New Beginning 155

When I was four years old, I fell in love with Dana Meyer's fingernails.

I can still picture them today: delicate half-moons peeking coyly over the smooth horizon of his cuticles, directing the eye up toward serene white ridges that capped his fingertips like far-off mountain peaks.

In all the nursery school, there was not one hand that could compare to Dana's fastidious manicure; even the teacher's nails were thick with grit by the end of a day spent clawing through the sandbox for lost toys. As for the rest of us, we were what you would expect from a normal class of pre-schoolers: snotty and scabby and tousled and frayed, dressed as haphazardly as our parents would allow, gloriously unselfconscious in our filth. But Dana was always perfectly, meticulously put together; an oasis of clean and calm amid the messiness of common toddlerhood. Over the course of that year, I cultivated a growing obsession with Dana Meyer's compulsive sense of hygiene.

Before lunch, I would follow Dana into the bathroom and be sure to take the sink next to his and watch him lather, scrub and rinse his hands, using one nail to force the soapy water beneath another.

In art class, while the other kids were finger-painting big, yellow suns and happy, smiling families, my crayon would be tracing the delicate arc of Dana’s lunula. We became best friends; we had a special bond, as strong as the hyponychium. And when I was invited to his house, I would secretly search in his trash or under his bed for clippings to add to my collection.

Yes, even then, at that tender age, I knew some day those perfect fingernails would be mine.

Sit still, Dana Meyer, and don’t say a word. I promise you this will be quick. After the first one or two, you won’t feel a thing.


Opening: AIR.....Continuation: ril

Old Beginnings 19

1. Like everyone, I am born naked.

I do not refer to my actual birth, mercifully hidden in the silk folds of memory, but to my birth as a citizen of France citoyenne, they would say. Having shed all my clothing, I stand in a room on an island in the middle of the Rhine River naked. My bare feet occupy for this moment a spot considered to be neutral between beloved Austria and France. The sky blue silk of my discarded skirt wreathes my ankles, and I fancy I am standing bare footed in a puddle of pretty water.

My chest is as flat as a shield, marked only by two pink rosebuds of nipples. I refuse to be afraid. In the months since I became fourteen, I've watched these pleasant rosebuds becomeing a bit plump and pinker. Now the fingers and hands of my attendants are stretching toward my neck to remove a smooth circlet of Austrian pearls.


2. I could hear a roll of muffled drums. But I could see nothing but the lacing on the bodice of the lady standing in front of me, blocking my view of the scaffold. I had been at this court for more than a year and attended hundreds of festivities; but never before one like this.

By stepping to one side a little and craning my neck, I could see the condemned man, accompanied by his priest, walk slowly from the Tower toward the green where the wooden platform was waiting, the block of wood placed center stage, the executioner dressed all ready for work in his shirtsleeves with a black hood over his head. It looked more like a masque than a real event, and I watched it as if it were a court entertainment. The king, seated on his throne, looked distracted, as if he was running through his speech of forgiveness in his head. Behind him stood my husband of one year, William Carey, my brother, George, and my father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, all looking grave. I wriggled my toes inside my silk slippers and wished the king would hurry up and grant clemency so that we could all go to breakfast. I was only thirteen years old, I was always hungry.


3. A throng of bearded men, in sad-colored garments, and gray, steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes.
The founders of a new colony, whatever Utopia of human virtue and happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognized it among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of a prison. In accordance with this rule, it may safely be assumed that the forefathers of Boston had built the first prison-house somewhere in the vicinity of Cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked out the first burial-ground, on Isaac Johnson's lot, and round about his grave, which subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregated sepulchres in the old churchyard of King's Chapel. Certain it is, that, some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town, the wooden jail was already marked with weather-stains and other indications of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed and gloomy front.


4. At five in the morning someone banging on the door and shouting, her husband, John, leaping out of bed, grabbing his rifle, and Roscoe at the same time roused from the backhouse, his bare feet pounding: Mattie hurriedly pulled on her robe, her mind prepared for the alarm of war, but the heart stricken that it would finally have come, and down the stairs she flew to see through the open door in the lamplight, at the steps of the portico, the two horses, steam rising from their flanks, their heads lifting, their eyes wild, the driver a young darkie with rounded shoulders, showing stolid patience even in this, and the woman standing in her carriage no one but her aunt Letitia Pettibone of McDonough, her elderly face drawn in anguish, her hair a straggled mess, this woman of such fine grooming, this dowager who practically ruled the season in Atlanta standing up in the equipage like some hag of doom, which indeed she would prove to be.


Sources below:



Old Beginnings 19

1. Abundance.....Sena Jeter Naslund
2. The Other Boleyn Girl.....Philippa Gregory
3. The Scarlet Letter.....Nathaniel Hawthorne
4. The March.....E.L. Doctorow

Face-Lift 226

Guess the Plot

Missing Element

1. Roger Groobney's fantastic new murder mystery was rejected by every agent in the known universe, all with the same hand-written message: "It's gotta have a murder in it, Roger!"

2. Yes, we have no beryllium; we have no beryllium today.

3. With a supply of deuterium from a North Korean friend, Physicist Elmo Lurp agrees to build a nuclear device in the basement of his apartment building. But he realizes his need for a more sophisticated laboratory when he discovers his wife has used all the heavy water for the laundry.

4. In this nineteenth book in the Miss Amelia Pettipants series, the doughty spinster discovers why none of the village's electric stoves are working.

5. Teaching the Periodic Table by each day removing one element from the laboratory and letting the students discover the Missing Element was not such a good idea after all. Professor Eavull regrets starting with oxygen, thereby asphyxiating the entire class.

6. Dmitri warned his wife about not tidying up his lab, but Mrs. Mendeleev's fanatical cleanliness knows no bounds. Now Dmitri has to start from scratch--unless he can get to the dumpster before the garbagemen do.


Original Version

Dear (Agent’s Name Spelled Correctly)

(One sentence explaining why I’m querying this particular agent … liked a book one of his or her authors wrote, recommended by a friend, met at a conference, [have already tried all the agents who aren't on the 20 worst agents list,] etc.)

In MISSING ELEMENT, an Air Force officer turned corporate trouble-shooter uncovers an illicit link between an American weapons firm and an African dictator planning to foment genocide to protect an illegal but highly profitable venture. To prevent the killings, Dr. Eleanor Swan must team with an FBI agent, despite her antipathy toward the Bureau since it investigated her father’s supposed death 20 years earlier and branded him a traitor. [Is Eleanor Swan the corporate trouble-shooter? If not, who is she? If so, I'd stick her name in the first sentence, right after the title, so it's clear.] [Why would she be involved in preventing this genocide? Wouldn't she just report the illicit link to the authorities and bow out?]

[Eleanor: I've discovered that an American weapons manufacturer is working with an African dictator on a project that will foment genocide.

FBI: Hmm, okay we'll provide one agent to eliminate this threat to the lives of millions.

Eleanor: Only one?

FBI: Plus you. Who did you say you were again?]

Four women with father issues drive the plot. The National Security Council staffer wants revenge on her father. [Who did what?] The Médecins Sans Frontières doctor has given her life to medicine since her dad’s death. The African President’s daughter must choose between loyalty to her father and her country. And Eleanor Swan must live down her father’s notorious past to derail the conspiracy that stretches from the deserts of East Africa to the highest offices of the U.S. government. [This sounds more like a job for the NSC staffer (or Superman) than the corporate trouble-shooter. Does Eleanor go to Africa? How can she hope to succeed against such powerful entities? I'm more interested in what the plot is than in who drives it.] Two will die. One will lose her career. One will save a nation.

I spent twenty years as an Air Force intelligence officer and am published in book-length non-fiction (Title and Publisher of book, 2003). I speak to a variety of forums on military topics including women in the military, ethics, and leadership.

MISSING ELEMENT is a 90,000-word geopolitical thriller. May I send you sample chapters and a synopsis or the complete manuscript?


[My title, MISSING ELEMENT, refers both to my protagonist’s missing father and to beryllium, a strategic element necessary for making various parts of nuclear weapons. In the novel, an American weapons manufacturer is mining beryllium illegally in a fictional African country and selling it to the Iranians.]


Notes

An additional paragraph between your plot and character paragraphs would be helpful in clarifying the issues I've brought up. More facts about the bad guys' plot (the information on where you got your title is a good start) and the good guys' plan (presumably Eleanor calls in a favor from her days in the Air Force, and arranges B-52 carpet bombings of the beryllium mine, the American weapons manufacturer, and Iran) would be a major improvement.

New Beginning 154

Only one man aboard the M/V Gesandt heard the speedboats approach. And he did nothing to warn the others.

Screams jolted Aksel Ravn from his dream in the top bunk. As he dropped to the floor, he shoved Olie awake with his foot. Something outside the cabin severed the light beneath the door; Aksel knelt to peer through. He recognized the goat tattoo on one of eight sandaled feet in the ship's corridor.

Olie sounded drugged. "What is it?"

Aksel raised a finger to his mouth. He knew his eyes adjusted to darkness by the alarm in Olie's face. Creeping toward the bed, he said, "Haitians. From the port."

Olie pulled a lead pipe from behind the lower mattress, and Aksel's stomach flipped when he realized why it was there.

"Pirates," Olie said.

"The Finn keeps an emergency radio down in the gauge room." Think. How do we get to it now? Think! Aksel latched onto the bunk's frame. "Help me block the door--"

"Too late," Olie said. "Open it, we'll take our medicine."

Aksel closed his eyes. Then he nodded at Olie and opened the door.

Outside were two men. Well-dressed . . . not pirates after all. The taller one said, "We'd like a word with you. Are you at all familiar with the Jehovah's Witnesses?"

Aksel chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at Olie. "False alarm," he said. "Hand me that lead pipe, would you?"


Opening: metal_maiden.....Continuation: Evil Editor

Face-Lift 225

Guess the Plot

My Lady of Baseball

1. Martyred by a foul ball into the seats, Saint Sue Ann of Pittsurgh suddenly finds herself with a direct line to God. But when two dying children call on her to help their teams win the World Series, can she find a way to make both their wishes come true?

2. Johan dreams of becoming a major league catcher. One day when his teenage sister is filling in for a missing player on his team, a major league scout happens to attend the game. The scout likes what he sees--in Johan's sister. She goes on to be a major league pitcher. Johan becomes a depressed alcoholic.

3. When Spinster Amelia Pettipants finds a cheerleader crucified on the goal posts of the Saint Ignoris Boys High School football field, she knows she must act quckly. A second murder on the basketball court leads her to Father Frank, whose obsessions with the church, young girls and sports make him the likely suspect.

4. Father Fitzpatrick still hadn't gotten used to Vatican II or the AL designated hitter rule.This traditionalist becomes an unlikely antihero when the Cincinnati Archdiocese proposes the beatification of Marge Schott. Father Fitzpatrick is the swing vote and finds himself caught in a web of intrigue spun by his former mentor, Bishop Callahan, who turns out to be slipperier than Gaylord Perry's balls.

5. So I made a billion on my dot com and found I could, like, buy a Lordship in England and call my Dukedum or Countdom or whatever anything I wanted. So I'm Lord of Baseball! Sweet! Now I'm having a contest to find a new wife, and it's SOOO way better than The Bachelor. "A Boy Named Sue" meets Field of Dreams, with drag queens. And the pitcher's a eunuch.

6. When the Silver City Sluggers' batboy discovers the Virgin's face in the stitching of a baseball, he must choose between religion and the Sluggers' star pitcher.


Original Version

Dear Agent,

Milady has spent her childhood in a small New York City apartment with her mother, father and brother, Johan. After her parents divorce, her father receives a job offer from the largest university in the Dominican Republic and Milady and Johan return with him to their homeland. Milady’s teenage years are spent at the beach, strolling through the Colonial Zone with the most handsome guy in her school, and filling in as a substitute on Johan’s rag-tag baseball team. Johan uses the move to chase his dream of being a professional catcher while Milady begins to follow her father’s path into academia. A chance encounter with Don Ricardo, a baseball scout, changes everything and Milady is the one who is discovered as a phenomenal pitcher. [How can she be this good? The only baseball experience you've mentioned is playing as a substitute on a ragtag team.]

Milady’s father virtually disowns her for leaving her studies to go through the farm system in San Pedro de Macoris. [Then she tells him about her three million dollar signing bonus, and all is forgiven.] Johan refuses to even speak to her and is swallowed up by depression and alcohol. Milady has to contend with disreputable agents, hostile players[, showering with twenty-five guys,] and the constant and growing attention of the media—especially on her and the team captain[, who is the first ostrich to make the major leagues]—before making a dismal debut with the New York Bluebirds, one of the best Major League teams in the sport. [She was rattled by fans yelling, "You throw like a girl."] [Is she the first woman to make a major league roster? That would make her the Jackie Robinson of baseball . . . Wait a minute.] Can Milady mend the relationship with her family and gain the respect of her teammates? [Will she win the Most Valuable Player and Cy Young Awards, win three games in the World Series, and land a seven-figure shoe endorsement contract?] Can she regain her confidence and win her next start before the fans call for her head? [In New York? They were calling for her head after one inning.]

I am seeking representation for my novel, My Lady of Baseball, a story of loyalty, talent and baseball. I am a freelance writer for Dominican Times Magazine. My fiction has appeared in Whistling Shade.

The novel is complete at 90,000 words. I have enclosed the first chapter and a SASE for your response. The full manuscript is available upon request. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,


Notes

Well done. A clear plot description. You might change "talent" to "family" in the next-to-last paragraph.

If there's a problem here, it's not the query so much as the premise. In kids' books, girls make boys teams all the time. If your audience is adult baseball fans, however, it may not be easy to get them to buy into Milady making the major leagues. Certainly I could see a minor league team putting her on the roster to boost attendance, and if she happens to strike out sixteen batters in her first game, who knows what happens next? Once in the majors she'd probably have to be a knuckleball pitcher, as she's unlikely to have the arm strength of her peers. In short, I don't know who the audience is, but if they're knowledgeable baseball fans, don't lose them by basing Milady's rise to the top on her 100 mph fastball.

New Beginning 153

It’s amazing how you take oxygen for granted until you don’t have any.

I’m Teresa Jones, a stupid sixteen-year-old who choked to death on a freaking barbequed pork sandwich and am now a ghost. Pretty pathetic, huh?

Okay, let me back up. About an hour ago, I went out with my best friend, Jamie, to eat dinner after seeing a movie, which sucked big time--but that’s beside the point. Anyway, I was pigging out on my pulled pork sandwich. For some reason, I’ve been blessed with high metabolism.

Don’t throw a rock at me--I did just say I’m dead, so rapid digestion isn’t doing me any good right now.

Anyway, so we were talking, and suddenly, a lump of pork got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t breathe and struggled to fight off the dizziness. That stupid chunk wouldn’t slide down my throat, and I couldn’t cough it out. As soon as Jamie realized what was happening she lowered her voice to a malevolent grumble. "It's amazing how you take oxygen for granted until you don't have any, isn't it?" she said. "Kind of like . . . your friends."

I knew where this was going. She was still mad about the time she caught me and her ex-boyfriend together in the Jacuzzi at Mrs. Robertson's house.

I tried to suggest the Heimlich maneuver, but all that came out was hacchhhkkk. To which Jamie replied, "Heineken? You want a Heineken?"

Anyway, I'm not through with Jamie. I’ll teach her to take my nail polish out of my bag while the medic’s doing CPR. What? Oh yeah, sorry, enough about me. It’s awesome here. I can talk to anyone. Your grandmother? Sure. Jean, right? Joan, Josephine . . . Patricia! That’s right! Sure, she’s here. Okay, but before I can ask her, you need to give me a credit card number or . . . Hello? Jeez, whatever. Loser.

Wayne! Bring me another beer, wouldya? And keep that freaking kid quiet, I’m working here.


Opening: Rhonda Stapleton.....Continuation: j h woodyatt, ril, McKoala, kis

New Beginning 152

It was one of those hot summer days where the sun bakes you in its little oven and then spits you out like a burned loaf of bread. Sweat poured off Mama’s brow and she wiped it away. She picked up a newspaper and started fanning herself, her head perched back on her neck, her mouth open like it needed to be cooled too.

In between the waves of air she fanned at her face, she looked at me. “Poppy’s going to die this summer.”

I stared at my mama, as those words came out of her mouth. She said them like they were just another bit of news like you read in the newspaper. No emotion. Just matter of fact.

“You talk about him like he’s nothing, Mama. Don’t you love Poppy?” Mama got up and walked over to the steps and ignored what I said.

I chased after her as she idled off the porch, her belly bulging with my little sister inside. "Mama! The boll weevils are all over the cotton this year. What'll we do without Poppy?"

Mama fixed her eyes on my tattered gingham dress that clung to my sweat covered body. "I don't know, Billie Sue, but I'm tired of being a character in depressing southern lit. If killing Poppy is what it takes to move to Chicago and sit in a Starbucks with my iBook and a frothy Frap while some doctoral student makes eyes at me, then Poppy's gonna meet his maker."

I watched a mosquito land on my arm and then squeezed the vein until the little bugger popped in an explosion of blood.

Mama had a point. Bye bye, Poppy; Chick Lit City, here we come.


Opening: Judy Gregerson.....Continuation: Pacatrue

Face-Lift 224

Guess the Plot

Devil's Gold

1. Bert Blott knows that the shiny stuff on the wall of Mr. Popek's garden wall is really just fool's gold. But when he finds a bar of real gold in the same garden, he is delighted--until the owner shows up.

2. The Prince of the Underworld has no need for earthly riches - until he meets the American Princess from Hell.

3. Spinster detective Amelia Pettipants is back to solve another case. This time, when the Vicar drops dead at the village cake baking contest, the secret ingredient in the devil's food cake entries makes the recipes pure gold.

4. Deep in the Yukon, part-time prospector Dave Mercey strikes what he thinks is the motherlode. But when the men working the mine start turning into flesh-eating zombies he realizes that some things are better left underground.

5. Glen made a deal with the Devil: His soul for Olympic Gold. He's won his four races and is hailed as the "fastest man in the world," but now he wants out of the bargain.

6. An oil company discovers a bottomless well of "black gold," and conspires to commit genocide in order to ensure no one else "horns" in on their find.


Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Devil's Gold is a completed 117,000 word commercial novel that I would like to offer you for consideration of representation. [End the sentence after "novel," or say "for which I'm seeking representation." You don't want the agent thinking the book is as wordy as that sentence.]

The biggest gold rush of the twenty-first century…some call it terrorism, others call it survival. [I don't know what that means. How is terrorism or survival a gold rush?] Endless burning gas flares, rivers poisoned by oil, bloodbaths inflicted by corrupt Nigerian militia -- this is zoologist Cassidy Lowell's fight. [This sounds like a fight for Red Adair, Greenpeace, and the United Nations, but if they've already failed, it is time to call in Cassidy Lowell.] From the heart of the Niger Delta to the serene ambiance of Yellowstone National Park, Lowell along with undercover agent Jake Anderson, [He's an undercover agent for what organization?] race against time to prevent New World Petroleum from committing genocide and stealing a bottomless source of oil. [You toss around terms like "endless" and "bottomless" pretty freely. Stealing a bottomless source of oil would be tricky. It would require an endless supply of bottomless oil tankers.]

Chastised for not cooperating with the oil industry, Cassidy is reassigned to the serene ambiance of Yellowstone National Park. [Chastised? Are you saying her transfer from Nigeria to Yellowstone is a punishment? That's like a soldier stationed in Afghanistan talking back to his sergeant, and getting shipped to Hawaii as his punishment.] Jake is selected as her biologist for this assignment. [Selected by whom?] His mission is to determine the nature of the menacing connection between Cassidy's employer, ZEBRA (Zoological Ecological Biological Research Agency) [Actually, zoological would be a subset of biological, so you should replace biological with botanical. You still get to call it ZEBRA.] and New World Petroleum. [And he's going to determine this in Yellowstone?]

Discovering an alarming genetic mutation of the parvo virus [parvovirus--one word] that appears to transfer from canine to human, [I smell a werewolf book here.] Cassidy and Jake pursue its origin before it spreads beyond the greater Yellowstone region, [They discover this genetic mutation? Don't they alert the Center for Disease Control? Or at least ZEBRA? Aren't these organizations better equipped to find the origin than Cassidy and Jake (who's an undercover agent, not even a real biologist?)] [Yellowstone Park is bigger than Rhode Island and Delaware combined, and the greater Yellowstone region is several times that. Two people are going to keep the virus from spreading beyond this region? Let's face it, we're doomed. Doomed, I tell you.] their relationship taking a slight detour from professional to personal. [If Jake doesn't become a werewolf at some point, you've missed a golden opportunity.] The media strikes at Cassidy, accusing her of transferring a biological weapon from the Niger Delta to Yellowstone. [Someone in Montana gets parvovirus, and the media immediately decide it was brought from Nigeria by Cassidy?] She's been set-up by New World Petroleum who is preparing to release the mutated virus on a vast scale and commit genocide within the Niger Delta, opening the door for unmonitored mass production of oil pushing New World Petroleum to the forefront as the most powerful oil conglomerate in the world. [If they commit genocide, who's gonna do all the labor involved in pumping the oil? Wait, they can import slaves.]

Cassidy and Jake arrive off the coast of West Africa to uncover what is driving New World Petroleum's actions, salvage her career and protect the Niger Delta region from more environmental damage. Cassidy is betrayed by one of her own [Her own what?] and infected with the virus. Jake undertakes a successful search and destroy mission, bringing down New World Petroleum and saving the woman who now ranks No. 1 on his "most important" list. [Is this a romance?] [One guy brings down New World Petroleum? That's as believable as a cow destroying the city of Chicago.] [How does he save Cassidy from the virus? New World Petroleum was using the virus to commit genocide, yet Jake can cure it?]

I have previously been represented by Madame X of The YZ Literary Agency. Ms. X submitted this manuscript to MIRA. [Mira Books? Or Mira Sorvino?] In addition, the movie rights were optioned through July of 2006 and garnered interest from George Lopez [George Lopez? Too bad it wasn't George Lucas.] in conjunction with Clint Eastwood. The script was also submitted to Bruce Willis in June of 2005 [With all this name dropping, I'm beginning to think it was Mira Sorvino.] where it met with favorable interest but ultimately there was concern that the locale was too similar to Mr. Willis' Tears of the Sun. [More likely there was concern that the box office gross would be too similar to that of Tears of the Sun.] As far as I know, the script has not been returned or officially rejected. [Apparently film producers are just as slack as publishers about sending out rejection slips.]

Thank you for your time and consideration of this query.


Revised Version

When zoologist Cassidy Lowell's work in Nigeria comes into conflict with the interests of New World Petroleum, she is transferred to Yellowstone National Park. There, working with biologist Jake Anderson, she discovers an alarming genetic mutation of parvovirus that transfers from canine to human. The virus appears to have originated in Nigeria, and Cassidy is accused in the media of bringing it to the US.

She's been set-up by New World Petroleum who are preparing to release the mutated virus on a vast scale and commit genocide within the Niger Delta, opening the door for unmonitored production from newly discovered oil fields, and making New World the most powerful oil conglomerate in the world. Jake reveals that he's actually an undercover CIA agent, assigned to investigate the connection between Cassidy's employer, ZEBRA (Zoological Ecological Bio-Research Agency) and New World Petroleum.

Cassidy and Jake arrive off the coast of West Africa seeking to salvage her career and protect the Niger Delta region from environmental catastrophe. When Cassidy is infected with the virus, Jake has only a few days to sabotage New World Petroleum's operations and to save the woman he has come to love.

Devil's Gold is a completed 117,000 word commercial novel. I would be delighted to provide the full manuscript or a partial and synopsis. Thank you for your time and consideration.


Notes

I didn't see mentioning Bruce Willis as a selling point. Publish my book because Bruce Willis doesn't want to star in the movie?

The screenplay will be about 120 pages, while the novel will be more like 400. That means you have to fill in all the glaring plot holes that will exist in the ridiculous summer blockbuster.

My plot probably isn't quite yours, but it might give you a blueprint for a more cohesive query.

New Beginning 151

My situation is unstable, like a cone balanced on its point. I am so comfortable that I can’t feel my skin. I am at perfect thermal equilibrium with my surroundings while simultaneously enjoying a pain free morning. No joint discomfort or other age related feelings. It is weird. I am no longer sure where I leave off and the rest of the world begins. It’s a wonderful feeling though, to feel this good, to not know how big you are. I could be as big as an oak, as small as a bean. My thoughts seem expansive, oversize. Nothing seems impossible because I feel a part of it all, of everything. I have no body so I must be everywhere and everywhere must be here. My spirit leaps and I feel intense joy, like a caged setter freed to the autumn woods and the thrill of the hunt. I am sure this will not last too long and I am right.



Professor Chiltern stared at the printout, incredulous. “Are you sure about these results?”

The research assistant pulled out a thick file full of charts and transcripts. “We’ve tested over a thousand subjects. All the same. Once we figured out a way to translate the electrical impulses, the rest was simple. Professor, there’s no doubt about it.”

The Professor leaned back in his chair and pulled off his wire-framed glasses. He didn’t know whether to be elated at the breakthrough, or disappointed that one more mystery of nature had been solved. “So it’s true,” he said. “The male organ does have its own consciousness.”


Opening: Inkmandoo?.....Continuation: ril

New Beginning 666 (Anonymous Submission)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.

And so while posing as the leader of the French Revolution, the agent secretly dashed off hundreds of form letter rejections, crushing the hopes of wannabe writers across the continent. Until he was crushed by the foot of a giant eunuch.


Opening: Dickens.....Continuation: Anon.


comment 1, by Hawkowl: I knew after the first character of the first word that this was the worst example of writing I've ever seen. Way too predictable. This writer will never warrant any attention.

comment 2 by Egghead: The only way this could work is to be in present tense, third person POV.

comment 3 by Dave: Too many words. Eliminate every "the." And we get the point after the first sentence. Cut the other garbage.

comment 4 by Rammer: The only way this could work is to be in past tense, first person POV.

comment 5 by White Mouse: The author doesn't know where to start the story. Where's the tension? Where's the conflict? Isn't there a car chase that would make a better starting point?

comment 6 by radicalfeministpoet: Damn surgeons, they should all be killed.

comment 7 by Bunny Girl: Way too much description. Just show me already!

comment 8 by Braun: Way too little description. Just tell me already!

comment 9 by Kate Thornton: Great continuation. The continuation was great. Did I mention that it was a pretty good continuation?

Face-Lift 223

Guess the Plot

Miss Pettybone's First Case

1. Miss Hayley Pettybone, law firm receptionist, is astounded to find that the partners really won't get out of bed for less than 110K, and is left to defend the (alleged) Whittlestone Ear Boxer on her own.

2. Miss Millicent Pettybone, self-styled animal psychic and Victorian designer sleuth, establishes her reputation when she reveals who let the dogs out, woof, woof, ruff, woof-woof.

3. Miss Amelia Pettybone, frat house maid, challenges the boys of Kappa Sigma Phi to a beer drinking contest -- with hilarious results.

4. Miss Emily Pettybone has long since purchased a new set of matching luggage and forgotten all about her disappointing weekend with Brash Hardy. But when Mildred Pongle buys a lovely used cosmetics case containing Hardy's head, all the old intrigue is brought to light.

5. Miss Loraine Pettibone, postal worker, learns that a mysterious man on her route has been murdered, and decides to escape her boring life by solving the crime--even if it means no one will get mail for three weeks.

6. Miss Portia Pettybone, owner of a finishing school for young ladies, uncovers a secret plot to polyurethane the students and sell them as fashion mannequins, and must use every ounce of her genteel decorating sense to foil the plan.


Original Version

If life is what you make it, then Miss Loraine Pettybone figured she took a wrong turn years ago. Her job as a postal worker, for the last twenty-seven years, is duller than her love life. [Which, lately, has consisted of nothing more exciting than licking Teddy Roosevelt stamps.] And as middle-age spreads its cloak around her, she realizes how boring and mundane her life has become. [Has become, or has always been?]

When a tall, dark, mysterious stranger rents out an isolated farmhouse on her route, she is intrigued but when he manages to get himself murdered, she is thrilled. [Hey, it's one less house to have to deliver crap to.] [Manages to get himself murdered?]

Jumping into the investigation with both size-nine sensible shoes, she is determined to investigate the murder and track down the killer. [Not clear how she would have any information or access or skills that would further the investigation. Wait, she opens his mail and finds a letter from the killer that says, If you aren't dead yet, you soon will be, for the cookies I sent you last week were laced with a slow-acting poison. If you are dead, then it must be the cops reading this. Sorry boys, you'll never find me, especially not if you look for me at the legendary antique home show. I wouldn't be caught dead there.]

Her first clue involves the legendary Antique Home Show, [What is an antique home, and how many of them are on display at this show?] which sends her and her best friend, Lynn Cooper, racing to New York City.

She quickly runs into a quandary, in the form of Sheriff Dwight Caruthers, an old childhood sweetheart who broke her heart her senior year of high school, Eli Rawls, a dashing entrepreneur who owns “The Roosters Club,” in Savannah, Georgia and two respected Antique Appraisers, all who may or may not be whom they portray themselves to be. [Unclear why this is a quandary or what any of these people has to do with the murder. Why not tell us?]

While she races after clues like her hair was on fire, [Just a wild guess, but if her hair were on fire, wouldn't she be racing after water?] she never slows down long enough to figure out what to do if she catches the murderer. A mistake with deadly consequences. [Deadly consequences? You mean like death? She dies? Miss Pettybone dies? What about the sequel? What about the lengthy series of Miss Pettybone mysteries your fans will clamor for? Have you no consideration for the millions of readers who've come to love Miss Pettybone, just from reading this query, despite her size-nine feet? Miss Pettybone's First Case turns out to be Miss Pettybone's Last Case? Let's just call it a mistake with frightening consequences.]

Thank you for your time, I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely


Notes

It's a bit brief, which means there's plenty of room to fill us in on what the clues are, who the suspects are, and why Miss Pettybone should be any more successful than the police. I'm sure the novel is cute, but we need more than Miss Pettybone is racing around trying to solve a murder. We need the facts, Ma'am.

New Beginning 150

Megan tried to keep her voice from quavering. "Hello, Joe," she said into the microphone. The lights in the studio were dim, but she still had to resist the urge to hide under her desk. "How can I slay your demons tonight?"

Her new boss, Richard Blake, stood behind the glass separating the studio from the engineering booth and nodded approvingly. They'd fought over that stupid opening line, just as they'd fought over the immense publicity campaign the station had done for her show.

Her caller sounded no more comfortable than Meg felt. "Uh…I have this girlfriend, right? And her father, he like, doesn't approve of me. He doesn't want her to see me. So I thought…"

The images that came to Megan were not happy ones, and she was glad she kept most of her psychic shields up. Angry faces shouted words she could not hear.

Joe went on: “I thought you could, like, zap him with a death ray or something.”

“Sorry, Joe, that’s not what I meant by slaying demons.”

“Oh.” Joe seemed stymied. Then Megan heard him whisper, “You’re right. She doesn’t know it’s me. Some psychic.”

She lowered her shields enough to see that “Joe” was her supposed boyfriend, Zack, holding the phone in one hand and cuddling her best friend Tara with the other. “Of course, Zack, I could make an exception this one time.” Megan lowered her shields fully and sent a psychic energy beam of death at Zack and Tara. Their agonized screams echoed across the airwaves.

When Megan opened her eyes, Richard was staring at her in disbelief. “Did . . . did you just kill two people?” he asked. “On the air?”

“Oops,” she said.

“Oops nothing. Do you know what this will do for our ratings? From now on, you’re on five hours a night.”


Opening: December Quinn.....Continuation: Anonymous

New Beginning 149

Alcohol doesn’t take away the pain of career rejection, but it does dull it a bit.

I shift on my cushy green couch and take a sip of my liquid tropical paradise, pretending to listen to the woman beside me. She’s talked nonstop for the past half hour.

“—and they don’t ever read their assignments,” the woman hollers above the sweet sounds of Prince, who, unlike me, gets to party like its 1999. She shakes her head and says, “I just don’t understand it.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” I say to her with a fake smile, trying to pour empathy into my voice.

On the inside, though, my heart aches from the unfairness of life—earlier this week, I found out Andrew, my boss, hired someone else for the newly created management position.

From outside the company.

I’ve busted my ass for three years, working hours upon hours of overtime, and for what?

I’m still fuming when I return to my desk, smelling of tobacco and alcohol. I throw my coat untidily across the back of my chair and drop myself into the seat. I can see Andrew in his office talking to the new manager, occasionally taking surreptitious glances at her legs. There’s a new pile of mail in my in-tray, my message light is flashing and a bunch of post-it notes bearing Andrew’s scrawl are stuck along the edge of my mouse pad. The lunchtime cocktails have loosened my inhibitions and given me an edge; I feel bitter and vindictive. Does Andrew think he’s the only one able to crush a person’s hopes and aspirations?

I fire up Word and start typing: Dear Author, With regard to your recent submission . . .


Opening: Rhonda Stapleton.....Continuation: ril

Face-Lift 222

Guess the Plot

Where Evil Resides

1. It looked like just another historic home tour - until the door opened and a devastatingly handsome editor ushered the group in.

2. A delightful illustrated tour guide to such varied buildings as The White House, The Bates Motel, and several New York publishing houses.

3. Attempting to recreate the Inferno, Dante blows up a power plant. If anyone can stop his quest for world domination, it's the yodeling cowboy.

4. A paperboy turns to extreme measures when his subscription payment at the Kneivel house is way overdue.

5. Real estate agent Carrie Fordham has sold her share of tough properties, convincing homebuyers to look past lead paint, radon levels that would choke a horse, and the occasional cracked foundation. But when 666 Elm Street in Amityville comes on the market, Carrie must take her sales skills to a whole new level.

6. Postman Sal Magundi has never met a letter he couldn't deliver. So when little Clara Hexton misspells the addressee of her Christmas list as "Satan," neither fire nor sulfur nor hordes of marauding demons will keep this carrier from completing his task.


Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Tranquil, quaint and unquestionably safe is what most residents thought of life in the northern Arizona town of Pine Ridge. [Then . . . the zombies came.] [Is this the same Pine Ridge as in the movie Yodelin' Kid from Pine Ridge?] [Quote from the movie:

Col. Millhouse: Marvelous, Autry, marvelous! You certainly have that animal trained and I don't see how you do it.
Gene Autry: The secret in training a horse, Colonel, is that, ah, you have to know more than the horse.]

That changed the day the plans to build the Sycamore Canyon Power Plant outside of town were announced.

Over the weeks following the announcement Pine Ridge became a town divided as the residents subtly aligned themselves. There were those who welcomed the progress and jobs [and electricity] the power plant offered while others feared it would forever change the landscape of their lives, and yet another, small, sinister faction that saw the division of the town as an opening to pursue its own agenda.

That group named themselves the Pine Ridge Alliance or PRA. They furtively began recruiting members from those who not only opposed the plant but also had reason to hate or fear the government. [In other words, everyone except the filthy rich.] As the group grew they began their campaign of terrorism under the guise of environmental conservatism. Their attacks began with minor acts of subterfuge while the sprawling plant took shape. [For instance, graffiti slogans like "Nuke the Plant" and "Free the Yodelin' Kid."] Over the two years it took to bring the plant online the acts became increasingly more violent, finally culminating in the bombing that disabled the plant and shook Pine Ridge to its very core. [Core? Is this a nuclear power plant?]

Many PRA members tried to leave the group then, believing that boundaries had been crossed, but they soon found their lives were no longer their own. [Had they been members of PRA, or PRA, they would have had no trouble getting away.] Dante, their shadowy leader now ruled by intimidation and threats against their families. [Now that the plant's been bombed, what more does Dante want from his followers?] When two members were viciously murdered as an example, someone went to the feds and helped infiltrate federal agents into the group.

Ultimately the undercover mission led to the apprehension of several members and that’s when Department of Justice agents Shelby Ryan and Carson Billings of the domestic terrorism unit arrived in town. [These wouldn't be your main characters, arriving in chapter 19, would they?] Their task was to investigate and build the prosecutorial case against the suspects as well as aid in the capture of Dante and the members still at large.

Over the months Agents Ryan and Carson work with local Sheriff’s Lieutenant Gabe Navarro to stop Dante, whose ultimate goal entails a far more iniquitous attack than anyone could have envisioned. [He plans to bring in PRA to assist in destroying the peaceful town.]

Where Evil Resides is a completed 70,000 word thriller. I would be happy to send a synopsis [I think you just did.] and sample chapters. Thank you very much for your time.

Regards,


Notes

It's a bit long on plot. The PRA legally requires you to get it down to a page.

Why are we keeping the sinister faction's agenda a secret? It's Dante and the PRA that makes this a thriller, yet we don't know what their threat is. Is it a threat to Pine Ridge, or the US, or the world? We need to know what's at stake if we're to be hooked by the query. Also, is there a character we follow throughout the book who's a good guy? Usually in a good guys versus bad guys story, we meet the good guys early on.

Q & A 89

Two years ago my agent submitted a novel which was widely rejected by publishing houses (rightly so - it stank). I have re-written the novel and secured a new agent with a major agency. The novel's premise and basic plot remain the same, but it is vastly better. I have also changed my name, the novel's title and the name of the principal character. Question is: are the editors who read it before likely to remember the novel, and if so, will they reject it out of hand?

1. If it truly stank, most of the editors who read it didn't read more than a page or two.
2. Most people who were editors two years ago have quit and become literary agents.
3. If it was rejected because the writing was horrible, which is no longer the case, I doubt those few who remember it (despite your clever attempts to disguise it) will reject it out of hand. If it was rejected for some other reason, that reason may still exist.
4. If you can provide your agent with a list of those to whom the book was sent, you can let her worry about whether it's worth sending to them again. Wait a minute, you have an agent? Shouldn't you be asking your agent this question?

New Beginning 148

I fling the paper toward the neighboring house, then sigh in relief after it disappears through two tall bushes. "Thank you,” a male voice calls out. I don't answer, just slam the front door behind me. I try to determine whether there was a hint of sarcasm in my neighbor's voice, but don't care enough to analyze for long. I've never met him, but the fact that he gets the newspaper is enough to put him on my list. I shudder. People like that carry the news with them. It oozes from their pores.

My straw welcome mat swings from my hand into the fireplace. With the ignorant paper boys in the neighborhood, it doesn’t pay to invest in a sturdy one. I strip and toss my clothes and shoes on top of the mat. Then I flick the switch to start the fire, and run upstairs for untainted apparel.

After my shower I go back downstairs and sweep up the fireplace, sealing the ashes in a plastic bag and disposing of it safely in the sanitized trash chute.

I settle down to a cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal, but I'm constantly distracted by a tiny hair on the floor of the kitchen. I don't want to have to get changed again to clean it up, so I distract myself by writing my neighbor's name on my list. It's high time I did something about him and his dirty habits.

That hair is still bothering me. I have to deal with it. I go back upstairs and change into a fresh suit. I glance at myself in the mirror and am pleased with what I see. No underpants over the trousers for me. After all, I'm a different type of superhero: Obsessive-Compulsive Man!


Opening: Crystal Charee.....Continuation: McKoala

Face-Lift 221

Guess the Plot

The Horizontal Life

1. Jake Stone wakes to find that the life he led for six years was nothing but a coma dream. Instead of the lucky young man who side-stepped a speeding car and went on to football fame and fortune, he is a shriveled scarecrow doomed to years of surgery and physical therapy.

2. Finding and keeping gainful employment when you're a narcolept isn't easy. Myron is barely making it when he auditions for a mattress commercial and suddenly strikes it rich.

3. This book about modern-day hookers is highlighted by my first-hand up-close-and-personal interviews with dozens of prostitutes.

4. After thirty-two years spending most of his waking hours prostrate before the childish emperor, Vlad finally sees his chance to stage the coup he's always dreamed of. Also, a dragon.

5. Born lazy, Joseph has spent his life lying on the couch. But when rampaging elephants threaten his hometown, he must stand up -- or be forever flattened.

6. Living in an iron lung has not stopped Gene from getting a degree in aerospace engineering and turning his "capsule" into the Love Rocket.


Original Version

Dear Ms.Literary Agent:

Every day across America, businessmen sit down to their computers to book a business trip. They choose the airline, the hotel and their transportation all by pointing and clicking. [Actually, they have their secretaries do this. Most businessmen never touch a computer, unless they're looking for free pornography.]

They can also choose what type of woman they will go to bed with as well. [See what I mean? Now this is the part where the secretaries are left out of the loop.] Whatever his pleasure is---a brunette, a blonde, black, Asian [or one of each]--it’s all available online [What did you say that url was? (Just to confirm that you have your facts straight, of course.) ] and as easy as ordering a pizza. [Pizza or prostitute. Hmm, let's see . . .

..................................Pizza.................Prostitute

"The works".............$14.95........................$200.00
Cholesterol...............22 mg./slice.................0
Protection............Napkin: 2 cents.......Condom: $2
Chance of STD..........2%..............................64%
Chance of getting
murdered by pimp..0%...............................7%
Tastes better with
chocolate sauce?....No...............................Yes
Made by high
school kid 30
minutes before
arriving at your
house?....................Yes..............................Yes]


Prostitution has moved off the streets and into cyberspace.

My book, The Horizontal Life: Selling Sex in Cyberspace is all about the women who go online (and out of the sight of law enforcement) to ply their trade, the men who patronize them [I don't care what any of them said, that wasn't me. Everyone knows prostitutes will say anything for publicity. Especially Mandy.] [It was Mandy, wasn't it?] and the subculture of web sites, blogs and professionally run boards where the escorts and clients go to meet and greet.

There have been other books about Internet Prostitution, but most of them have been memoirs or how-to books. [Can you recommend a good how-to book?] No one has directly explored how popular and widespread the selling of sex online has become from an investigative journalism perspective. [No one else has plunged so deeply into prostitution.]

My hope is this book will not merely titillate, but educate. I’m not a crusader, but I recognize sometimes you have to start an argument before you can win one. [Not clear what you're talking about. Which side of what argument would you take?]

Included are dozens of interviews with prostitutes I have conducted [Actually, I think you mean it was the interviews you conducted, not the prostitutes--unless the prostitutes formed an orchestra.] [Which is possible. I've heard many prostitutes are quite proficient on the organ, and I imagine many of them have a fine pair of maracas.] over the last four years. [Interviews in which the prostitutes didn't even realize I was interviewing them--I managed to convince every one of them that I was just a regular customer.] I have 14 years experience as a reporter, columnist and managing editor for various mainstream, alternative and online publications.

I would be interested in sharing my proposal for The Horizontal Life with you at your request. This is a simultaneous query. Thank you for your time and consideration.


(The title, "The Horizontal Life" comes from an interview I conducted with one prostitute who said she had accompanied men to the White House, had attended parties with powerful politicians, changed cars every two years [After two years, the back seat starts to get pretty scummy.] and had a stock portfolio worth a million dollars. She said her way to the top had come via a view of the ceiling. Thus..."The Horizontal Life.")


Notes

To me the most intriguing part was the part that wasn't in the query, about where you got the title. Perhaps if many of the women you interviewed went from barely scraping by to millionaire, thanks to the Internet, the query would be made more interesting by including sample stories of a couple of these women.

New Beginning 147

I shall end the slave revolt with four nails. To the south, more than six thousand crosses line the Appian Way to Capua, where the uprising began. The dying moan and gasp for breath, begging for rescue that will never come. Dishonored even in death, they will never be buried. Even after vultures rip flesh from bone, their carcasses will hang, a reminder of punishment that awaits those who oppose Rome. Two legionaries throw a thin, ragged youth onto wood planks cut from a nearby forest. They tie the boy to the cross. Barely old enough to shave, he had been Spartacus’s servile pupil.

“Rip that medallion from his neck,” I order. I am not superstitious. I lend no credence to the slaves’ prophecy that their god will explode from the earth and exact revenge. Nor do I believe their claim that, forged by a deity living below Mount Vesuvius, the medallions empowered them to outfight us in battle. I merely want to add them to my coffers; it will put me in high regard to present the silver pieces to the next general to which I am assigned.

And when I have grown in power, I will no longer feel like that little puer I once was.

(Orchestral strings enter. Lights dim to a single spot on the centurion.)

CENTURION (singing): When I was just a puer . . .

CRUCIFIED BOYS (raising their heads and singing): We are all just pueri.

CENTURION: I never saw my mater.

BOYS: He never saw his mater.

CENTURION: I never saw my pater.

BOYS: His pater worked for Caeeeeee-sar.

CENTURION: And I was beaten by my magisterrrrrrrr!!!

Crucifixion! The Rock Musical!


Opening: Steve.....Continuation: Pacatrue

New Beginning 146

His hands slipped another inch. The metal railing was wet with sweat. His desperate gasp strained three octaves above his usual range. He craned his neck, trying to make eye contact with the figure above him. “Look, just tell me what you want. Money? I’ve got fifty thousand in bonds. I’ll cash them in. They’re all yours. A car. I’ve got a car. A new BMW. Just bought it last month. It’s yours. All I have to do is sign over the title. Take me two seconds. Jesus, just tell me what you want.”

The last word ended in a screech as his fingers slipped another inch and his feet scrabbled for a foothold on the slick glass wall of the skyscraper. His left shoe came off, tumbling over and over, thirty stories down to the dark empty pavement of Macquarie Street.

Deparde looked over the balcony at him, silhouetted in the warm glow of the lights, his lips smiling thinly, his eyes cold as steel. “You overestimate our needs, Mr. Johnson. You clearly do not understand the protocol.”

Johnson tried to pull himself up, get a better grip on the steel. A loud creak told him the railing wasn’t designed to take this kind of punishment. “What then? For God’s sake just tell me what you want!”

“The standard thirty-five percent, Mr. Johnson. No more, no less. Now will you or won't you sign with the Sobol Agency?”


Opening: AttemptingFiction.....Continuation: ril

Face-Lift 220

Guess the Plot

Random Thoughts of a Teenage Axe Murderer

1. Should I chop up my boyfriend and eat his body parts? I hate writing my thoughts in this crappy journal. If I kill all my co-workers, maybe I'll get promoted out of my lousy entry-level job. I'm in love with my shrink; maybe I'll kill him with an axe. Or maybe I should have him over for dinner . . . as the main course!

2. She's cute. Math homework is so unfair. Got to beat my GTA3 high score. Wonder if the new Blindside album is out? Look at the boombah's on her. Die, Die, Die, you scum-sucking parasite. I hate mayonnaise.

3. Mmm, cookies. I wonder if I should ask Tina to the Winter Formal. Double-bladed looks cool, but a hachet is a lot more practical. Are there walnuts in these? If there are walnuts in these, someone is going to have to die. Would it look suspicious if I rented a woodchipper?

4. Will this fake I.D. work to get some beer? Can I get that cute girl in History to notice me? Will my skin clear up in time for the dance? Will my Dad loan me the car and an axe Friday night? Who you lookin' at?

5. I wonder if I was on the verge of getting my license before I chopped the driving instructor into tiny pieces. How do so many kids buy this Red Riding Hood story? I mean, if you can't tell your grandmother from a wolf, you need your eyes examined. Think I'll go hang out at the mall. Better bring my axe in case some cop gives me trouble.

6. So I hacked up a few people. Was that any reason to put me in here with all these crazies? Look at that guy, sitting there with his mouth hanging open. Where's an axe when I need one? Doesn't that TV get anything but Brady Bunch reruns? Wait a minute, is that an axe behind the glass in the fire extinguisher cabinet?


Original Version

All Mighty Evil One,

Therese Randle just turned nineteen and she thinks she's falling in love. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but Therese has a small tendency to kill and eat her boyfriends. Well, she eats part of them; other parts give her indigestion. [The liver is good with Chianti and fava beans, but she stays away from the brains, possibly because her nickname for him was "shit for brains."]

Therese's problem is that her brain is incapable of remembering happy thoughts. [It's a psychosis known as elationesia.] So when something pleasant happens, she reacts to that foreign emotion by removing the cause of it. [For instance, if her boss praises her, she responds with an axe blade to the forehead. If a waitress gives her exceptional service, she responds with an axe blade to the forehead . . .] She sees nothing wrong with this less than accepted form of emotion management and is able to look at the death she causes in a matter of fact way. [The difference between Therese and Evil Editor is that when I dole out an axe blade to the forehead, it's to someone who gave me unpleasant feelings.] This allows her to calculate her moves before she makes them in order to escape blame. [In other words, premeditated murder is the best kind because there's no blame involved?]

When she kills her boyfriend, Bucky, in the middle of sex in the middle of a forest,

[Bucky: Not to ruin the mood, but out of curiosity, why do you have an axe?
Therese: If a tree falls on us and pins us while we're making love--
Bucky: Ah. Say no more.]

[If a tree falls in the woods, and the only people there to hear it are moaning and screaming, "Yes, oh yes, harder, baby," does the tree make a sound?] Therese claims to have witnessed the whole thing as a victim. ["Hey, I'm the victim here. I had to watch as Bucky was chopped up with an axe."] With a rash of [axe] killings sweeping through the area, everyone is more than willing to believe her. Months later, when she uses unnecessary violence against a cop who pulls her over for speeding, [She hacks him up with an axe.] [I thought it was only pleasant feelings that made her respond with violence.] Therese is sent to a psychiatric ward claiming emotional trauma from witnessing her boyfriend's death. Her shrink, Dr. Brian (a cute novice straight out of college) takes her on as his pet project and a year after her arrival gets her out of the ward and into a halfway house for nut jobs [Is that the pc term they're using these days?] with no knowledge of what's really wrong with her. With her new "apartment" and the low entry job she must take as part of her reintroduction into society, Therese makes friends that she must desperately try not to kill. [For if she kills her co-workers, she'll surely get the axe.]

Dr. Brian encourages Therese to write her daily events in a journal- a boring tedious task to her that inevitably becomes an eye opener. As she writes and rereads her entries, she realizes that good things do happen and she really wants to understand why she doesn't remember them and to try and overcome her violent urges. When Dr. Brian falls for Therese, and Therese for him, she knows exactly what kind of danger he's in even if he doesn't. So the question is, does she tell him the truth, or invite him over for dinner?

Random Thoughts of a Teenage Axe Murderer is my first novel. [Good, I was afraid it was your autobiography.] The complete, 88000 word manuscript is ready at your request. Thank you for your valuable time.

Regards,


Notes

"Random thoughts" doesn't give the impression we're dealing with a cohesive novel. Maybe "Confessions" would be better.

You make it sound like killing is a regular occurrence with Therese. Is she that good at getting away with murder?

It seems like if you're planning in advance to kill people, you'd settle on a less-conspicuous weapon than an axe. Plus, even if the person isn't alarmed by the fact that you happen to have an axe, and there's been a rash of axe murders in the area lately, anyone with good reflexes could duck or run in less time than it takes to swing an axe. Of course, you don't actually mention an axe anywhere except the title, so perhaps she doesn't always use an axe.

What you really need if you're trying to sell a book about a killer is a weapon that hasn't been done to death in the movies. Thus I'm providing a list of weapons you might use to fill in the blank in your title, Confessions of a Teenage ______ Murderer.

1. Hoe
2. Tuning Fork
3. Dipstick
4. Baton
5. Turkey Baster
6. Corkscrew
7. Corn Holder
8. Waffle Iron
9. Clarinet
10. Pie