in charge of coming up with better names for you.
We don't need to know about Amelia's diet. Telling us she needs to find a way to defeat the dureks would be more dramatic than telling us she must withstand an unsatisfying diet of nuts and berries.
We also don't need to know about Morta's regrettable chocolate allergy, but at least that's mildly amusing.
It would be funnier if Amelia's father were marrying the real Martha Stewart.
Friday, April 06, 2007
New Beginning 252
When Keebler finished composing his essay, he did not intend to send it to Newsweek. And after he did send it to Newsweek, he did not expect that it would be published. And he certainly never saw his essay as a step toward becoming the leader of the free world. It wasn’t even Keebler’s idea to write the essay; his mother had suggested it, after Keebler had finished one of his rants.
"The world is falling apart," Keebler had said, concluding his rant. "And all because people refuse to use their common sense."
"I’m not the one to talk to," Mrs. Keebler had replied, not looking up from her knitting. (She was knitting a grocery bag so that she wouldn’t have to take paper or plastic.) "Write a letter to the Journal Messenger. They might print it on the editorial page."
"Where it’ll be read by fifty people tops, Mother," Keebler told her. But he wrote it anyway, because he liked putting his thoughts on paper. And fifty people is, after all, fifty people. His brief letter to the editor read:
Dearest Consumers: It has come to my attention that, in ever increasing numbers, people are beginning to stray from our brand. Indeed, as our profits shrink, sales of Nabisco's vastly inferior cookies grow ever greater. We're left with no choice but to initiate a hostile takeover.
Then Keebler dashed off another quick letter:
To my dear cousin Elrond and my beloved aunt Galadriel: You may begin the assault at will."
Opening: Evil Editor.....Continuation: Rei
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Face-Lift 309
Guess the Plot
The Vember Mill
1. Grampa says hundreds of years ago they made a drink called cider here. Now it's where I come to meditate. To contemplate life. And to plan my revenge.
2. Jason has the most boring job ever, grinding pepper on people's salads. Then one afternoon in a curiosity shoppe he finds a small package of spice called vember. Now the female customers are throwing themselves at him, he makes more in tips than Trump, and the beautiful restaurant manager has given him Fridays off.
3. Max and Brad grind their coffee by hand in an antique mill Max got in Vember, Idaho. When the mill falls off the counter and breaks, revealing a secret treasure map, will they repair the appliance and resume their routine? Or will they follow the map to terrifying adventure . . . and romance?
4. Everyone in Rose Hill avoided the old, half-ruined Vember Mill. But when Karrie's dog Ralph chases a ball into the crumbling hulk, she follows--and discovers a portal to the ninth dimension.
5. As construction on his new mill nears completion, an evil miller makes plans to increase profits by enslaving the river spirits, forcing them to make water flow faster through his mill.
6. Forget the salt mines. Forget the rack. Forget the electrodes on the genitals. Evil Overlord Quarg has devised a more perfect form of torture . . . The Vember Mill.
Original Version
Please consider my 70,000 word YA novel, The Vember Mill. It is a modern rural fantasy about a boy who befriends a family of river spirits, and about the impending environmental catastrophe they face.
Preston can’t understand why people won’t just fix their own problems and get on with life. Everybody he knows is whining or sulking all the time, but Preston would never let himself feel like a victim. Maybe he doesn’t like the fact that he had to move away from his home and his school to live in Northern Utah surrounded by farms. Maybe he doesn’t like the way everyone avoids talking about his father’s death. But at least Preston isn’t sulking or whining.
Unfortunately, Preston’s own friends are sulkers, and they’re not even human. Corvery is a cornfield raven who worries about a mean shabby hound that went missing a long time ago, and seems to have returned. The Toll siblings are river spirits from the nearby hills, where an environmentally unsound mill is soon to be built. Everybody has a problem, but nobody is doing anything about it. Preston decides to change that. [That's two paragraphs just to introduce the setting and a few characters.]
But when he starts pushing them to take control of their lives, his friends learn that their problems run deeper than they thought. The miller plans to enslave the river spirits. They have a lot of power over their river, and he wants to use it to make water flow more quickly through his mill. He has profits and losses to consider, and if he wears out the spirits and turns a whole river to poison, so be it. Never mind the damage it will do to the Tolls, or the fact that the poisoned water will then flow down to the irrigation ditches used by farmers. To make matters worse, Corvery’s hound is on the miller’s side, and has gotten more vicious since the last time Corvery saw him. [Fortunately, Corvery has an ace up his sleeve: he knows how to fly.]
To fend off construction of the mill, Preston and his friends will need help from people who don’t want to solve their own problems, let alone somebody else’s. They’ll need help from Preston’s over-stressed stepfather, or from his depression-addled mother, or from the monstrous hawk that would rather eat Corvery than assist him. But the risks are acceptable. [Sure, they're acceptable--to Preston; he's not the one in danger of being eaten.] Preston is not willing to sulk away from a problem. [This whole thing is setting up the situation. The story, I assume, lies in the attempt to take down the miller. You never get to that part. What's their plan? What does the miller do to foil their plan? What's their new plan? Does anyone think to call in the EPA, which has strict laws against slavery?]
My short fiction has been published in paying markets, and this is my first novel. I look forward to hearing from you.
Revised Version
Preston Sturgess had to move to Northern Utah with his mom and his stepfather. He wasn't happy about it, but he's finally made some new friends, including a cornfield raven named Corvery and the Toll siblings, river spirits from the nearby hills. Okay, they're not human friends, but what do you expect? It's Utah.
A new mill is under construction, and the miller plans to enslave the river spirits. They have a lot of power over their river, and he wants to use it to make water flow more quickly through his mill. He has profits and losses to consider, and if he wears out the spirits and turns a whole river to poison, so be it. Never mind that the poisoned water will then flow down to the irrigation ditches used by farmers.
Preston isn't one to ignore a problem; he decides it's up to him to fend off construction of the mill. With help from his friends, he trains a giant hawk as a suicide bomber to blow up the mill. But the miller has allies too, an army of mercenary basset hounds who'll stop at nothing to destroy all life on the planet. Will team Preston survive to prevent an environmental catastrophe? Or will the state of Utah become a turbid cesspool of feculence, all because of . . . The Vember Mill?
The Vember Mill is a 70,000-word modern rural fantasy for a YA audience. My short fiction has been published in paying markets; this is my first novel. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Notes
This sounds like a book for a younger audience than YA. Teens may not flock to a book about a boy whose best friend is a crow.
Much of this is repetitive and general/vague. You keep saying people won't solve their own problems, won't take control of their lives, whine and sulk. Say it once, preferably specifying which people and problems you're talking about. Or leave it out entirely, as it's kind of boring.
It's not clear how it poisons the river if more water flows by. Presumably in times of melting snow or heavy rain there would be more water flowing--does this also cause pollution?
What's "vember"?
The dog may play a major role in the book, but it's not adding anything here.
If the miller plans to grind the farmers' grain, poisoning their water supply seems like bad business. It's like a company that sells bottled spring water building a plastic bottle factory that dumps chemical sludge into the lake they get the water from. Evil businessmen, like evil editors, are seldom complete idiots.
New Beginning 251
Doug Petrie hated Thursdays.
Every Thursday introduced a problem. Usually it was minor: a flat tire, a power outage, maybe a reprimand from his boss. Occasionally it was major, like getting dumped by his girlfriend. Catastrophes, such as his scholarship revocation, were, thankfully, rare.
He trudged along the sidewalk, his briefcase in one hand and take-out dinner in the other. His dark hair stuck to the nape of his neck, the evening sun beating on him. He tried to ignore the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his back and chest while trying to forget his day. He succeeded in doing neither.
Three miles ago his car broke down. It didn’t sputter out of gas. There was no chugging, no bucking, unlike the time it caught fire. It simply died, in the middle of an intersection. At rush hour.
While today was not a dismal, hide-and-wonder-why-the-universe-hated-him kind of day, it was firmly in the real problem category. He wiped the sweat from his face -- he thought he must smell like a rhinoceros in heat.
A big U-Haul truck rattled to a stop beside him, showering his loafers with grit. He dropped his take-out into the gutter. The driver shook his straggly blond hair out of his eyes and leaned over. “You need a ride?”
“No, I’m fine. Almost home. Bad day is all.”
“Bummer. TGIF, right?”
“Yeah, except it’s Thursday.”
The truck driver laughed. “No, man. It’s Friday. All day.” He waved and drove off.
Doug thought, Man, Fridays are really bad. He bent over to pick up his dinner. He never even heard the rhino coming up behind him.
Opening: Loose Screw.....Continuation: ril
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
The Next Line 24
“I can give you something that will warm you up and make you forget all about the cold, if you want,” Cross said quietly, watching me as we sat down.
“I’m always for something warm.” I looked at Cross. Nothing seemed to be happening. “Where is it? Don’t promise me something you don’t have.”
“Look down,” he said, turning his chair to sit directly in front of me, spreading his legs wide and closing them again as he drew his chair closer, so my legs were pressed between his.
The last clear memories I have of that night were the look and smell of Cross’s hands. He opened one hand for me as if he was showing me a magic trick hidden inside, and I saw a tiny fold of paper in his palm. With the tips of the fingers of his other hand, he picked up a small square and held it to my lips. I could smell his fingers as they brushed my skin. They smelled like soap. They were warm; they were long and soft and slender, and very pale.
“Open up for me. I promise you this will make you feel good.” And I opened up for him, and I took the paper on the center of my tongue, like the body of Christ at communion.
He held it there a moment--I shivered--and then he removed it. The taste was familiar, though I couldn't place it.
"Thanks," he said, pressing the square onto the corner of an envelope, "I need to get this query out before the last mail collection."
Dialogue: Robin Sinott.....The Next Line: Anonymous
“I’m always for something warm.” I looked at Cross. Nothing seemed to be happening. “Where is it? Don’t promise me something you don’t have.”
“Look down,” he said, turning his chair to sit directly in front of me, spreading his legs wide and closing them again as he drew his chair closer, so my legs were pressed between his.
The last clear memories I have of that night were the look and smell of Cross’s hands. He opened one hand for me as if he was showing me a magic trick hidden inside, and I saw a tiny fold of paper in his palm. With the tips of the fingers of his other hand, he picked up a small square and held it to my lips. I could smell his fingers as they brushed my skin. They smelled like soap. They were warm; they were long and soft and slender, and very pale.
“Open up for me. I promise you this will make you feel good.” And I opened up for him, and I took the paper on the center of my tongue, like the body of Christ at communion.
He held it there a moment--I shivered--and then he removed it. The taste was familiar, though I couldn't place it.
"Thanks," he said, pressing the square onto the corner of an envelope, "I need to get this query out before the last mail collection."
Dialogue: Robin Sinott.....The Next Line: Anonymous
Face-Lift 308
Guess the Plot
The Blue Gemstone
1. The Key Keepers use the Blue Gemstone to open the door to an alternate universe in which they meet Toots, who sends them to Alaska to recover another gemstone. But can they complete the mission without being captured by shape shifters and sacrificed to the god Zendu?
2. A pearl for Christmas, a ruby for Valentine's, and an emerald for her birthday. Sue's husband sure is spending hard to assure her that his cheating days are over. But will the sparkle of her Columbus Day sapphire blind her to his sudden increase in "business trips"?
3. Jeweler Rocco Testadura can sense the emotions of every stone that he sets, knowing that happy jewels make for happy customers. Can he find a way to cheer up the blue gemstone, before it drives a client to despair and suicide?
4. Mallory thinks that she has found the man of her dreams, until Bill's romantic moonlit proposal turns into Mallory's nightmare. A sapphire? What, is he kidding?
5. When Shannon starts work as a waitress in The Blue Gemstone, the swankiest restaurant in town, she has no idea she's really stumbled into a front for the werewolf crime lords known as the Lupens.
6. Career burglar Snarfi has just four days to steal The Blue Gemstone from the dragon Gryk'ka, or the evil emperor will kill Snarfi's mother. There's only one problem: Snarfi is colorblind. Stock characters include a rebellious princess, a buffoonish wizard, and a curmudgeonly dwarf. Also, a snake with legs.
Original Version
Dear Evil Editor,
I read on your blog that you represented a gem of wisdom, "Why You Don't Get Published," and I knew immediately that you were the editor for me. [Say no more. A contract will be in the mail within the hour.]
"The Blue Gemstone," is a Middle School Fantasy, complete at 71,000 words.
On the way home from a local swimming hole, cousins, Jake and Libby Marks, [Already I can tell this is going to be one of those quaint old-timey stories I love, the kind that bring back memories of reading Tom Sawyer.] meet an alien from an alternate universe. The alien, a member of a race of healers, gives the children a sapphire stone, a key that opens doors to other realities. [Oh well. I suppose if Mark Twain were alive today he'd be writing books like Huckleberry Finn XCII: The Shadow Creatures of Lorkha Tau.]
Intrigued, Jake and Libby visit the alien's world where they meet the Honorable Major Toots, the president of the healers. Toots explains that they are Key Keepers, and warns them to protect their gemstone from falling into the hands of the shape shifters. Then, Toots tells them that their great, great, great Grandpa Willie--who's supposed to be dead--is in trouble.
According to Toots, Willie is alive. [I inferred that from the previous sentence.] The shifters have stolen his gemstone, trapping him on a mirror world in Alaska. Jake and Libby must rescue Grandpa Willie, and recover his stolen stone. Toots gives the children two magic computers--the size of a cell phone--to help them.
Rescuing Grandpa is the easy part. [The hard part is reading the map of Alaska on the four-centimeter-square monitors that come with the computers. That and loading a 115-year-old guy onto a dogsled without breaking his hips.] Stealing the gemstone back from the shifters is another matter entirely.
At first, it was fun. An adventure. But Jake and Libby learn there is more at stake than Grandpa's gemstone. Maddas, the evil dictator of the shape shifters, ["Maddas" makes me think of a fabric; it would sound more like an evil dictator spelled backwards.] believes Jake and Libby are THE TWINS. [TWINS? But they're cousins! Identical cousins. And you can lose your mind . . . when cousins . . . are two of a kind.] He wants to kidnap the children, take them to Amusa, and sacrifice them to his god, Zendu.
[A paragraph on my two short story sales] [A sentence will do.]
Thank you in advance for reading my query,
Notes
It seems odd that the shape shifters would hole up in Alaska, given that they have access to numerous realities.
Do these kids have families who expect them home for dinner?
Is "Toots" pronounced like in, "Hey toots, need an editor for that book?" Or does it rhyme with "prostitutes"?
Gemstone is kind of general. You claim it's a sapphire, why not call it the mystic sapphire of Lorkha Tau, instead of the blue gemstone?
Not sure what a magical computer can do that a normal one can't, but if it's magic, it might as well be a magic cell phone or a magic acorn as a computer. In any case, I'd drop the magic computer, and rewrite everything after that. From there on it's a list of choppy sentences with little life. We need more than a series of events; make us care about the characters. There's a lot of fantastical stuff in the book, but maybe a bit less in the query would be better.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
The Next Line 23
Carina and Donovan are not lovers, although they will be later. Right now, they're just on a journey together, and he's been out all night.
From the cool way she appraised him, it was obvious she had been awake for awhile. "Where have you been?"
"Out."
"I can't believe you'd go out carousing when—"
"No, Carina. It wasn't like that."
She sat up, pulling the folds of the blanket around her. "Well, what else is one to think when a man stays out all night?"
"I had things I had to do."
"In the middle of the night in a strange town?" She reached for the new dressing robe lying across the chair by her bed. "That sounds like whores, cards and drinking to me."
"Not whores," Donovan assured her. "Absolutely not whores."
"So just cards and drinking."
"Yes." He sat down on his unused bed. "We were out of money, okay? I had to get us some more."
"By playing cards."
"You know that's how I get my money."
"I thought you just stole."
"Thanks a lot."
"So you don't steal?"
"Not always. Okay, so I picked a couple pockets, too. But most of the money I won."
"You picked the whores' pockets?"
"No, I didn't pick their pock--Shit!"
"So, you got wasted playing cards in some whorehouse, lost everything, ended up pick-pocketing, and got . . . what?"
Donovan looked sheepish. "You got any use for a half-dozen pineapple-flavored Trojans?"
Dialogue: bunnygirl.....The Next Line: Anonymous/ril
From the cool way she appraised him, it was obvious she had been awake for awhile. "Where have you been?"
"Out."
"I can't believe you'd go out carousing when—"
"No, Carina. It wasn't like that."
She sat up, pulling the folds of the blanket around her. "Well, what else is one to think when a man stays out all night?"
"I had things I had to do."
"In the middle of the night in a strange town?" She reached for the new dressing robe lying across the chair by her bed. "That sounds like whores, cards and drinking to me."
"Not whores," Donovan assured her. "Absolutely not whores."
"So just cards and drinking."
"Yes." He sat down on his unused bed. "We were out of money, okay? I had to get us some more."
"By playing cards."
"You know that's how I get my money."
"I thought you just stole."
"Thanks a lot."
"So you don't steal?"
"Not always. Okay, so I picked a couple pockets, too. But most of the money I won."
"You picked the whores' pockets?"
"No, I didn't pick their pock--Shit!"
"So, you got wasted playing cards in some whorehouse, lost everything, ended up pick-pocketing, and got . . . what?"
Donovan looked sheepish. "You got any use for a half-dozen pineapple-flavored Trojans?"
Dialogue: bunnygirl.....The Next Line: Anonymous/ril
Face-Lift 307
Guess the Plot
Sticks and Stones
1. Schoolboy Harris Whittle learns the hard way that you should never respond to name-calling with a phrase that gives the bully an idea.
2. The first book in my trilogy (to be followed by Broken Bones and Words Will Never Hurt Me) about spoiled, mean students and the misery they cause.
3. French Neanderthals debate whether or not it's time to take a break from sex and go ask what the neighbors are gathering all those weapons for. They decide it isn't.
4. What's that Neanderthal doing with the hand ax? Will Gupple ever make fire again? Would the volcano stop spewing fire if they quit tossing virgins in? Ergig must answer these questions, and more -- or his tribe won't make it through the Pleistocene.
5. Dale Green has never been a good private detective; he'd rather be at the track than on the case. But when favorite Sticks and Stones collapses and dies on the backstretch at Aqueduct, he realizes that the perp from one of his unsolved cases has returned.
6. When the levees break, the peasant cottages made of sticks are washed away, but so are the landlords' manors of stone. When the emperor tours the devastation but offers little help, the rich and poor must work side by side to rebuild their city. Along the way, they learn many things that just might lead to revolution.
Original Version
Dear [Agent],
I have read that you represent literature for young adults. I would like to ask you to consider representing my YA novel Sticks and Stones. Having read (Book You Rep), I feel you would be a good fit for my novel. Sticks and Stones is complete at roughly 70,000 words.
Evelyn Grant has had more crazy assignments for the George Washington Academy's school paper than she cares to recollect. Her latest? Infiltrate the Academy's secret society, The Rose and Thorns, and find out what they're up to. Evelyn thinks it's a waste of time and repeatedly refuses efforts made by Jack, her student editor, to talk her into it. That is until she becomes romantically involved with Scott Howard, one of the society members Jack tried to recruit Evelyn to spy on. Scott isn't the spoiled jerk Evelyn had assumed he was, but the more she gets to know his friends, the more she realizes that they are. [She refused to do the story when she thought everyone in the society was a spoiled jerk. Then she discovers Scott isn't a jerk, but the others are, and decides to do the story? I would expect some momentous discovery to change her mind. This is pretty much nothing.]
Evelyn has had to do a lot of strange things for stories before, [You keep saying that. Like what?] but she's never had to endure so much for those stories as she is to be with Scott. His friends are the 'it' crowd of their school, and they don't take kindly to outsiders, especially Evelyn. Evelyn has taken every opportunity to make their lives hard. [Explain.] It seems they remember this all too well. [How does one infiltrate a secret society? Walk into their secret meeting and announce that you want to join? Since "Evelyn has taken every opportunity to make their lives hard," why would they let her join? It would be like George Bush trying to infiltrate al Qaida:
GB: Who do I see about joining up?
AQ: You look familiar.
GB: Yeah, I get that a lot.
AQ: Wait, I've got it. Aren't you that guy who's been taking every opportunity to make our lives hard?
GB: Hey, I just do what Cheney tells me to do.]
As inconvenient as their attempts to drive her away are, she's sure she can hold her own against them. They may not like Evelyn and she may not have the designer clothes and sports cars they do, but she doesn't care. Scott doesn't seem to either, and that's what's important to Evelyn. [If Scott cared at all about her, he'd buy her a designer wardrobe and a Corvette.] They're going to have to do a whole lot better than dumping drinks on her, backhanding her, and pushing her in a pool if they think they can get Evelyn Grant to give up. [Finally some specifics. Up to here this paragraph (which begins up at "Evelyn has had...") was too general and wordy.] When Evelyn has a near miss with a sports car in a parking lot and the local police are less than helpful, she begins to investigate just what privileges the society members have been enjoying. The more she finds out the more she begins to suspect this might have something a little less to do with petty rivalries and more to do with deeply covered secrets that someone doesn't want exposed.
In all the secrets Evelyn digs up there is a story, one about secret traditions at the academy that Jack would love to print. Still, she hesitates to write the story. Evelyn likes Scott and while his friends are spoiled, mean, and get away with a lot, it's not like they're hurting anyone. Is it? Is the story really worth driving away Scott, someone she really cares about? When she discovers that the secret The Rose and Thorns have been working to hide involves their responsibility in hurting someone close to her, she knows she can't look away from the truth. Could Scott be more like his friends than Evelyn thought? Can Evelyn put aside her feeling for Scott and write the story she's been trying to avoid? [And if things are this bad in fifth grade, what's it going to be like in junior high?]
I am writer from western Michigan where I live with my fiancé and cat. [One of them has to go. Here's a chart to help you decide:
................................Cat.................Fiancé
Noises..................Purring........Snoring, farting
Batman
character
reminds me of.....Catwoman..........Joker
Totally devoted to.....Me..............Himself
Fave movie........The Lion King.....Porky's II
Spent last night...On my bed...In my sister's bed
Is like my char-......Likes me for......Won't buy me
acter Scott because.....who I am.......new car .]
Sticks and Stones is my first novel. It has not been seen by any editors. It could be sold as a stand alone novel, but ideally is part of a trilogy. The sequel entitled, Broken Bones, is in the first draft stage and the last book of series, Words Will Never Hurt Me, is in the planning stage. [Meaning I'm planning to write it some day.] My novel is ready to be emailed in partial or full should you choose to request it. Thank you very much for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Revised Version
I would like to ask you to consider representing my YA novel Sticks and Stones, complete at roughly 70,000 words.
Evelyn Grant is a reporter for George Washington Academy's school paper. Her latest assignment? Infiltrate the Academy's secret society, The Rose and Thorns, and find out what they're up to. But Evelyn is romantically involved with Scott Howard, one of the society members, and she doesn't want this assignment to drive Scott away.
Scott's friends in the society are the 'it' crowd at their school, and they don't take kindly to outsiders, especially one who's started snooping into their business. But they're going to have to do a lot worse than dumping drinks on Evelyn, backhanding her, and pushing her into a pool if they want her to stop. When she has a near miss with a sports car in the parking lot, she realizes she may be in over her head.
As Evelyn investigates just what privileges the society members have been enjoying, she begins to suspect they may be hiding something more serious than petty rivalries. She learns that the secret The Rose and Thorns have been hiding involves their responsibility in killing her best friend, Lorna Doone. Can Evelyn look away from the awful truth, or will she put aside her feelings for Scott and write the story she's been trying to avoid?
Sticks and Stones could be sold as a stand alone novel, but ideally is the first book in a series about Evelyn's adventures as an ace reporter. Thank you very much for your time.
Sincerely,
Notes
It was way too long, and didn't say much that isn't in the revised version.
Okay, they didn't actually kill Lorna, but if you don't tell us what they did do, we may think they spilled chocolate milk on her new jeans, and Evelyn's overreacting. Let's hope the book itself has more specificity.
What, exactly, is secret about the secret society? Everyone seems to know it exists and who's in it.
The Next Line 22
“I’m having a problem with bullies,” I said.
Mr. Wilson looked worried. The word “bullies” conjures up an image of testosterone-mad boys slamming you into a locker or cruel girls betraying your confidences. My bullies were a mix of eighth grade boys and girls, all one year younger and at least a foot shorter than I was. For bullies, they weren’t very intimidating.
“I can tell the principal,” Mr. Wilson said, “but it will be your word against theirs.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice, “Or, I could come out and catch them in the act. I can see the courtyard from the English office and I have that period free. Is that all right?”
“That would be great,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”
“If they’re with you, and I’m not coming out fast enough, if you don’t feel safe, just stand up and wave your arms like this.” He waved his arms over his head enthusiastically, having apparently decided that his lifeguarding experience was most applicable to my problem.
I nodded, thanked him sincerely, and turned to leave.
“Be careful,” he called after me. “Don’t go to the bathroom alone, in case they try to jump you.”
The next day, I was surrounded by English teachers. “Been conjugating any big verbs lately, smartass?” asked Mr. Van Horn.
“I saw what you did with that subjunctive,” added Ms. Taylor, "and it made me want to puke!”
Then Mr. Bradshaw grabbed me by the front of my jacket, slammed me against the flagpole, and said, “Diagram that, you little—”
I waved my arms wildly for Mr. Wilson, but then I spotted him--standing under the awning with the yearbook adviser, filming the whole thing.
Dialogue: Leah Libresco.....The Next Line: bunnygirl
Monday, April 02, 2007
New Beginning 250
Wet, moody gusts of wind tore against the brick walls outside as he crept down the stairway, brushing a cobweb from his face. It was such a steep passage most people would have stumbled and fallen in the near total darkness; but not him. He knew each step by heart, which ones creaked, where they creaked, and which steps would remain silent beneath his feet.
No one else knew this stairway existed. It was his secret pleasure in this ancient building with its warren of rooms and hallways. Rooms and hallways people loved for the yesteryear scent of wood and age as much, or nearly as much as he, and this pleased him. Some people still cared about the past, still held vestiges of days gone by, and this is what gave him hope. This allowed him to smile. This was his sanctuary, this storehouse of memories.
Nearing the bottom of the stairs, he ducked to avoid banging his head on a low ceiling. Once, after solidly knocking his head, his moan of pain had nearly given him away. Fortunately, it had been so long ago that most people had forgotten the tales regarding the “ghost of Gideon’s attic.”
He stepped off the last stair and followed the path, keeping close to the outside wall. He squeezed through the place where the passageway narrowed to barely wider than his body and stepped over the familiar hump in the floor. Now, he could hear voices. Voices? Down here, in the attic?
The passage took a sharp turn to the right and he could see light ahead. He held back in the shadows and listened.
“I’m sorry, Professor, it’s just not working out. That little bugger has been wandering around in there for three days and still hasn’t found the cheese. Your theory doesn’t hold water. I’m going to have to transfer the funding to Herpetology. And this little chap’s going to be python food.”
Gideon emerged into the light, wide-eyed, and stared up at the huge, orb-like faces peering down at him. “Did somebody mention cheese?” he said.
Opening: Lori Lapekes.....Continuation: Anonymous
Novel Deviations 2
I had enough pieces for the book a month ago, but by waiting I've been able to replace some of the weaker ones with funnier ones. At this point I think the overall quality is even better than volume 1. I still need some back-cover copy and an introduction--contributions welcome.
If you submitted an opening or continuation that is credited on the blog to "anonymous," and you want credit in the book, let me know. (This includes the three Miss Pettipants mysteries). True, you don't know if yours has been chosen for the book, but you can always ask.
Face-Lift 306
Guess the Plot
Empath's Lair
1. Interior decorator Claire Holloway can't decide whether to change professions or commit murder when her new client keeps saying, "It just doesn't feel right."
2. Psychic Sylvie Hughes prepares a seance for her most handsome client ever. Can she raise the ghost of Jack Tornado's great great great grandfather and convince him to reveal the location of his lost California goldmine?
3. Rookie elephant handler Kurt Howard travels to India to learn from The Empath, a legendary mystic who can read animals’ minds. But will a romantic entanglement with The Empath’s daughter ruin Kurt’s chances of achieving elephant-handling glory?
4. Belinda has always been a gifted psychic. When she finally realizes her dream of opening a metaphysical shop, she thinks her life is complete. But a new, discount psychic is moving into town, threatening to crush her fledgling business. What can Belinda do to save . . . Empath's Lair?
5. Mirella Glenmore isn't sure whether she should tell everyone she's an empath, or keep it to herself. Is it more fun to have a secret, or to be admired as someone special? When her uncle vows to exterminate all empaths, suddenly the answer is crystal clear.
6. Deep in the Earth's crust, scientists hell-bent on world domination are breeding the perfect weapon: an army of middle-aged women with obscenely large frontal lobes. The plan: hijack the pop-culture talk show machine on every major continent, bringing the world to its knees with irresistible hour-long cry sessions.
Original Version
Imagine that throughout your life you shared the emotions of everyone around you. [The first thing I'd do is quit my weekend job in the funeral home, and become a gigolo.] If a coworker broke up with her boyfriend, you felt her sadness. [On the other hand, I'd be uniquely positioned to comfort her in this time of need.] Every time your neighbor came home angry, you yelled at your spouse. Each day was like a roller coaster in the dark—you never knew what was coming next. [I would think an empath would have a better idea what was coming next than anyone else. For instance, if I was waiting in line to mail a package, and a disgruntled postal worker came in to shoot the place up, I would sense his anger and immediately hide behind the fattest person in line.] Now imagine that your uncle and his church were out to kill you.
Mirella Glenmore, daughter of the king, doesn't have to imagine it. She lives it every day. [Has she mentioned this to her father, the king? Because historically, kings have taken a dim view of those trying to kill their daughters, and kings do have access to armies, dungeons and guillotines.] She was born an empath, physically indistinguishable from everyone else, but able to sense their emotions in the same way others hear or see. [Through her ears and eyes?] Her uncle, the archbishop of a radical new church, has vowed to exterminate all empaths in the hopes of ending a terrible plague that is strangling all life from their homeland. [Is there a reason to believe killing empaths will end the plague?] When Mirella is betrayed and her secret gets out, it sets into motion a calamitous series of events that promises to change the balance of good and evil forever. [Is it desirable to maintain a balance of good and evil? Isn't reducing evil as much as possible a better idea?]
Empath's Lair (F--84,000wc) is the tale of a complicated world where nothing is as it seems. [Nothing?] Friends become foes, heroes become villains, and a sworn enemy becomes Mirella's most intimate lover.
I am a former journalist and book editor.
I have enclosed the first chapter. I have the full manuscript ready to send upon request. Thank you for your time. I hope to get the chance to discuss Empath's Lair with you in greater detail soon.
Notes
Killing all empaths would be difficult, as there's no way of knowing who's an empath, and the empaths can feel your murderous intent. You walk into a tavern, keeping your sword hidden behind your back, and it goes:
You: Are there any empaths in here? I need an empath for, um, an important and high-paying job. In fact, two or three empaths would be even better.
Bartender: Sorry, no empaths here. Shouldn't you be trying the tavern across the street?
You: Which one?
Bartender: The Empath's Lair.
This is brief enough as it is, but the first paragraph has nothing to do with the book. It merely explains what an empath is. The third sentence of the second paragraph explains this again. If you start out with: Mirella Glenmore, daughter of the king, is an empath, physically indistinguishable . . . you'll have lots of room to tell us about the plague and the calamitous events and the intimate lover.
Or, if you want to stick with a more casual tone, you could use one of these openings:
Mirella Glenmore thought being an empath was pretty cool, until her uncle embarked on a quest to exterminate all empaths.
Being an empath isn't all it's cracked up to be--especially when the church proclaims that all empaths must die at the hands of Borgo the Disemboweler.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Writing Exercise Results
Authors were to write scenes from novels based on fake plots.
Teen vampire Debbie Noogle explains her difficulties getting a date, getting a drink and getting a publisher.
1. Debbie stood outside La Toutou and peered in the window.
She pulled out her fake ID and walked to the door. The bouncer looked her up and down, especially up, as she was wearing her Victoria’s Secret Apex bra and the low cut top from Hot Girlz. He never did look at the ID, he just winked at her as she passed by.
The room smelled of big fat publishing success and Debbie knew all the players. She’d Googled them after reading Media Bistro’s email invitation to the party. But tonight there was only one player on her mind.
She coddled up to the bar next to Evil Editor. His eyes landed on the manuscript in her hand.
“I don’t take unsolicited material,” he said as he looked away from her.
Debbie smiled. “How about a drink then, big boy?” She gave a quick flash of her fangs as she stared at his neck.
Evil Editor looked back at her. “Uh sure, what you drinking?”
“Blood.”
“Another Bloody Mary for the pretty lady,” he called to the bartender.
“So you want to hook up?” she said as the bartender handed her a drink. “I know a little place around the corner where we can do it.”
Evil Editor’s eye grew big as waffles. “Do it? Shit! There’s no way in hell I’m going to edit your manuscript tonight.”
--Judy Gregerson
2. Debbie wanted to cry. Whenever she asked a boy out, it was the same. Her muscles strained as she lifted the body, Toby, into the movie theater dumpster. They always wanted to neck. She told them no. She would tell them she was serious and she would kill them if they got fresh. They never believed her.
"Goodbye Toby." She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the dumpster. Then she made a face and wiped her hand on her pants. "Ick."
It wasn't the boys that were the problem, it was the cats. Her worst fear was she would end up an alcoholic with thirty cats. Thirty cats was just giving up. Being drunk, she could handle. Not that she would be drinking anytime soon. She thought she looked mature in black makeup. The bars disagreed; every single one carded her. She badly needed a fake I.D.
Debbie had always considered alcoholism a viable lifestyle. The hypothesis was easily proven by her high school. Poe, Hemmingway, London, and Faulkner, so far they hadn't studied anyone in Mr. Estevez's Literature who enjoyed sobriety.
Estevez was a problem as well. He said he would proofread her short story a month ago. Every time she asked him about it, he said he would have to get back to her when he was not so busy. She needed that story to send out to magazines.
Actually, Mr. Estevez had given her story to the school counselor, thinking her a troubled child.
--Anonymous
Carol and Tim could never understand why their dinner guests always ran away screaming. Why didn't the guests just keep their eyes downcast, if it was so upsetting to see the mounted heads of Carol's deceased relatives?
1. My fingers slid over her cool, smooth skin, feathering the paint across the apples of her cheeks. Fingers are always better than a brush, more delicate, more sensitive. Especially this time. The hinges of the door sighed softly behind me. Tim. "Must you?"
Tiny specks of pale powder nestled in the downy hair that ran down the side of her face. I stroked them away with my fingertips, and then caressed the hair; softer than velvet, paler than sunlight.
Tim's breathing was out of place in this room; booming in my ears like the ocean. "Go," I said.
"But--"
"Just go."
The door sighed again, clicked and he was gone.
With a tiny brush pinched between my finger and thumb I combed through her lashes, dark and curling under her translucent blue eyelids. A doll's lashes. One of those sleepytime dolls that closes its eyes when you lay her down. This doll would never open her eyes. My breasts leaked sour milk on to my sweater and my belly, flopping loosely over my waistline, ached with emptiness.
--McKoala
2. Debbie looked down at her soup, certain that she had seen something move. She picked up her spoon and trawled through the viscous green liquid. It seemed clear enough.
“Everything all right, Debbie?” Tim smiled at her from the top of the table.
“Yes thanks. Fine.” She glanced around the table. The other guests didn’t seem worried. John had almost finished his already, his spoon scraping across the china as he scraped up the last dregs.
When Debbie caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, she was in time to see the ripple in the surface of the Asparagus and Lentil. A drip, then. She looked toward the ceiling, meeting the cold, dead eyes of Carol’s first husband, James. Another bead of putrescent fluid formed at the base of his severed neck and plummeted down to the oily surface of her soup.
She closed her eyes, fighting the bile that threatened to add more colour to the table and pushed her plate away.
“Not hungry, dear?” Carol enquired from the opposite end of the table. She followed Debbie’s nervous glance upward. “Oh don’t mind James. He’s always a bit of a drip when we put the heating on.”
“I’m sorry.” Debbie smiled hesitantly. “I can’t eat asparagus, it passes through me too quickly.”
“Never mind.” Carol picked up her wine glass. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the main course. It’s liver, courtesy of my late husband Peter.”
--Rachel Green
Teen vampire Debbie Noogle explains her difficulties getting a date, getting a drink and getting a publisher.
1. Debbie stood outside La Toutou and peered in the window.
She pulled out her fake ID and walked to the door. The bouncer looked her up and down, especially up, as she was wearing her Victoria’s Secret Apex bra and the low cut top from Hot Girlz. He never did look at the ID, he just winked at her as she passed by.
The room smelled of big fat publishing success and Debbie knew all the players. She’d Googled them after reading Media Bistro’s email invitation to the party. But tonight there was only one player on her mind.
She coddled up to the bar next to Evil Editor. His eyes landed on the manuscript in her hand.
“I don’t take unsolicited material,” he said as he looked away from her.
Debbie smiled. “How about a drink then, big boy?” She gave a quick flash of her fangs as she stared at his neck.
Evil Editor looked back at her. “Uh sure, what you drinking?”
“Blood.”
“Another Bloody Mary for the pretty lady,” he called to the bartender.
“So you want to hook up?” she said as the bartender handed her a drink. “I know a little place around the corner where we can do it.”
Evil Editor’s eye grew big as waffles. “Do it? Shit! There’s no way in hell I’m going to edit your manuscript tonight.”
--Judy Gregerson
2. Debbie wanted to cry. Whenever she asked a boy out, it was the same. Her muscles strained as she lifted the body, Toby, into the movie theater dumpster. They always wanted to neck. She told them no. She would tell them she was serious and she would kill them if they got fresh. They never believed her.
"Goodbye Toby." She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the dumpster. Then she made a face and wiped her hand on her pants. "Ick."
It wasn't the boys that were the problem, it was the cats. Her worst fear was she would end up an alcoholic with thirty cats. Thirty cats was just giving up. Being drunk, she could handle. Not that she would be drinking anytime soon. She thought she looked mature in black makeup. The bars disagreed; every single one carded her. She badly needed a fake I.D.
Debbie had always considered alcoholism a viable lifestyle. The hypothesis was easily proven by her high school. Poe, Hemmingway, London, and Faulkner, so far they hadn't studied anyone in Mr. Estevez's Literature who enjoyed sobriety.
Estevez was a problem as well. He said he would proofread her short story a month ago. Every time she asked him about it, he said he would have to get back to her when he was not so busy. She needed that story to send out to magazines.
Actually, Mr. Estevez had given her story to the school counselor, thinking her a troubled child.
--Anonymous
Carol and Tim could never understand why their dinner guests always ran away screaming. Why didn't the guests just keep their eyes downcast, if it was so upsetting to see the mounted heads of Carol's deceased relatives?
1. My fingers slid over her cool, smooth skin, feathering the paint across the apples of her cheeks. Fingers are always better than a brush, more delicate, more sensitive. Especially this time. The hinges of the door sighed softly behind me. Tim. "Must you?"
Tiny specks of pale powder nestled in the downy hair that ran down the side of her face. I stroked them away with my fingertips, and then caressed the hair; softer than velvet, paler than sunlight.
Tim's breathing was out of place in this room; booming in my ears like the ocean. "Go," I said.
"But--"
"Just go."
The door sighed again, clicked and he was gone.
With a tiny brush pinched between my finger and thumb I combed through her lashes, dark and curling under her translucent blue eyelids. A doll's lashes. One of those sleepytime dolls that closes its eyes when you lay her down. This doll would never open her eyes. My breasts leaked sour milk on to my sweater and my belly, flopping loosely over my waistline, ached with emptiness.
--McKoala
2. Debbie looked down at her soup, certain that she had seen something move. She picked up her spoon and trawled through the viscous green liquid. It seemed clear enough.
“Everything all right, Debbie?” Tim smiled at her from the top of the table.
“Yes thanks. Fine.” She glanced around the table. The other guests didn’t seem worried. John had almost finished his already, his spoon scraping across the china as he scraped up the last dregs.
When Debbie caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, she was in time to see the ripple in the surface of the Asparagus and Lentil. A drip, then. She looked toward the ceiling, meeting the cold, dead eyes of Carol’s first husband, James. Another bead of putrescent fluid formed at the base of his severed neck and plummeted down to the oily surface of her soup.
She closed her eyes, fighting the bile that threatened to add more colour to the table and pushed her plate away.
“Not hungry, dear?” Carol enquired from the opposite end of the table. She followed Debbie’s nervous glance upward. “Oh don’t mind James. He’s always a bit of a drip when we put the heating on.”
“I’m sorry.” Debbie smiled hesitantly. “I can’t eat asparagus, it passes through me too quickly.”
“Never mind.” Carol picked up her wine glass. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the main course. It’s liver, courtesy of my late husband Peter.”
--Rachel Green
Q & A 107 Poetic Prose?
I refer to my MS as a literary novel. Just the other nite I was perusing my Usage and Abusage and came upon the entry "poetic prose". (Poe and G.K. Chesterton) Well Hot Damn, that fits me perfectly. The question is: should I, in future queries, refer to my novel as a possible candidate for the genre poetic prose?
1. Did you happen to notice whether you were in the usage section of the book, or the abusage section when you discovered this term?
2. Of course, it is better than saying you write prosaic poetry.
3. Mr. Poe still sells more books every year than anyone who writes like he did.
Authors don't get to declare what kind of prose they write. (Those who try look like idiots, because they're invariably wrong.) That's a job for critics, agents, and the people who make up the lies that go on the backs of books. Apparently you're unhappy with calling your book literary fiction. Don't be. Literary doesn't mean it's literature; it just means it's boring. My advice: add some sharks and a wolfman, and call it commercial fiction.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
24-hour Writing Exercise
Write a scene from a novel based on one of the following plots. 250 words max, deadline Sunday, 1:15 p.m. Eastern time.
1. Lucia is never going to get her cookbook entry completed in time - without a chrono-spell. Is a Betty Crocker Bake-Off Award worth destroying the fabric of time?
2. Carol and Tim could never understand why their dinner guests always ran away screaming. Why didn't the guests just keep their eyes downcast, if it was so upsetting to see the mounted heads of Carol's deceased relatives?
3. Megan and Kylie hate their freshman year of high school--until they start stealing clothes from the girls' locker room and selling them on eBay. But things get sticky when the IRS comes snooping around.
4. Teen vampire Debbie Noogle explains her difficulties getting a date, getting a drink and getting a publisher.
The Next Line 21
Background: When the motorcycle ran out of gas, ending up in a pile of dirt by the side of the road seemed funny, at first.
Each time Vince looked at me, everything got funnier, until I finally threw myself face-down into the dirt so I wouldn’t have to look at him. I had almost gotten myself under control, when Vince patted my shoulder, then tipped my face toward his and began wiping the streaks of mud off my cheeks.
And then he kissed me.
That stopped my giggles quick. I jumped to my feet and began brushing myself off. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
I couldn’t think of a good reason, so I gave him the first that came to mind. “I’m married.”
“Where’s your husband?”
“I don’t know.”
“He left a pretty girl like you?”
“I’m not pretty. And no, he didn’t leave me. I left him.”
“Then it shouldn’t matter if—”
“No,” I told him. “It’s complicated. Please don’t ask me to explain.”
We both looked in silence at the no longer brand-spanking-new Harley. He sighed and gazed at me with disappointed puppy eyes, and said, "I suppose, Mrs. Williams, this means you won't be buying the bike after all?"
Dialogue: bunnygirl.....The Next Line: ril
Friday, March 30, 2007
Q & A 106
How do you know if you’ve developed a strong and distinctive voice in your writing, or if the voice you’ve worked to develop and place with such care on the pages you’ve written, well, simply sucks very large eggs?
You know – like the bloated, pickled eggs that sit in large jars in corner bars in run-down urban pioneer areas of town. The kinds of bars that seem really cool when you’re young and you like to listen to the people on the barstools in those bars talking, solving the world’s problems by the seats of their pants. Cause what they have to say seems so refreshingly candid. So real. Then you go back years later, and the same people are still sitting there solving the latest world problems with the same shtick solutions. And the eggs in the jars look like they may be the same ones as well, except maybe they’re a tad greener. Those eggs. They’re distinctive in taste, all right, but who really wants to eat one?
In short, how do you know if the voice in your writing works? If it’s distinctive in a good way, and not a bad, egg-like way?
I recommend opening a Waffle House franchise. Note how many people eat all their eggs, how many try to spice them up with hot sauce, and how many leave them on their plates. If the eggs are rotten, the customers will let you know.
Oh, and if this question is breakfast, I'd say the eggs are done just right.
The Next Line 20
Two sisters are talking over the phone while the elder, Mike, gives her toddler daughter a bath.
Gabe grunted, and Mike could almost see her scowling and crossing her arms. "You are impossible. Why did I call you again?"
"Because I know everything. You're either worried that you're getting attached to someone you can't have, or you're panicking because you're afraid of risking your precious independence by letting this guy stay with you a couple of weekends a month. Right?"
Silence. She folded Ivy into her pajamas, then sat her on the closed toilet lid to brush out the mess of curls while they were still wet and manageable.
"How do you do that?"
"How long have I known you, kiddo?"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in."
She smiled, the expression turning into a grin when her little girl bared all of her new teeth in return."
Gabe, I'm going to give you a piece of advice. I learned it the hard way, and I have no doubt that you will ignore it and learn it the hard way yourself, but I feel obliged to tell you anyway. Ready?"
"Get on with it."
"The more you fight against something, the more it crushes you when it wins."
"That's . . . damn depressing, Sis."
"Well, I think both of us should know it by now, being two women named Mike and Gabe. By the way, Debbie just got back from his Chippendale's gig, so I gotta go."
Dialogue: Gutterball.....The Next Line: Pacatrue
Gabe grunted, and Mike could almost see her scowling and crossing her arms. "You are impossible. Why did I call you again?"
"Because I know everything. You're either worried that you're getting attached to someone you can't have, or you're panicking because you're afraid of risking your precious independence by letting this guy stay with you a couple of weekends a month. Right?"
Silence. She folded Ivy into her pajamas, then sat her on the closed toilet lid to brush out the mess of curls while they were still wet and manageable.
"How do you do that?"
"How long have I known you, kiddo?"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in."
She smiled, the expression turning into a grin when her little girl bared all of her new teeth in return."
Gabe, I'm going to give you a piece of advice. I learned it the hard way, and I have no doubt that you will ignore it and learn it the hard way yourself, but I feel obliged to tell you anyway. Ready?"
"Get on with it."
"The more you fight against something, the more it crushes you when it wins."
"That's . . . damn depressing, Sis."
"Well, I think both of us should know it by now, being two women named Mike and Gabe. By the way, Debbie just got back from his Chippendale's gig, so I gotta go."
Dialogue: Gutterball.....The Next Line: Pacatrue
Face-Lift 305
Guess the Plot
The Theft of the Daidanna Dankenka Maru
1. An animal trainer, a schoolteacher and an astronaut steal Earth's first starship in order to escape the Earth's pollution and recreate Earth's biosphere on another planet. Also, a suicidal whale.
2. Dundenna Kantawanna momo dinteka wantana. Maima ratwonu titi kenka ma kenku, danna mianta Maru. Also, a vampire.
3. Alex, a two-bit street thief, determines to join the ranks of the master thieves by stealing the Daidanna Dankenka Maru, the most often stolen artifact in the world. Now, he just has to figure out two things: where it is, and what it is.
4. By the time Tony "The Stutterer" Calabrese has finished explaining the intricate details of the heist to his street crew, the cops are on to his scheme and he's on the run. Next time, he'll just rob a bank and forget about the Daidanna Dankenka Maru.
5. Police Chief Jake Martin is having no problem tracking the stolen masterpiece, the Daidanna Dankenka Maru. It's filling out the police report that's so difficult.
6. When a new Virginia class attack sub is christened USS Daidanna Dankenka Maru, some of the higher ups in the Pentagon have a conniption fit. Now it’s up to Black Ops Specialist Trick Lambert to do the one thing more difficult than pronouncing it: steal it, and send it to Davy Jones’ locker. Also, an autistic Chinese deli worker.
Original Version
Dear Mr. Editor;
Information on the Internet says you like smart, quirky science fiction, and literary writing on environmental issues. Please consider representing my 122,200-word hard/soft/ [Is this a book or a boiled egg?] literary sci-fi novel (think of Kim Stanley Robinson's work), [I tried. I spent ten minutes thinking of Kim Stanley Robinson's work, only to realize I was actually thinking of Spider Robinson; I blame it on you for calling it quirky.] The Theft of the Daidanna Dankenka Maru (DDM), in which learning to talk with orcas drives a scientist, an animal trainer, a schoolteacher and an astronaut to steal earth's first crude attempt at a starship.
2050: After ten years in captivity, Sam, a Sea-World show orca, [realizes he can no longer reach the splash zone. In a fit of depression, he] tries to suicide. His trainer, Zachary Qualar, saves him and takes him home, [Fortunately, Zack drives a 50-foot limo jacked up on earth-mover tires.] to Robson Bight on Vancouver Island. Zack and cetologist Joshua Mason rehabilitate Sam, and hire Native American schoolteacher Amy Blackstone, talented in linguistics, to help decipher his language. Amy has a secret: she's an empath, preternaturally sensitive to others' emotions. She connects, empathically then telepathically, with Sam and his father, A50, his tribe's historian, and together they write a computer program [Just to be sure I've got this straight, the orca's father is named A50, and he's a historian and he helps write a computer program?] that translates Orca to English. [At last they will know what Sam is trying to say. They jack him into the computer system and hear:
Fish again?! Can't you get me a nice tender elephant seal? Tandoori-style. No cilantro, it gives me hives. And would it kill you to spring for HBO so I could watch The Sopranos? Christ, I get sick of Animal Planet. Oh, and one more thing: there aren't any broads in this bight. I'm a mammal, not a fish. Get an orca babe in here fast, 'cause that empath chick is starting to look good to me. And what the hell's a bight, anyway?]
The "Robson Bight Crew" sets up a hospital to treat sick and injured cetaceans. Treating an orca who has miscarried, they learn that the oceans are so polluted the whales can no longer reproduce. Global warming threatens a new ice age, another species goes extinct every hour, and ethnic cleansing in the Balkans threatens nuclear war. [They learn all this while treating an orca that miscarried?] Learning of this, A50 demands their help. Using the translation program, he writes a book exposing the minds and souls of orcas and asking that humans recognize the orcas' right to a tolerable planet. [Unfortunately, he can't interest an agent, and is forced to go with PublishAmerica.] His book is derided as fiction. [Unbelievable. A whale manages to write a book, and the critics pan it.]
Joshua's friend, Jeddidiah Jay, was an astronaut until a jet crash ended his career; now his aerospace engineering firm builds space vehicles and mines the asteroid belt. A sociopathic assassin on call to the CIA sabotages and spies on his company, and corrupt politicians force him to license his spaceship designs to competitors. Then a drunk driver kills his young family. Embittered, Jay plots with his Robson Bight friends to steal the Daidanna Dankenka Maru, earth's first starship, which the government is forcing him to build. He recruits 100 people from among his asteroid miners, and twelve dolphins; they raid a "frozen zoo" for genetic material to recreate earth's biosphere on a new planet, steal the ship, and on Christmas Morning, 2060, leave earth forever. [Some people go into therapy when their lives are going bad; others recruit dolphins and steal a starship.]
I have a degree in Journalism; I've written for and edited magazines and NPR broadcast copy. I spent years researching whales and dolphins and the Kwakwaka' wakw [Anagram of Waka Waka Waka, the noise Pac-Man makes.] natives of British Columbia, because I believe that the best sci-fi does not stray far from reality. My protagonists' motivation is the mass extinction event we humans are currently causing. [Except for Jeddidiah, whose motivation is revenge on The Man.] I am a science junkie, and the chapter-opening newspaper articles with which I detail the destruction of the environment are frighteningly real. [End of query. If I'm still on the fence at this point, the rest isn't going to push me in any direction you're hoping for.] You will love the depth of my characterization, my evocation of setting and emotion. And DDM (my third unpublished book) tells the story of the main plot point of my second, completed and polished sci-fi novel, which [tells the story of the main plot point of my first completed and polished sci-fi novel, which tells the story of the main plot point of Star Trek IV: the Voyage Home.] I will tell you about when you're ready.
Thank you for your time and help, Mr. EE. I hope to hear from you soon.
Notes
What whale would name its kid A50?
I've heard of pods and schools. Do whales also come in tribes?
Wouldn't it be better if Sam wrote the book? Sam seems to drop out once they dump him in the bight.
It's too long. Does the query need Sam at all? It could begin with the crew setting up a facility to study whale communication at Robson Bight. We also don't need Jeddidiah's life story.
I don't care if Jay's company is building it; it can't be easy to steal Earth's first starship. Could the head of NASA make off with a space shuttle? Probably not. And a starship is much bigger; heck, the holodeck alone is bigger than a space shuttle.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
New Beginning 249
1929
As far as Maevis Daily was concerned, the Crash certainly did cause the Depression. Whenever she heard the phrase "the Crash" and thought back to that sunny, Saturday afternoon, she flipped through the mental images of falling bodies, flying $20 bills landing on the dusty road and the echos of drunken giggles floating out of the cool dimness of a huge Cadillac, she knew most people were referring to a different event, something that happened in New York City. But Maevis thought her Crash had affected her life more than the other one and substituting "Bailey Market Crash" for "Stock Market Crash" had only led to minimal confusion throughout her life. And as for the Depression, Maevis would be first to say that she struggled with it long after the 1930s. In fact, significant episodes of depression and mania pestered her life long.
“Mrs. Daily?”
Her hands were mottled with liver spots. Her hair was completely white now, not the stunning auburn that had had all the sons of farmers panting on dance night. She shed a tear for those forgotten foxtrots. Outside the window, the modern world went by: children playing on the sidewalk, young lovers arm in arm, the latest fashions in the shop window across the road. Not that she could see so clearly any more; her eyes were so sensitive to the light.
“The light, Mrs. Daily. It's green.”
A car horn tooted and she glanced behind. Bastard. She threw the Caddy into reverse and slammed into the little Chevrolet, showering the sidewalk with glass.
“Jesus!”
She started to giggle as she pulled her hip flask out of her purse. It was almost as exhilarating as ramming the Bailey Market in ’29, or that Mercury in ’42, or that fruit stand in ’54 . . . Hell, what else was a driving license good for at her age?
Opening: ME.....Continuation: ril
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Face-Lift 304
Guess the Plot
The Nature of Santa Cruz
1. Well, it's near the beach and there's nice sidewalks, but there are a lot of college kids and it sort of rains a lot.
2. Trees and stones take human form to wage a secret war in Santa Cruz. 15-year-old Cassie has the ability to bridge the gap between man and nature, tipping the balance of power. But will her mom let her go into the woods by herself?
3. Like mother, like daughter, knows Professor Irons. It's no surprise when young Jade flees the mundanity of Peoria for the glamour of the West Coast. But when she falls into the company of communal hydroponic farmers, it's up to the Professor to rescue her, before she succumbs to . . . The Nature of Santa Cruz.
4. When “undocumented worker” Carlos Cruz shows up at the day labor pool on Christmas Eve, the only guy offering work is a pequeno duende with bells on his shoes. Driving the sleigh is no problem, but will Christmas be ruined when Carlos has to take a leak at 30,000 feet? The kid who asked for the jar of marbles will probably think so.
5. Sasha, a young ecologist, fights to protect the endangered wildlife refuge near her Santa Cruz home. Things heat up, however, when she meets Don, a hunky land developer who claims to have a heart for the environment. Will Sasha have to choose between her newfound love and . . . The Nature of Santa Cruz?
6. Hot tubs, hot bikinis, and hot days on the boardwalk don't convince Marvin he's seen the real Santa Cruz. Join Marvin for a walk amid the downtrodden--migrant workers, homeless runaways, and Internet porn slaves--and learn that even these forgotten souls can cry, laugh, and love.
Original Version
Dear Evil Editor,
I am looking for representation for my young adult fantasy novel, The Nature of Santa Cruz (100,000 words).
Don't talk to strangers. Stay with the group. Listen to your mother. Fifteen-year-old Cassie Ravenssen knows all the rules. In the next three months she'll break every one of them. [She'll even run with scissors.] The Nature of Santa Cruz is the story of a girl growing up, a mother facing her past, and a world about to slip into war.
Cassie hates living on the run. The frequent moves, the fake names, and the non-stop lies leave her aching for a normal existence. [You might want to mention why she's living on the run.] Her mother's over-the-top restrictions make it impossible for her to have any fun, so when a letter arrives and they head for the west coast, Cassie hopes things are finally going to change. [What's in the letter? What makes her think things might change?]
But Santa Cruz hides mysteries Cassie can't leave alone, and her search for explanations takes her way out of bounds. Who is setting fires around town? Why are there soldiers in the woods? And since when are Australians the enemy? [Since they started training kangaroos as suicide bombers.] Her new friends Stan and Hawk hold the answers. When they introduce her to their charismatic leader, Jay, Cassie knows she wants to join the shadowy Western Forest Authority on its environmental mission. [What's their mission?]
Stan, Hawk, and Jay don't just defend the natural world, however; they are part of it – Arborei and Stannen – trees and stones turned human to wage a secret war. It is no accident Cassie has come to Santa Cruz. Someone wants her there and someone else wants her dead, for Cassie is a hybrid who can bridge the gap between man and nature, a weapon that can tip the balance of power forever. [Does she know she's a weapon? Is she always on the run because she's a hybrid? Was the letter that brought her to Santa Cruz written by a human or a tree?]
If only she'd listened to her mother. Once her cover is blown and Jay knows who she is, Cassie's thrilled to be accepted into the Arborei. But the Stannen have her mom, Jay has a plan for Cassie, and she'll soon learn no one's on her side. [She can't even go to the cops:
Cassie: My mother's been kidnaped.
Officer: By whom?
Cassie: The stones.
Officer: The stones? You mean the Rolling Stones?
Cassie: No, age-old rock-people who never die.
Officer: That's what I said. The Rolling Stones.]
The Nature of Santa Cruz is the first in the Tipping Point series; one of four novels that follow Cassie as nature goes to war. Uniquely placed between man and the environment, ["Uniquely," meaning she's the only hybrid?] she'll raise her own army, fight her own battles, and forge a brand new path to peace.
Notes
Maybe it's just me, but mentioning that Cassie's a hybrid and her friends used to be rocks and trees might be done earlier. Perhaps in an introductory paragraph. As it is, it's kind of a "Whoa!" moment. If I'm reading about a world in which rocks and trees turn into teenagers, I want to know it up front. The current introductory paragraph can be dumped. Her mother's rules aren't that intriguing, and certainly aren't what I'd call "over-the-top restrictions."
Are the bad guys the soldiers or the stones and trees?
I'm more interested in the answers to some of my questions than in the questions about fires and Australians.
The book is the story of a girl growing up, a mother facing her past, and a world about to slip into war. It might be better if the query focused on one of these. We know nothing of the mother's past, little about the trials of Cassie's growing up, and the war seems more local than world-encompassing. Focus on the aspect most likely to appeal to the target audience. Is it mainly a story about trying to fit in in a new town and school when there's lots of weird stuff going on? Or is it mainly about The Chosen One trying to defeat the forces of evil who are out to destroy goodness and light?
The Next Line 19
I had an instinct that I was being set up, which is why I came to the cabin through the swamp. The ID had been blocked when the call came in. I didn’t think much about it at the time.
“Chuck Brody.”
“Hello, Mr. Brody. Pay attention. I’ve got some information regarding the case you’re working on.”
“Which case? I have several,” I lied.
“The lady.”
“Care to be more specific?”
“Golden.”
“What kind of information?”
“Information you want to have,” he said, and something made me think Boston.
“Why don’t you just tell it to me over the phone?”
“Look, you want the information, you do it my way.”
“Who is this?”
“That’s not important. Just understand this is information you’ll want to have, and it’s urgent.” He gave me directions to the shack.
“When?”
“As soon as you can get there.”
“Why do we have to meet eight miles from nowhere?”
“You’ll understand when you get there.”
“I need a better reason than that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Get up,” said the voice belonging to the man who’d slammed me with something in the back of my head just as I’d reached the clearing near the cabin; my instincts had been right on target. “Up, Chuck. Now!”
I fingered the throbbing bulge on the back of my skull, lifted my face up out of the weeds, and hurled on his Hush Puppies, obliging him.
Dialogue: Wonderwood.....The Next Line: Robin Sinnott
“Chuck Brody.”
“Hello, Mr. Brody. Pay attention. I’ve got some information regarding the case you’re working on.”
“Which case? I have several,” I lied.
“The lady.”
“Care to be more specific?”
“Golden.”
“What kind of information?”
“Information you want to have,” he said, and something made me think Boston.
“Why don’t you just tell it to me over the phone?”
“Look, you want the information, you do it my way.”
“Who is this?”
“That’s not important. Just understand this is information you’ll want to have, and it’s urgent.” He gave me directions to the shack.
“When?”
“As soon as you can get there.”
“Why do we have to meet eight miles from nowhere?”
“You’ll understand when you get there.”
“I need a better reason than that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Get up,” said the voice belonging to the man who’d slammed me with something in the back of my head just as I’d reached the clearing near the cabin; my instincts had been right on target. “Up, Chuck. Now!”
I fingered the throbbing bulge on the back of my skull, lifted my face up out of the weeds, and hurled on his Hush Puppies, obliging him.
Dialogue: Wonderwood.....The Next Line: Robin Sinnott
New Beginning 248
If days were trains, this one would have been lying on its side at the bottom of a ravine. If the old man holding up the line at Yuri’s checkpoint wouldn’t shut up and pay his fee, she thought, it’d take an act of God to stop her from shoving his frilly collar down his throat.
Morning sunlight peered through the cracks of the old checkpoint booth -- a cutaway shack the size of an outhouse, without the comfort of a seat. Yuri struggled to keep the semblance of a smile on her face as the queue built up to the horizon.
"That's forty percent more than last week!” The man glowered. “Does the dear king of the Aya need a new palace? Or perhaps one for his dog?"
"Sir: I have no influence over the pricing policy," Yuri mumbled. “Just like the last five times you complained.”
"Getting snippy with the customers, eh?" The old man sneered and then expertly disemboweled her. There'll be less of that, he thought, now that the king of the Aya has employed the services of the Guild of Ruthless Secret Shoppers.
Opening: Karen.....Continuation: Paul Penna
New Beginning 247
“Because you can see that, can’t you, honey?” she said in her quick, nervous voice. My aunt, a woman with big, swollen, thyroid eyes and a propensity for wearing striped shirt-waisted dresses, a childless aunt-by-marriage who rattled on relentlessly about things I knew I never wanted to know, patiently and insistently explained why the name Eileen had to be spelled Ilene.
“If it starts with an E the name has to be pronounced with the sound of an E, the full sound, you know, like the word E-ven.” The Oxford English Women’s First Names Pronunciation Committee had moved its headquarters to the middle of American nowhere, and was in fact chaired by this woman who had barely managed to finish high school. Or so I'd been told - about the high school part, anyway.
She, the aunt with the logic flow of a turnip, knelt down, looked my small self dead in the eyes and asked me again, to make sure I understood. “You can see that, can’t you?”
“Why, yes,” I said, knowing and accepting I was trapped here for the time being, and counting the minutes until I was picked up. I figured maybe I had ten to go. “I can.”
It was too much; I couldn’t stand it. I reached for Auntie’s dictionary -- I loved dictionaries and the way my finger fit into the lettered thumbholes down the edge. I flipped it open to “E” and flicked the pages looking for Eileen. Strange: not there. Out of curiosity I turned to “I.” There was Ilene! Odd. I started to shuffle through the pages: Filossofer; Krissmuss; Oksfird . . . What the . . . ? This didn’t make any sense. I closed the book and looked at the front. Eevul Edditters Dikshunery.
Krapp, I thought. Dat figgers.
Opening: Robin S......Continuation: Anonymous
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