It's one of the more spectacular of wrestling's more easy moves, which is to say a move everybody who gets into the ring is expected to be able to do.
It's called a crucifix. Basically, one guy stands in the middle of the ring with his arms at nine and three o'clock. He looks a little like he's being crucified.
The other guy comes off the ropes, running at top speed. He ducks under the first guy's arm, still running at top speed, raising his right arm as he goes. As you run past him put your right arm up and catch his right arm. Garb your right hand with your left hand and interlace your fingers. Swing your ass up high and your legs up higher so your right leg wraps around his left arm and your left leg then wraps around your right leg.
Drop your left arm and left leg. Your weight will now pull the other guy down. That means he tucks up and rolls onto his back for a pin.
So why did he have to try it for the first timer with the man monster, Richter?
Jason had a gap between theory and practice. A point at which he couldn't remember what had happened. It might still be there, for all Jason knew, had that gap not been pierced by Davis Storm.
"For what it's worth, I think you landed right. . . I don't think it helped." A pause. "The really interesting thing is your legs kept looking for the arm the whole time you were going down."
“Arm?” Jason said. “I thought my legs were supposed to look for each other.”
Davis shook his head. “One more thing. If he bows his head and puts his fingers together in front of his chest, grab him through the hole made by his forearms. We call that Saint Peter at Prayer. And if he has his knees bent, and his head so low it looks like it’s missing, we call that John the Baptist. If he kneels--”
“Pardon me, brother. I knew there'd be physical education at divinity school, but I was expecting something more along the lines of marathon running or--”
“Marathon?” Davis looked puzzled; then his eyes lit up. “Ah. Of course. You mean Exodus from Egypt. That's next quarter.”
Opening: D Jason Cooper.....Continuation: RT
Why you don't get published.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Face-Lift 379
Guess the Plot
Utsalady Bay
1. Waving palms, rippling waves and rich, heavy bananas that drop straight into your hand - life at Utsalady Bay is one long idyll . . . until the banana harvest fails and the zombies come.
2. Jeep Morrow would like to settle down in Utsalady Bay, but first he needs to know why his best friend Armen tried to kill him--even if it means flying to West Africa where Armen is overseeing the mother of all weight-loss programs.
3. The gripping story of a car salesman, an old cowboy, a troubled jockey, and the plowhorse they conspire to get into the Kentucky Derby. It was supposed to be a gag, but can Utsalady Bay pull off the upset of the century?
4. Grandma was getting a little deaf, which was how she ended up on the ferry to Utsalady Bay. Fortunately, her sword arm is still good enough to take on the Kraken when terrorists unleash it on an unsuspecting Canadian town. Also, a trombone player in a tutu.
5. John Grant, Navy SEAL, has been tasked with observing the strange goings-on in Utsalady Bay. When he sees a pod of dolphins operating a small craft, he realizes the awful truth: the reign of humans is finally over.
6. Can things get any worse after Jeannette Wilson’s boss outsources her job overseas, her parents retire to Guadalajara, and her fiancé dumps her to become a goat herder? Yes! She learns her home loan is being purchased by a league of non-English speaking vampires. Also, scuba diving.
Original Verson
Dear Mr. Evil:
A 747 crashes into the ocean halfway to Africa. [Not that it really matters, but halfway to Africa could be many places, depending on whether the 747 started in Argentina, Australia, Miami or India.] There are 420 stories that could be told, but the most intriguing is number 421: the man with a suitcase full of pink telephone message pads who steps off the plane moments before it pushes back from the gate.
UTSALADY BAY is a thriller with a humorous strain, complete at 99,000 words. It takes place over ten days in present-day Seattle and West Africa. It is the story of childhood friends who find their pecking order and prospects reversed as adults.
Jeep Morrow’s [Jeep? What kind of name is Jeep? Wait, I know: it's Cherokee.] ordinary day at the office goes dangerously awry when lifelong friend Armen Cascagian begs him to carry two million in cash to Liberia to save a business deal. [I don't care if you are my lifelong friend. If you hand me two million in cash, I'm gone, and not to Liberia.] The deal is a sham, the money disappears, the plane crashes, and Armen’s car turns up in Jeep’s driveway. [The significance of the car in the driveway is lost in the query.] Armen goes missing and Jeep sets off to track him down, not sure whether to rescue or thrash him.
The trail leads to a dilapidated compound in the wastelands of Mali where the mother of all weight-loss programs is being cobbled together. [The Jendayi Craig system.] Jeep peels back layers of lies and deception and discovers he is just an expendable chip in Armen’s high-stakes game. In order to set things right he must first rely on a dead former employee; [One thing you quickly learn when you get into management: you can't rely on the dead for anything.] a morbidly obese Texas billionaire; and an empty-bellied scavenger from Brooklyn with a roomful of gold nuggets to get him out of Africa alive.
My experience operating small airlines in Africa gives Jeep and his story depth and authenticity. I have written extensively for corporate newsletters and inflight magazines.
I have enclosed a SASE. Thank you very much for your time and consideration.
Very truly yours,
Revised Version
Dear Mr. Evil:
A 747 bound from New York to Liberia crashes into the Atlantic. There are 420 stories that could be told, but the most intriguing is number 421: the man with a suitcase full of pink telephone message pads who stepped off the plane moments before it pushed back from the gate.
UTSALADY BAY is a thriller with a humorous strain, complete at 99,000 words. It is the story of childhood friends who find their pecking order and prospects reversed as adults.
Jeep Morrow’s ordinary day at his law firm goes dangerously awry when lifelong friend Armen Cascagian begs him to carry two million in cash to Liberia to save a business deal. Armen is in the business of buying and leasing aircraft, but this deal is a sham. When the money disappears, the plane crashes, and Armen goes missing, Jeep sets out to track him down, not sure whether to rescue or thrash him.
The trail leads to a dilapidated compound in the wastelands of Mali where the mother of all weight-loss programs is being cobbled together. Or is it? Jeep peels back layers of lies and deception to discover he is an expendable chip in Armen’s high-stakes game. To get out of Africa alive, he'll need to rely on a dead former employee, a Brooklyn gold dealer, and his own instincts.
My experience operating small airlines in Africa gives Jeep's story depth and authenticity. I have written extensively for corporate newsletters and inflight magazines. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Very truly yours,
Notes
Normally I don't do a revised version if the query is in good shape, but it's vital that this book sells, as it's for the juvenile diabetes auction winner, and if it sells, I should be able to bring in twice as much next year.
It wasn't clear how your experience operating small airlines provided depth and authenticity, when the only airplane you mention crashes. Which explains my attempt to work in that Armen is in the business of leasing jumbo jets.
Monday, July 16, 2007
New Beginning 316
He flew down to Florida to close the deal with Jack Stanley. The man waiting for him at the airport held a sign that said "Daniel Brady" in large, block letters. He held out his hand for Daniel's suitcase then gestured to the sliding doors at the far end of the baggage claim. Daniel followed.
The air outside was thick. Daniel moved through it slowly, the warmth coming as a shock after the cold of Chicago. In the space of three hours he had gone from eight degrees to eighty. The driver opened the back door of the sedan, and Daniel slid in. The interior of the car was crisp and cool. There was a partition between the front and back seats, but it was down.
The driver closed the trunk on Daniel's suitcase and got into the car. Disco-pop came from the radio. A meaty hand reached into the center console and turned the volume down a few notches. "You cool enough back there?"
"Fine."
The driver maneuvered the car onto the airport road and toward the highway. "So you hear about the new law the city's trying to pass? Keep sex offenders from living in Tampa?"
"Yeah, I heard."
"Well you want my opinion, it ain't gonna work. I mean forcing old ladies into spaghetti strap halters, tube tops, daisy dukes and stilletto heels? That ain't enough to drive a sex offender away."
"Guess not," Daniel mouthed. God, he hated Florida, hated it with a passion. Yet here he was in Florida again and for money no less. Even the whores make more than me, he thought.
"If that doesn't work, then what do they do? Nothin, that's what."
"Uh huh."
"You gotta get them dirty politicians and rub shit in their noses like bad puppies to get 'em to do anything but roll their eyes and rub their bald heads."
"Uh huh." Daniel adjusted his iPod. Wastin' away again in Margaritaville popped into his ears. "Turn left at Planet Earth, driver," he said as the man continued to gesticulate and rant.
Opening: Wednesday.....Continuation: Dave
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Face-Lift 378
Guess the Plot
Catalpa Hall
1. When gardeners plow up what might be an old cemetery on the grounds of Catalpa Hall, Boring-0n-End's oldest building, amateur sleuth and all-around busybody, Amelia Pettipants, suspects the Illuminati are at it again.
2. Her brother drowned twenty years ago. Now Melody Moon has returned to her hometown, rich, famous, and determined to find out what really happened at the lake behind . . . Catalpa Hall.
3. For years everyone steered clear of the oldest building on campus after dark, fearful of meeting its celebrated ghost. But Russell and Trevor need a special project for Photography class. Can they survive a night in Catalpa Hall--and get photographs of the ghost?
4. Sir Neville Hall ships his daughter Catalpa to Kenya to marry a plantation owner before the product of her passion for art can be born. Her artist lover follows, determined to be part of his child's life. Now can Catalpa convince her new husband that the baby drew those pictures of nude women on the wall of the nursery?
5. Expelled from high school, Turk Lombard is sent by his parents to Catalpa Hall, a military academy where troublemakers supposedly get whipped into shape. When it turns out they just get whipped, Turk organizes a rebellion that leaves the entire faculty dead.
6. A university instructor of anthropology must find a missing thousand-year-old, gold-plated nasal cavity before all hell breaks loose – literally.
Original Version
Dear Agent Almighty,
Melody Moon has returned. Returned to her rural roots with fame, riches, and a burn-scarred young daughter named Ruthie in hopes of finding Gideon, the young man with the spectacular birthmark on his face [It looks exactly like the chariot race from Ben Hur.] whose memory has haunted Melody for twenty years. Yet the date Ruthie discovers Gideon had carved under the stage at the now dilapidated Catalpa Hall is the currentyear. [1. How does she know the date wasn't carved in the current year? 2. How does she know Gideon carved it? 3. How young is Ruthie, and what is she doing underneath a stage in a dilapidated building? 4. The word "yet" leads us to believe finding the current year carved under a stage is astounding. We won't find the event astounding unless you've already convinced us of its genuine unlikelihood. It's sort of like opening your query:
Johnny Graves walked straight to school without seeing anyone. Yet the ruler in his bookbag was orange!This is astounding only if you've already told us he left home with his purple ruler.]
Melody and Gideon were once known as the “Double Uglies,” dubbed as such by Melody’s obnoxious older brother, Dean. The cruel nickname later earned Melody quite a reputation for herself as an author of children’s literature, [Maybe you mean the nickname earned her fame as an author--for instance, when she wrote a series of books about the Double Uglies? Can you have a reputation as an author, if you are an author? Evil Editor has a reputation (totally undeserved) as evil. He has fame (also totally undeserved) as a blogger.] but only Gideon knows that it has actually cost her dreadfully more--it cost her brother’s drowning long ago. [You mean it caused her brother's drowning? Calling Melody and Gideon Double Uglies caused Dean to drown?] It’s a death that torments Gideon to this day, turning him into the recluse he has become.
He feels responsible for the death. [If you get tired of someone calling you ugly, and hold his head underwater in a lake until he drowns, are you really responsible?]
What exactly did happen at the hidden lake behind Catalpa Hall when they were all but children [All but children?] just trying to get by in the backwoods culture…and who else may have witnessed it? It appears that someone with much more sinister motives is also involved. [Much more sinister than whose? Motives for what?] Gideon’s deep love for the enchanting young woman he’d been forced to leave two decades ago may force him to abandon her once more. Melody has no idea why Gideon, once again, feels he must leave her, as well as her daughter, behind. [She goes off and becomes a writer, while he becomes a recluse. She comes back, and he's still there. Yet you claim he left her behind?]
Catalpa Hall is complete at 90,000-words. May I share this mainstream love story with you? I’d be happy to send a partial, or the entire manuscript at your request. Thank you for your time.
Notes
It's not clear enough. One could easily get the impression you're trying to keep us in the dark about everything. Why does Gideon think he's responsible for the drowning? Is the person really responsible still hanging around twenty years later? If I'd gotten away with murder, I'd have headed for New Zealand before the cops wised up.
Is the non-romance part basically the twenty-year-old mystery? Or is something going on now? Is someone in danger from the sinister person? Melody came back in hopes of finding Gideon, and Gideon is there. Problem solved. Now Gideon's ditching her because he drowned her brother twenty years ago? I can't remember what I was doing two years ago. Twenty years ago I was so ripped I could have killed a dozen people and I wouldn't remember it.
Gideon feels deep love for someone he hasn't seen in twenty years, and they were children when he last saw her? I don't buy it.
I realize there are lakes smaller than Lake Superior, but for a lake to be hidden, it would have to be more like an indoor swimming pool. I mean, you could call it hidden if it's out in the middle of nowhere, but this lake is right behind Catalpa Hall. Who's it hidden from?
Saturday, July 14, 2007
New Beginning 315
Ethan had the face of child, but the scalp of an old man. Tendrils of blue reached out under the pale skin, curving and parting like rivers searching for the sea. Rivers in winter, sluggishly winding under ice, compelled to struggle and flow to their destination, even when the surface lay still and silent.
Nothing in this room smelt of life, nothing offered freshness and perfume; only the sharp, nose-biting scent of intervention, blended with bleach, vomit and old food. On the bed Ethan was barely a wrinkle under the crisp-cornered sheets. The only thing that moved was his pacifier, pumping in his mouth under his closed eyes. The suck-sucking sound of him working at the little rubber teat pulsed rhythmically against the humming of the machines that propelled the medicine into his system, the machines that were keeping him alive.
Abby should have got rid of his dummy. Told him that if he’d give it to the poor kids Santa would bring him a special present. That’s what I did with my kids.
I suppose he can suck it for as long as he wants now.
Sheila stared across the dining table at her daughter-in-law. Abby closed the book, placed it on the table and peered meaningfully at her son.
"You know, Abby," Shiela said, "in my day, we did things differently. If you like, I could suggest a less traumatic way to persuade little Ethan to eat his pureed spinach."
Nothing in this room smelt of life, nothing offered freshness and perfume; only the sharp, nose-biting scent of intervention, blended with bleach, vomit and old food. On the bed Ethan was barely a wrinkle under the crisp-cornered sheets. The only thing that moved was his pacifier, pumping in his mouth under his closed eyes. The suck-sucking sound of him working at the little rubber teat pulsed rhythmically against the humming of the machines that propelled the medicine into his system, the machines that were keeping him alive.
Abby should have got rid of his dummy. Told him that if he’d give it to the poor kids Santa would bring him a special present. That’s what I did with my kids.
I suppose he can suck it for as long as he wants now.
Sheila stared across the dining table at her daughter-in-law. Abby closed the book, placed it on the table and peered meaningfully at her son.
"You know, Abby," Shiela said, "in my day, we did things differently. If you like, I could suggest a less traumatic way to persuade little Ethan to eat his pureed spinach."
Opening: McKoala.....Continuation: ril
Guess the Plot
A while back I posted the titles of some books that were nominated for some award from some organization and invited Guess the Plot writers to try their hand at them. There wasn't a lot of interest, but here's what we came up with. Correct answers at the bottom.
The Testing of Luther Albright
1.Luther Albright's son tests him with various acts of teenage rebellion, like shaving his head and reckless horseplay on the roof. But there are as many cracks in the Albright family relationships as there are in the earthquake-ravaged house Luther built. Luther fails.
2. When Luther Albright is identified as The Perfectly Average Child, he is taken to a secret location by the government for use in developing standardized tests. Can Luther provide the means to stop racial violence and to equalize education for all, or will the government muck it all up again?
3. Festus, Titus and Cletus, reputedly the three dumbest kids in high school, join the gang at Luther Albright's "Ink Stains," a new tattoo parlor in downtown Apalachicola. When Festus mispells Antebellum with an "i", when Titus throws out the days receipts and when Cletus leaves a skidmark in front of the shop, Luther flunks the three young men back to school.
4. Luther loved his mother; she was less enamored of her wayward son. When the family attorney reads Martha Albright's will, Luther is shocked to learn the conditions she set for him to inherit her fortune. How would he go about finding a fairy princess, let alone marrying her? What he did know was Meevers, his mother's old retainer, might be able to help him - if Luther could resurrect him.
Shoot the Buffalo
1. Come one, come all and watch as Buffalo Bill Cody, Annie Oakley and Spot, the wonder Chihuahua, battle Cherokee indians and drunken settlers to carve a new Ponderosa in South Pass City, Wyoming. Also, the ghost of Andrew Jackson appears as a railway conductor.
2. Nine-year-old Aldous Bohm's parents leave him alone with his younger siblings. When the kids go looking for the parents, one of them dies of hypothermia. Aldous is wracked by guilt, and later joins the army. Also, a drug-addicted uncle in the attic.
3. He has no name; he is of the herd. The mother protects him, the cousins gather round him as they follow the paths of sweet clovers across the plains. But to others he is special, unique even. They give him a name: Cloud Mane. They follow the herd on their striding beasts and watch him, waiting for the time when they can harvest his pure white pelt. Only by learning the arts of the ancients, and learning to trust his human instincts, will Cloud Mane the Minotaur be able to escape the Alustrein Hunters.
4. All anyone at Sherman High cared about was hot cars, fast women and totally wicked skiing. To get the girl of his dreams, Matt Dongle has to ski the Buffalo: an illegal slope with a deadly record. Matt learns a little about life, a little about love, and a lot about skis when he attempts to Shoot the Buffalo.
5. When a lesbian big-game hunter and a gay National Geographic nature photographer meet over a water buffalo carcass in Africa, they form an unlikely alliance to expose deadly corruption in the world's largest intravenous drug manufacturing company.
Skin Tax
1. Dominique "The Dom" Slavenka is the president of the Wurthington Heights International Party of Dominatrixes (WHIPD). When the mayor proposes that all ladies of the night pay a skin tax for every customer, Dominique knows she must expose him for the wussy submissive he is in their "sessions." Also, a wisecracking private investigator.
2. a collection of poems concerning flesh and all its failings and sinful pleasures. Sample: I Rub My Hands: with your cream / cocoa butter & aloe / on my skin reminds me of the times / I've denied your love // In the supermarket
3. It was bad enough when the corporations started charging for oxygen. But this new tax has given Bunty a real conundrum. She loves Rudi the mechanic; Rudi the mechanic loves big girls. If Buntas wants her man, she's going to have to add 120 lbs. But with the annual skin census approaching, can Bunty afford to be the apple of Rudi's eye?
4. Tired of exposed naval rings, boxer brims and pants around the ankles of the teenagers in Southhaven, NC, the City Council enacts an innovative method of curbing the problem: A skin tax. Now, they just need to find the right person for the job. Also, a Bowie knife.
5. In a genius move to consolidate power, the governing majority enacts a tax on melanin and requires documented proof of payment before any citizen is allowed to vote. When Victor Conte shows up with his new cream that eliminates melanin from the skin, the governing majority are forced into a major ethical dilemma.
Somewhere Else
1. What can a young lad do when his Dad beats him and his Mum forgets to feed him? For Jon the answer is to dream. But when Mrs Prinker, the mad old lady next door, shoves a diamond key into his pocket, Jon must decide: Can he solve the mystery of the citadel? And does he want to rescue his parents from the Shriven Man?
2. Gaelic-phile and Leprechaun wannabee, Mtombe Wallace-Jones describes the adventures of two Roman Soldiers in ancient Ireland sent by Emporer Claudius as they search for the Pot of Gold in Gilhooly, Cairn and west Liverlee. Along the way, they rape, pillage and plunder only to find the gold is . . . Somewhere Else.
3. When Nick is drafted to be sent "over there," he decides he'd rather be "somewhere else" and skedaddles off to Canada.
4. From Canadian forests to upland Croatia, from Scottish islands to London suburbs, this darkly humorous book is destined to become a classic of the fishing genre.
Scalding Heart
1. A book that explores the emotional sightline of pain, joy and a passion that pushes humanity to dare explore itself. It reads like a road map of experience. It scolds and soothes. Here is a new American voice for the ages.
2. Bart has a door built into his chest. He tours medical schools across America, displaying his beating heart to students for a fee. It's a living, after all.
3. A cookbook for the daring: Master Chef and TV Star Hiroyaki Yakimoto tackles the haute cuisine of sweetmeats, his specialty being "The Scalded Heart" of the giant sperm whale. Also, cooking an entire cow in a microwave oven.
4. Hymie's passion ran deeper than Andrea could possibly know, his heart so hot for her it actually ached in his chest. When he asks her to the prom and her reply is, "Not in this lifetime," Hymie becomes a vampire with the hopes of turning Andrea into one also. Now he can afford a whole lot of lifetimes.
Answers:
1; 2; 2; 4; 1
Friday, July 13, 2007
Bastille Day Writing Exercise
The task was to contribute to a story based on this plot: Two farmboys delivering milk to Marie Antoinette's charming cottage are mistaken for courtiers and thrown in the Bastille, where they share a cell with a butcher, a baker, and Marie Antoinette's hairdresser. Also, a shapeshifting zombie who is the nexus of time travel itself.
and given these character traits:
Farmboy 1 (Dirk Reblochon)
is the spitting image of Robespierre/ eats only cheese, and only cheese made from the milk of a cow named LaRue/ Hard of hearing, he tends to yell a lot/ Is able to read cloud formations to predict natural disasters/ is missing half the little finger on his right hand/ Never tells the truth/ has halitosis and Tourette's syndrome
Farmboy 2 (Aligot Chevre)
is gay/ is a mute/ has soft, porcelain like skin/ was formerly Farmgirl/ has no sense of smell.
The Hairdresser (Armand)
is gay/ is bald/ always speaks his mind, and usually regrets it immediately/ has panic attacks/ Is worshipped as a healer, then later persecuted as a witch
The Baker (Jean val Jean)
is actually the Scarlet Pimpernel/ specialty is the Croissanwich/ Lies fifty percent of the time/ Is the richest merchant in town
The Butcher (Edouard)
female/ has managed to smuggle in several chef's knives and cleavers/ specialized in sweetmeats and game birds, partridges, squab, and pheasants/ Sells weaponry on the side
The Zombie (Olivie)
female/ Guards the town's collection of scrolls and ancient books/ eats the brains only of those who insult him/ wears a toupee/ loses parts of himself at indiscreet times/ died of terminal flatulence/ favors shapeshifting during sex/ favors time travel when the man or woman he finds himself involved with gets too serious/ To protect herself from the lecherous necrophiliac jailer, she has used her shape-shifting abilities to make herself look like the butcher. This gives rise to many spirited and hilarious arguments between Olivie and Edouard, as they both try to convince the others that they are the real Edouard, while the other is a flesh-eating zombie.
******
The cell door swung open with a shrill screech. The guard shoved Dirk in, Aligot right behind him. "Ow," Dirk said. "Shit! Bastard!"
"Rot with the rest of 'em," the guard told him.
"My God, it's Robespierre!" Armand said, and immediately regretted it.
"I'm not Robespierre," Dirk replied. "FUCK! I'm a simple farmboy."
"Right," Edouard said. "And I'm Buttercup."
"I only look like Robespierre," Dirk said. "This is my twin brother, Aligot. Interestingly, he looks nothing like Robespierre."
"That guy's not your twin brother," Jean declared. "Who is he?"
"Why . . . he's . . . Cocksucker! also a farmboy. Yeah, that's it. He's farmboy too. Asshole!"
"Watch your language. If Olivie over there thinks you're talking about her, she'll eat your brains."
"I'm not sure this guy has a brain," Armand said, and immediately regretted it. "And why doesn't Aligot speak for himself?"
"He's a mute."
"I don't care what religion he is, he ought to speak for himself." (EE)
“Damnit! I have many friends, or rather members of my fraternity, who believe in Kiss my ass, Liberty. Surely we can distract that Fucking imbecile of a jailer, Merde! long enough for one of us to escape. Mon Dieu! Let us vote!” said Dirk.
Aligot, who had been hiding behind Edouard, now attempted to disappear beneath her skirts. Unfortunately for him, the skirts belonged to the shapeshifting Olivie at that particular moment, and she quickly exposed him for the cowering milktoast that he was. “Get your fingers out of there, this minute!” demanded Edouard, who was now the real Edouard.
“I nominate Aligot. His porcelain skin will be irresistible to that loutish jailer,” said Olivie. She was eager to return to Edouard’s skirts and had no interest in the mute’s brains. She preferred to hear the anguished screams of her victims and that was unlikely to occur with the mute.
A show, sonofabitch, of hands then,” said Dirk.
Four hands shot into the air. Armand’s beefy digits and Aligot’s delicate fingers remained at their sides. But the will of the majority prevailed and within moments the small group began a clamorous chorus of “Gendarme!” (ME)
But their cries went unheard, drowned out by the strains of "La Marseilleuse" emanating from his iPod, a gift brought to him from the future by the zombie. (EE)
The day is long, the night, longer. Aligot sits in a corner, his smiling face incapable of showing emotion. He passes time playing syncopated blues on a recorder. Sleepless, they pretend a deck of cards and play.
"Cornhole! I got two pair of spots," said Dirk.
"On your manhood, foulmouth," Edouard wipes one oily hand on her apron. She holds her pretend card against her bosom.
"I'd like to bet a haircomb against your coxcomb, you piggy-eyed bastard," the hairdresser regretted his words.
"I'll have yee sweetmeats for breakfast. Jacks, I have. Jack's are wild." Edouard waved her cleaver at the hairdresser.
"Quit bickering, Anus. It's so annoying to listen to your constant... Needledick! Needeldick!" Dirk's mouth snapped shut and he held his breath.
"I wish I had a single dead king. I could use a bit of brain right now." Olivie the zombie couldn't hold the imaginary cards, nor could she imagine them with her lack of brains.
"Butter me buns with Stilton, your breath befouls the air and your death was abomination to scullery maids," the baker said. Olivie shifted to the form of Marie Antoinette.
"But my sweet baker, you always remind me beauty is only skin deep." Olivie sighed. Her breath curled the ends of her black toupee. The group threw their hands up and waved the air trying to move the stench out of the cell. Dirk coughed up something vile and spat it on the floor.
"Bugfucker! If there be any certainty of God giving meaning to a cold, dead and heartless existence as ours, FUCK! That life better surpass your cheap beauties in attractiveness or your ability to behave badly with impunity. Ass!"
"What?" several voices sounded together.
"Blow it out your ass, SIDEWAYS!" Dirk yelled back.
"I did." Olivie answered. "I died." (Dave)
It was hard to remember who was who and why they were here, thought the usually elusive Pimpernel. He looked at the damaged men surrounding him in this cell; at the reprehensible, excitable and foul women. He’d made a big mistake, a big mistake indeed, going to ground as a baker. And now, here he was. He had to find a way out of this, or face an untold amount of time with foul stench and even fouler mouths. He had to have some quiet in order to think; this cell was a madhouse.
First order of business – kill the most damaged of them all, the farm boy Dirk, and do it without lifting a finger. “Ah,” he said to himself, watching Dirk and Olivie. Perhaps that was the way.
One more outburst from Dirk, and Olivie would be enjoying his brains for breakfast. One down.
Then, with his legendary skills with women, he could, perhaps, convince the time traveler, Olivie, to bind herself tightly to him as she moved out of this time.
The baker turned to Olivie and smiled. He backed away slightly as he did so, trying his best to avoid her breath.
“Ah, but you’re right, my dear, dear Olivie,” the baker said. “Physical beauty is only skin deep. But this man, this scoundrel, this Dirk, with his foul breath, his foul mouth, and his foul temper, there’s no hope for him is there? He’s despicable, my dear, and so hard to be around.” The baker smiled. Ingratiating. He’d had to do it before.
“Fuckin asswipe cocksuck…..” were the last words Dirk uttered. His skull was split open with one swift cleaving motion.
One down, indeed. (Robin S.)
By day, Dirk peered up through the barred windows, head-height in the cell but ground-height outside. He gazed up at the guillotine, its bones frozen in silhouette against the sky, a dark sky girt in cloud solid as metal and refusing to reveal any cloud patterns that might enable him to foresee the future of the world, if not himself.
Around the guillotine sat its constant companions, the ladies, knitting constantly. There was one, younger than the others, blonde curls escaping her hood, who would glance down sometimes at the window, as if she saw him.
So the day the cell door opened to reveal her standing there, he pushed aside Aligot and Edouard, who immediately revealed herself as Olivie with a massive fart, and moved to stand before her.
"Monsieur," she said. "I hear you are a connoisseur of cheese. My . . . camembert is ripe and my husband is unable to . . . " She indicated behind her, where a small, shrivelled man stood, peering through the darkness.
"I have an arrangement with one of the guards," she said. "A private cell could be found. If you wished to test my camembert . . ."
He tested her camembert, filled his hands with her ripe pommes, but when it was all over and his foie gras satisfied, he lay back on the straw of the cell and wept for the lost LaRue and the bleak future his guillotine-friend had just offered him.
A future where he would act as the stunt double of Robespierre and bathe in front of the servants, so that Robespierre himself might wallow in the dirt he loved so, while all the while his household thought him as perfumed as the king. A future in which Dirk would have life, while Aligot hung, but a future in which he would never see La Rue again, or taste the wondrous fruit of her milk. (McKoala)
and given these character traits:
Farmboy 1 (Dirk Reblochon)
is the spitting image of Robespierre/ eats only cheese, and only cheese made from the milk of a cow named LaRue/ Hard of hearing, he tends to yell a lot/ Is able to read cloud formations to predict natural disasters/ is missing half the little finger on his right hand/ Never tells the truth/ has halitosis and Tourette's syndrome
Farmboy 2 (Aligot Chevre)
is gay/ is a mute/ has soft, porcelain like skin/ was formerly Farmgirl/ has no sense of smell.
The Hairdresser (Armand)
is gay/ is bald/ always speaks his mind, and usually regrets it immediately/ has panic attacks/ Is worshipped as a healer, then later persecuted as a witch
The Baker (Jean val Jean)
is actually the Scarlet Pimpernel/ specialty is the Croissanwich/ Lies fifty percent of the time/ Is the richest merchant in town
The Butcher (Edouard)
female/ has managed to smuggle in several chef's knives and cleavers/ specialized in sweetmeats and game birds, partridges, squab, and pheasants/ Sells weaponry on the side
The Zombie (Olivie)
female/ Guards the town's collection of scrolls and ancient books/ eats the brains only of those who insult him/ wears a toupee/ loses parts of himself at indiscreet times/ died of terminal flatulence/ favors shapeshifting during sex/ favors time travel when the man or woman he finds himself involved with gets too serious/ To protect herself from the lecherous necrophiliac jailer, she has used her shape-shifting abilities to make herself look like the butcher. This gives rise to many spirited and hilarious arguments between Olivie and Edouard, as they both try to convince the others that they are the real Edouard, while the other is a flesh-eating zombie.
******
The cell door swung open with a shrill screech. The guard shoved Dirk in, Aligot right behind him. "Ow," Dirk said. "Shit! Bastard!"
"Rot with the rest of 'em," the guard told him.
"My God, it's Robespierre!" Armand said, and immediately regretted it.
"I'm not Robespierre," Dirk replied. "FUCK! I'm a simple farmboy."
"Right," Edouard said. "And I'm Buttercup."
"I only look like Robespierre," Dirk said. "This is my twin brother, Aligot. Interestingly, he looks nothing like Robespierre."
"That guy's not your twin brother," Jean declared. "Who is he?"
"Why . . . he's . . . Cocksucker! also a farmboy. Yeah, that's it. He's farmboy too. Asshole!"
"Watch your language. If Olivie over there thinks you're talking about her, she'll eat your brains."
"I'm not sure this guy has a brain," Armand said, and immediately regretted it. "And why doesn't Aligot speak for himself?"
"He's a mute."
"I don't care what religion he is, he ought to speak for himself." (EE)
“Damnit! I have many friends, or rather members of my fraternity, who believe in Kiss my ass, Liberty. Surely we can distract that Fucking imbecile of a jailer, Merde! long enough for one of us to escape. Mon Dieu! Let us vote!” said Dirk.
Aligot, who had been hiding behind Edouard, now attempted to disappear beneath her skirts. Unfortunately for him, the skirts belonged to the shapeshifting Olivie at that particular moment, and she quickly exposed him for the cowering milktoast that he was. “Get your fingers out of there, this minute!” demanded Edouard, who was now the real Edouard.
“I nominate Aligot. His porcelain skin will be irresistible to that loutish jailer,” said Olivie. She was eager to return to Edouard’s skirts and had no interest in the mute’s brains. She preferred to hear the anguished screams of her victims and that was unlikely to occur with the mute.
A show, sonofabitch, of hands then,” said Dirk.
Four hands shot into the air. Armand’s beefy digits and Aligot’s delicate fingers remained at their sides. But the will of the majority prevailed and within moments the small group began a clamorous chorus of “Gendarme!” (ME)
But their cries went unheard, drowned out by the strains of "La Marseilleuse" emanating from his iPod, a gift brought to him from the future by the zombie. (EE)
The day is long, the night, longer. Aligot sits in a corner, his smiling face incapable of showing emotion. He passes time playing syncopated blues on a recorder. Sleepless, they pretend a deck of cards and play.
"Cornhole! I got two pair of spots," said Dirk.
"On your manhood, foulmouth," Edouard wipes one oily hand on her apron. She holds her pretend card against her bosom.
"I'd like to bet a haircomb against your coxcomb, you piggy-eyed bastard," the hairdresser regretted his words.
"I'll have yee sweetmeats for breakfast. Jacks, I have. Jack's are wild." Edouard waved her cleaver at the hairdresser.
"Quit bickering, Anus. It's so annoying to listen to your constant... Needledick! Needeldick!" Dirk's mouth snapped shut and he held his breath.
"I wish I had a single dead king. I could use a bit of brain right now." Olivie the zombie couldn't hold the imaginary cards, nor could she imagine them with her lack of brains.
"Butter me buns with Stilton, your breath befouls the air and your death was abomination to scullery maids," the baker said. Olivie shifted to the form of Marie Antoinette.
"But my sweet baker, you always remind me beauty is only skin deep." Olivie sighed. Her breath curled the ends of her black toupee. The group threw their hands up and waved the air trying to move the stench out of the cell. Dirk coughed up something vile and spat it on the floor.
"Bugfucker! If there be any certainty of God giving meaning to a cold, dead and heartless existence as ours, FUCK! That life better surpass your cheap beauties in attractiveness or your ability to behave badly with impunity. Ass!"
"What?" several voices sounded together.
"Blow it out your ass, SIDEWAYS!" Dirk yelled back.
"I did." Olivie answered. "I died." (Dave)
It was hard to remember who was who and why they were here, thought the usually elusive Pimpernel. He looked at the damaged men surrounding him in this cell; at the reprehensible, excitable and foul women. He’d made a big mistake, a big mistake indeed, going to ground as a baker. And now, here he was. He had to find a way out of this, or face an untold amount of time with foul stench and even fouler mouths. He had to have some quiet in order to think; this cell was a madhouse.
First order of business – kill the most damaged of them all, the farm boy Dirk, and do it without lifting a finger. “Ah,” he said to himself, watching Dirk and Olivie. Perhaps that was the way.
One more outburst from Dirk, and Olivie would be enjoying his brains for breakfast. One down.
Then, with his legendary skills with women, he could, perhaps, convince the time traveler, Olivie, to bind herself tightly to him as she moved out of this time.
The baker turned to Olivie and smiled. He backed away slightly as he did so, trying his best to avoid her breath.
“Ah, but you’re right, my dear, dear Olivie,” the baker said. “Physical beauty is only skin deep. But this man, this scoundrel, this Dirk, with his foul breath, his foul mouth, and his foul temper, there’s no hope for him is there? He’s despicable, my dear, and so hard to be around.” The baker smiled. Ingratiating. He’d had to do it before.
“Fuckin asswipe cocksuck…..” were the last words Dirk uttered. His skull was split open with one swift cleaving motion.
One down, indeed. (Robin S.)
By day, Dirk peered up through the barred windows, head-height in the cell but ground-height outside. He gazed up at the guillotine, its bones frozen in silhouette against the sky, a dark sky girt in cloud solid as metal and refusing to reveal any cloud patterns that might enable him to foresee the future of the world, if not himself.
Around the guillotine sat its constant companions, the ladies, knitting constantly. There was one, younger than the others, blonde curls escaping her hood, who would glance down sometimes at the window, as if she saw him.
So the day the cell door opened to reveal her standing there, he pushed aside Aligot and Edouard, who immediately revealed herself as Olivie with a massive fart, and moved to stand before her.
"Monsieur," she said. "I hear you are a connoisseur of cheese. My . . . camembert is ripe and my husband is unable to . . . " She indicated behind her, where a small, shrivelled man stood, peering through the darkness.
"I have an arrangement with one of the guards," she said. "A private cell could be found. If you wished to test my camembert . . ."
He tested her camembert, filled his hands with her ripe pommes, but when it was all over and his foie gras satisfied, he lay back on the straw of the cell and wept for the lost LaRue and the bleak future his guillotine-friend had just offered him.
A future where he would act as the stunt double of Robespierre and bathe in front of the servants, so that Robespierre himself might wallow in the dirt he loved so, while all the while his household thought him as perfumed as the king. A future in which Dirk would have life, while Aligot hung, but a future in which he would never see La Rue again, or taste the wondrous fruit of her milk. (McKoala)
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Face-Lift 377
Guess the Plot
The Friendship Puzzle
1. Roger gets a federal research grant to try to understand what women really want when they say, "Let's just be friends." It's a puzzle with no solution, though, a maze with no exit, and Roger slowly goes insane.
2. Sally is best friends with Jane, but Jane is best friends with Carol, but Carol doesn't like Sally and instead wants to be friends with Nancy, who has other ideas and Wendy and Tammy aren't getting along like they used to and Maria thinks they're all silly but Kendra and Mona are spreading rumors about Sally which causes Nancy to side with Carol when she introduces the new girl Sandy to the group.
3. Tina Winthrop makes possibly the biggest mistake of her young life during her first day of junior high: she sits at the wrong lunch table. Soon she is ignored by her friends, yelled at in class, and pointed at in the hallway. Can Tina figure out the intricacies of tween life before her junior high career is over? Or will she explode in a rage and go all Carrie over someone's ass?
4. Princess Sally's fairy godmother saddles her with the worst "gift" imaginable: the Friendship Puzzle, which makes even the most simple acquaintance into a tangled web of misperception and confusion. Only when her father marries her off to their enemy, King Groghan of Leibrauzane does she understand its use is political, not social.
5. It was supposed to be a toy – like Magic 8 Ball or Ouiji. But then a cheerleader fell for a Chemistry Club Geek, and an Emo became brainiac Susmita Gupta's best friend. Can she undo the damage her little invention has caused, or are the changes really for the better?
6. Alanna made up her mind not to let Maggie force her out of their eighth-grade clique. But Maggie isn't someone you want to mess with. When the Mafia gets involved, Alanna must decide what's more important: friendship or making it to ninth grade.
Original Version
“If I die, I won’t be popular!!!” thought Alanna Stewart in The Friendship Puzzle. [On the other hand, I'm currently alive and I'm unpopular. I guess I should try being a zombie.] [I don't understand what circumstances would lead her to have that thought . . . unless . . .. Did she just tell her mom she wished she were more popular, and her mom recommended suicide?] My YA novel is about a kind-hearted thirteen-year-old who wants to gain acceptance in her misguided popular clique yet often sees herself as an outsider with conflicting morals. She believes Maggie is keeping her from being accepted, so she sets out to remove her nemesis from the clique; however, messing with Maggie turns out to be a mistake, since Maggie fights back with a vengeance. [I thought the point of being in a clique was to work together to make the unpopular kids as miserable as possible. These cliquemates treat each other like Rosie treats poor sweet Elizabeth.]
At the same time, Alanna yearns for a handsome, Japanese-Caucasian boy with a personality that directly conflicts with her friends. Several colorful characters, involved in quick moving scenarios, accompany Alanna through the eighth grade. [She attends school with the Muppets.] Not only must Alanna deal with arrogant teenagers, [There's no transition between these sentences. It's a list. If you're going to drop the Japanese-Caucasian boy after one sentence, he probably doesn't need to be in the query.] but she also fears the Mafia, [Whoa. The Mafia?
Maggie: My Godfather here wants to talk to you.
Alanna: About what?
Godfather: Alanna, I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse.
Alanna: What's that?
Godfather: Either your signature goes on this clique withdrawal form, or your brains do.
Alanna: I'm reporting this to Principal Adams.
Godfather (handing Alanna a jacket with a fish inside): Take this. It's a Sicilian message. It means Principal Adams sleeps with the fishes.
Alanna: How could you?!
Maggie: It's not personal; it's strictly business.]
and encounters several strange occurrences. [Vague. Like what?] Each chapter provides action and/or humor to keep the readers’ attention until Alanna finds the courage to be herself. [At which point the readers' attention flags radically.]
My husband and I have three teenage children. I have taught intellectually gifted students for the past twenty years and am knowledgeable about what appeals to girls of this age group. [Namely, boys of this age group.] My book captures the middle school mentality through the speech and actions of my characters. I look forward to hearing from you.
The first five chapters of my 53,000-word novel are enclosed. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Yours very sincerely,
Notes
If you're going to claim that a kind-hearted thirteen-year-old girl fears the Mafia, a little elaboration is in order. Something like . . . has feared the Mafia ever since her false testimony sent Joey Bananas up the river.
Capturing the middle school mentality sounds more like something parents would care about than middle schoolers looking for a good read. Middle schoolers already know the middle-school mentality.
She deals with colorful characters, she encounters strange occurences, she yearns for a boy. But the main story line is that she fights to be part of the popular clique, and in the end realizes it's not for her, she doesn't need them, she was happier back when she was ratting out the Mafia. Keep the query focused on the main story, while including some specific important events.
New Beginning 314
"Uncuff her and send her in." The voice emerged from the guard's opaque visor, aloof and impersonal. Lara, still struggling against the cops as they force-marched her up to the door, found her rage boil over at the sight of the praetorian son-of-a-bitch who'd sold out his race to the aliens. Abruptly, she bent her knees to drop her center of gravity, and the cops' automatic reaction-- hauling her back upright-- supported her as she lifted both feet and mule-kicked the guard. But almost before she moved the man side-stepped, swept the kick aside with one hand, totally impassive. Then he was back to parade rest.
The cops, however, staggered, and the three of them almost landed on the floor.
"You sure you want her loose?" one of the cops asked. Still kicking and twisting, Lara managed to twist free of the other cop for a second. But the smart mouth was going to leave finger marks on her arm. He had a grip like a vice and levered her into submission by shoving her wrists between her shoulder blades hard enough to lift her on her toes.
The guard's lips twitched below the visor, then he turned to lay palm to lock pad. "The Hya Vash can handle her."
The man nodded and gestured for Lara to take a seat. She did, forcing herself to do so calmly, as if she were actually going to do as this chump said. She listened to him, her mind wheeling and dealing, as adept at heading off confrontation as her body.
When the conversation ended, the traitor stood, a malicious smile playing on his lips.
She allowed herself to be led back to her cell. Let them think they had her where they wanted her.
"The Hya Vash?" the doctor said, rubbing his face. "Where the hell did you come up with that?"
His colleague shrugged. "Best I could do on the spur of the moment. What do you think?"
"It was a nice save. Yesterday she thought she was Angelina Jolie; now she apparently thinks she's Lara Fucking Croft! You changed from a movie exec offering her a three-picture deal to someone who - what was it?"
"Sold out his race to aliens!" They both laughed wildly.
"Do you think maybe we're impeding her progress?"
"Probably, but hey, we've gotta do something for fun around here."
Opening: writtenwyrdd.....Continuation: freddie
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Face-Lift 376
Guess the Plot
Depth
1. Written to shame admirers of genre fiction, this novel is so deep that it is completely incomprehensible, as all true works of literature must be.
2. In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, near the end of World War II, a Nazi submarine goes too deep and disappears. Presumed lost, it actually is whisked to another dimension where, with a few alien modifications, it fights in Galactic War II as the flagship of the Groodoan Spacefleet.
3. When her ship sinks, a US Navy sailor finds herself miraculously transformed into a mermaid. Before she can even swim back to the US, she undergoes yet another transformation, this time into an inhuman goddess of the sea, heiress to all its wealth, and as cruel as its laws of survival.
4. Lovely Marine biologist Lance Corporal Tootsie LaMer has disappeared off the coast of Dry Tortuga. As Adventurer Dirk Glascock races to her rescue, an outbreak of ptomaine renders his crew useless and his bilge full. Dirk knows his greatest fear - bathophobia - has nothing to do with showering. But will it prevent him from finding the true depth of his feelings?
5. When mousy librarian Louise Glip opens a magic book and mysteriously finds herself transported into the hip Viper Room she realizes that not only is she underdressed and over-read, she is also out of her . . . Depth.
6. Moyra and Tiffany are sooo tired of being called "shallow", they convince all the Gamma Gamma Gamma sisters to wear black, read Marx and Kant, and throw a "peacenik" party which turns into a riot because most of the guests are actually undercover police.
Original Version
Dear (Ms. / Mr. Lastname):
I have completed a fantasy novel, and would like you to represent me. Depth (65,000 words) is the adventure of a young woman overcoming the sea after her transformation into a mermaid. [Those of the finned persuasion will argue that you're born a mermaid, not transformed, but you can simply respond, "It's fiction, gill-face."]
Kali W. [Amazing. Her last name is only one letter, yet it has more syllables than her first name.] [Does she always go by Kali W, like Kenny G and Mister T and Auntie M?] is 18, a US Navy sailor on her first cruise. [That's the latest strategy used by navy recruiters: tell 'em they're going on a two-year world cruise.] After her ship capsizes and sinks [Do naval ships really capsize and sink? It's gotta be pretty rare, not to mention embarrassing. I mean, you take out a naval vessel like a destroyer or an aircraft carrier for maneuvers or something, and you sink it? You're the friggin' navy, for Pete's sake. And you can't make a four-billion-dollar ship float?] she finds herself breathing water, her legs replaced with a tail. Worse, she's the sole survivor of an aircraft carrier dropping into abyssal depths. [The sole survivor? There are thousands of crew members on a carrier. Aren't there any lifeboats? Does anyone know how to swim?] Breaking free of the ship, she's stranded in the blue desert of the pelagic Pacific [I had to look up pelagic, and now that I have, I wonder if it's used correctly. It means "of the sea," as in pelagic birds, pelagic ecosystem, pelagic organisms. Can it describe the sea itself? Wouldn't that be redundant, like the arboreal trees, or the evil editor?] and left with only one choice: swim back to America.
Through challenge and trial she learns the powers of her siren form, transcends [Evolves?] from prey to predator, and masters the sea. When Kali rests at a beautiful, remote atoll, it becomes harder and harder to leave, until she accepts it as her new home. There she faces a new threat: [A shark that breathes air and has human legs.] that of her transformation into an inhuman goddess of the sea, heiress to all its wealth, as vain as its beauty and as cruel as its laws of survival.
Depth realistically renders the Pacific's varied ecosystems and species. [Except for the mermaid part.] The mythology of sirens underlies real-world detail. I served as a military journalist, publishing news and features in defense and civilian publications. I've seen much of the Pacific waters detailed in the story, from both above and below. This is my first novel.
An SASE is provided for your reply. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Notes
Who would win between Kali W. and Aquaman?
Okay, she's on a ship, it sinks, she becomes a mermaid. That's the setup. What's the plot? The rest is vague. She starts swimming home, rests on an atoll, decides to stay, morphs into a cruel goddess? I want to know what happens. Are there any other people in the book after the ship sinks? What does she do in her role as a goddess of the sea? Does she lead her minions in attacking fishing fleets? Melt glaciers with her heat ray to expand her realm? There is a story, right?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
New Beginning 313
My eyes follow the pattern of squares in the waiting room floor: two gray, two beige, one white. Next line: three beige, two white, one gray. Repeat: two gray, two beige, one white…
A loud “squaaawk” distracts me. “It’s okay, Daisy,” coos the lady sitting in a corner chair. She gently pats the wire cage on her lap. The bird inside, head cocked at an angle, glares in response, then ruffles her all-white feathers.
Pop leans over to me and whispers, “What kind of bird is that?”
“Cockatoo,” I mumble. All the crying has sapped my energy, even for small talk.
I stare at a poster on the opposite wall, “Guide to Purebred Dogs.” Underneath it, hangs a rack of magazines: “Dog Fancy,” “Cat Fancy,” and “Healthy Pet.” An aquarium with a gerbil curled up in the corner sits on a low table. A card taped to the glass says: “Hi, I’m Zoro! Adopt me!” Across the room, another card hangs from the receptionist’s computer monitor: “Doctor will be with you in a minute. Sit. Stay.” It’s cute, but I don’t smile. We’ve been waiting way longer than a minute. I check my watch. Exactly sixty-four minutes longer. My knee bounces up and down at high speed.
At last, the receptionist calls my name. I get up and head for the examination room; Pop follows a little way behind, his arthritis slowing him down. “Cockatoo, eh?” he says.
The doctor welcomes us in with his professional smile: warm, soothing, yet solemn. This isn’t a happy occasion. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says. I smile back and shrug. Pop’s eyes are starting to tear again. “Okay. Let’s get him on the table.”
We don’t discuss -- we all know the decision’s made. Now, it’s not if, not when: just do it. Pop’s gaze wanders around the room; he doesn’t want to watch.
“This won’t take long, don’t worry.” The doctor shaves a leg and locates a vein. My heart beats faster. Is this really the right thing to do? Memories of when I was younger flood in; of long walks and endless games of ball and swimming in the pond.
The needle goes in. Outside the room, another squawk. “What kind of bird is that?” Pop asks as his eyes slowly close and his body goes soft.
“A cockatoo,” I say. I might get one, now that the house is mine.
Opening: Anonymous.....Continuation: ril
Q & A 116
Is it possible to submit a query to you, for real?
Apparently it is, since one of the queries that appeared on this blog showed up in my in-box a while back. Interestingly, I'd gone to the trouble of providing a revised version, and the submitter sent the original version. Not the way to get on my good side.
It's unwise to submit to agents and editors without knowing what kind of books they handle. I have, admittedly, revealed on this blog that I handle books about Norwegian lemon farms and the medieval architecture of northeastern Portugal, but I'm also interested in Italian wines. Not reading about them; drinking them.
Seriously, accepting queries from my minions would change everything, like having sex with your best friend. I'd have to stop blogging or find new minions. Let's just keep it platonic.
Face-Lift 375
Guess the Plot
Lessons
1. The Garlia Elves call warlock Jarak Blackfist a vengeful tyrant. Indignant and outraged at their slander, he destroys their race, razes their cities to the ground, and salts their lands, figuring that'll teach 'em.
2. Never drive a kid who gets carsick on the Big Sur right after a spaghetti lunch. If the grass really is greener, it's covered in toxic fertilizers. Lots of tequila does not necessarily help you forget him, or the STD he gave you. Someone is keeping track of the porn sites you visit. Bombing Baghdad is not necessarily the best way to establish stability in the Middle East.
3. Medieval woodcutter Eldrid Svenson learned everything the hard way. If he didn't accidentally offend some belligerent tyrant, he was trying to appease a dragon or an elf. And when his parents insist he choose a bride and settle down, he sails toward Greenland in pursuit of the beautiful mermaid Marina Nox.
4. After perusing a catalog from The Pleasure Chest, high school hygiene teacher Myra Boodle comes up with a daring plan to tutor the football team in the only subject they seem interested in. Will they all graduate? Or will they deliberately fail so they can come back for more of Myra's . . . Lessons?
5. Thirteen-year-old Aurora is dragged from her bed and taken to a government re-education center where she is force-fed propaganda and ordered to denounce her parents and commit murder. It's convert or die in the America of the (not so distant?) future.
6. The last thing Gregory Bickens wants to do is take piano lessons with old Miss Chamberlain down the street. Her methods of correction of rhythmic mistakes are legendary. But he soon learns they're nothing compared to what happens when he forgets his lesson book.
Original Version
Dear Agent:
It's hard to remember, but Aurora is sure she used to be a normal teenage girl. She knew her parents weren't happy with the way the country is being run, but what thirteen-year old cares about things like that? Not Aurora - not until government agents drag her from her bed in the middle of the night. [If her parents weren't happy with the government before . . . ]
They bring her to a reeducation center, where she is thrown into a room with five other teenagers. [I don't know about Aurora, but that would be it for me. I'll tell you anything, I'll do anything; just let me out of here!] None of them seem quite sane - and they all warn Aurora about their counselor, Aubrey, and her mind games.
Aurora and the others are force-fed propaganda, and made to admit terrible things about themselves and their former lives... whether they're true or not. On some days, it's easy; she only has to denounce her parents for Aubrey to be happy with her.
[Aubrey: How much do you like your parents?
Aurora: It's a terrible thing to hate your mother. But I didn't always hate her. When I was a child, I only kind of disliked her.
Aubrey: Here, have a cookie.]
Some days are much harder - like when Aubrey wants her to kill one of her companions.
[Aubrey: How much do you like Chelsea over there?
Aurora: She's my best friend in the world.
Aubrey: Let me put it this way: how much do you want this cookie?]
And as soon as she figures out what Aubrey wants from her, it changes again. She watches as the others are killed or converted, and can't help but wonder whether she's next.
At first she searches for a way to escape, but every day freedom seems more unlikely. Soon it's all she can do just to survive. And eventually she must face the hardest choice she's ever had to make: the choice between physical survival and the survival of her identity.
LESSONS is a 150,000-word dark literary novel. Set in a near-future totalitarian America, it explores the psychological effects of brainwashing while chronicling Aurora's struggles to stay sane and stay alive. [Any chance you could explore and chronicle in half as many words? I'm not sure I could remain sane through 150,000 words about the brainwashing of a thirteen-year-old.] I have enclosed the first five pages for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Notes
Better title: The Manchurian Teenybopper.
I'm sure this is fascinating, especially if you've made yourself an expert on brainwashing, but does anything happen? An escape attempt? A raid by the good guys? A friendship Aurora relies on to keep her sane? If it's all:
Day 247. They threw a new kid in with us today. Hopefully he'll get with the program, but most likely they'll make me kill him. Oh well, whatever's best for the country. Tell you one thing, I'm not killing anyone for less than a whole package of Pepperidge Farm Brussels cookies. Last kid I kiilled I got one oatmeal. One! Guess I'll play some solitaire.
Day 248. Today Aubrey put me in front of a TV and made me wear 3-D glasses and watch a movie. I couldn't follow the plot, it was like it was in super-fast motion, and they didn't even have any popcorn. Oh well, whatever's best for the country. This place would be more fun if there was a Gap. Guess I'll play some solitaire.
. . . then it's going to be a tough sell. You haven't done enough to convince me it isn't all like that.
Monday, July 09, 2007
New Beginning 312
The air held energy. It played across Barry Andrews's arms as he turned west off Unser Boulevard and braked to a stop. A metal gate blocked access to New Mexico's Petroglyph National Monument.
"Tough luck," Martin said from the passenger seat. "Sign says it's open until five." He checked his watch. "Missed it by ten minutes."
Inside the gate, beyond a dirt parking area and a bulletin board covered with maps and information, the trailhead waited. The narrow path was completely unremarkable, yet Barry felt like a five year old boy seeing a puppy for the first time. He needed closer. Looking past the trailhead to a ridge of black volcanic rocks intensified the attraction.
Barry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "The parking lot is closed, but the trail is open." He turned off the Subaru and stepped outside.
Martin shouldered open the passenger door and groaned getting out. "Why do I let you talk me into these things? These rock sketches aren't worth a hike, you know."
"Just wait. You'll see." Barry launched himself up the trail. The trails held dirt, and it played across his shoes like a party invitation.
"We've got two hours before sunset, you know." Martin huffed a little from jogging to catch up. Black basalt surrounded them in rough spikes. No petroglyphs. At least not yet.
"No problem. We just have to reach the top of the trail by then. Then the Mothership can beam us up."
Martin stopped in his tracks. "Look. I told you I didn't swing that way. That anal probe game was a drunken, frat house mistake."
Opening: Bump in the Nght.....Continuation: writtenwyrdd
"Tough luck," Martin said from the passenger seat. "Sign says it's open until five." He checked his watch. "Missed it by ten minutes."
Inside the gate, beyond a dirt parking area and a bulletin board covered with maps and information, the trailhead waited. The narrow path was completely unremarkable, yet Barry felt like a five year old boy seeing a puppy for the first time. He needed closer. Looking past the trailhead to a ridge of black volcanic rocks intensified the attraction.
Barry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "The parking lot is closed, but the trail is open." He turned off the Subaru and stepped outside.
Martin shouldered open the passenger door and groaned getting out. "Why do I let you talk me into these things? These rock sketches aren't worth a hike, you know."
"Just wait. You'll see." Barry launched himself up the trail. The trails held dirt, and it played across his shoes like a party invitation.
"We've got two hours before sunset, you know." Martin huffed a little from jogging to catch up. Black basalt surrounded them in rough spikes. No petroglyphs. At least not yet.
"No problem. We just have to reach the top of the trail by then. Then the Mothership can beam us up."
Martin stopped in his tracks. "Look. I told you I didn't swing that way. That anal probe game was a drunken, frat house mistake."
Opening: Bump in the Nght.....Continuation: writtenwyrdd
Face-Lift 374
Guess the Plot
That's Dog with a Capital D
1. e.e. cummings' best friend breaks his silence in this startling tell-all that explains why he finally snapped and tore the annoying poet's throat out.
2. In this howling memoir, the pool hall pooch from "The Music Man" spills all. Get the real dirt on Marian, the Professor and what really went on in River City's notorious library.
3. Nilla with a capital N wants a dog with a capital D. Nilla's wimpy Pop, with a capital P, reneges on his promise to get her one, because her mom (with a small m) is worried Nilla's brother Arnie (capital A) will eat it.
4. Kermit tried telling his producers that three-year-olds were too stupid to understand the alphabet. But did he listen? Nooo. All he cared about was keeping Big Bird's feathers clean, and Grouch's trash can full. If they make me do one more letter, Kermit thought, I'm gonna kick some preschool ass.
5. It's not easy being the first Golden Retriever to attend Harvard Law School, but Scrappy McButtons is determined to make it work. But when a jealous human classmate shows up at a torts exam in a suit made of roast beef, can Scrappy overcome his primal urges long enough to gain the respect he deserves?
6. Dog Smith hates his name - especially when a mix-up at the Department of Motor Vehicles gets him sent to the pound. But when he gets adopted by a world-famous supermodel, he realizes: a dog's life isn't so bad after all.
Original Version
Dear Agent/Editor:
The summer Nilla Jeffers moves to Washington, D.C., she’s convinced that eleven years of wishing on birthday candles, dandelion seeds, and the first star in the night sky have paid off: she is finally getting a dog. [Nilla, Nilla, be careful what you wish for. Here's verse 2 from my poem, "I Hate My Pets:"
He sheds on the carpet;
He sheds on my clothing;
The whole house is knee-deep in hair.
He barks at the neighbors;
He bites the repairman;
And chases the cat everywhere.
He chews up my shoes;
He humps my guests' legs;
He nips at my heels when I jog.
So many animals get hit by cars;
Why doesn't . . . my friggin' dog?]
After all, her Pop promised. But even before all the boxes are unpacked, Mom makes it clear that Nilla’s dream won’t be coming true any time soon. [Ah, we have our hated villain.]
Life in the Jeffers family revolves around Nilla’s fifteen year-old handicapped brother, Arnie. Years of trying to deal with Arnie’s undiagnosed issues – an uncontrolled appetite, tantrums, learning disabilities – have left Mom emotionally unstable and the family fabric strained. Nonetheless, Nilla is hopeful. [At last a compromise is reached, as Nilla is given a birthday gift of a Chia pet.]
Undaunted by Mom’s refusal to get her a dog, Nilla persists in plotting and planning ways of trying to change her mom’s mind: She befriends the kind next door neighbor, Rosemary, and “practices” with her dog, Roger; she enlists the support of her Uncle Joe; [she puts arsenic in her mom's gin and has her brother hospitalized;] and she quotes from her favorite book, Caring for Your Dog.
Eventually, driven by frustration and desperation, Nilla lashes out, bungling, she thinks, any chance of getting a dog. Ultimately, though, a heroic act on her part helps Nilla realize her dream, but in a way she never would have expected. [She rescues a stray, and when she brings it to the pound, they give her a job there, as a dog euthanizer.]
That’s Dog with a capital D is the story of relationships in a family with a handicapped child, told from the perspective of a sibling who desperately wants to be normal.
The full 30,000-word Middle Grade manuscript is available on request. I have enclosed a SASE for your reply.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Notes
I would just refer to dealing with Arnie's learning disabilities and tantrums. Leave out the uncontrolled appetite; it makes Arnie sound like Evil Editor.
It sounds a bit dull, and while the book could easily appeal to dog loving kids without much excitement, you might want to see how the query reads with more about Nilla's lashing out and her heroic act and the surprise ending.
Someone was bound to ask, so here's verse 1:
She pukes on my carpet,
She pukes on my sofa,
She pukes onto my TV set.
She coughs up huge hairballs
And her vet bills have left me
Ten thousand dollars in debt.
She claws all my chairs and my
Curtains, and each day
She brings in a dead mouse or rat.
Hey, the only dead animal I want to see
Inside my house . . . is my own friggin' cat.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Face-Lift 373
Guess the Plot
Werewoman
1. By day, she lived in the woods, chased after squirrels, and snoozed in the sunshine. But by night she wore grey flannel suits and traded the Japanese markets. She was . . . Werewoman!
2. Butch, Guts, and Ripper are pleasantly surprised when a rare female werewolf joins their pack. Tension ensues, however, when the three pals turn against one another in hopes of winning the position of Alpha male, and the affections of . . . Werewoman.
3. When Timmy goes missing on a winter field trip, only one person can penetrate the gloom of the Arctic, find the eco-terrorist's hideout, and rescue the boy before it's too late: wildlife photographer Jane Eminescu, the notorious . . . Werewoman.
4. When Noah Fenton is seduced and bitten by a mysterious woman during a night of debauchery, he doesn’t think much of it--until the next full moon causes his penis to shrivel and crawl inside his body, and he becomes . . . Werewoman.
5. She was an ordinary Persian until the accident that sent her flying from her owner's limousine window into a dark alley . . . Now, every full moon, this stray cat becomes a bar-hopping little pussy known as . . . Werewoman.
6. Denise didn't know what was wrong with her until Dr. Schadenfreude worked magic with a scalpel, a suture and liposuction. Now he's Dennis, one of those who once . . . Were women.
Original Version
Dear Agent,
When Noah Fenton is seduced and bitten by a mysterious woman during a debaucherous night in Mexico, he doesn’t think much of it. But back home in San Francisco four weeks later, he transforms into a beautiful woman when the next full moon rises. [I've been in San Francisco, and believe me, what goes on there has nothing to do with the moon.]
Noah is terrified at first – watching your penis shrivel and crawl inside your body is hard on a guy – [Unless, like Evil Editor, he regularly swims in Lake Superior in February, in which case he's used to it.] [If Noah doesn't want to watch his penis shrivel, he might consider wearing pants, at least when the moon is full.] but he soon realizes the potential of his peculiar situation. [He can now wear ladies' undergarments without fear that he'll be involved in an accident requiring hospitalization, and he can stop pretending he likes pro wrestling.] As the moons come and go and he changes sex for three days every month, he begins to crave the spotlight that shines on beautiful women. He's also educated in the wonders of womanhood in ways most men would kill for: from studious explorations of his female anatomy [This is starting to get a little weird.] to being on the receiving end of clumsy pick-up lines. [Not even EE would go so far as to kill just to hear some woman say, "Is that a rejected manuscript in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?"]
But not all discovery is fun. Noah can’t find the courage to tell his friends and family what's happened to him, [Hey, his friends would envy him. And his mother was probably hoping for a girl from the beginning.] and his baffling journey is taken alone. After he’s unjustly fired from his job as an editorial assistant at the San Francisco Independent, he plots to use his female body to expose his unscrupulous boss. In high heels and a little black dress, Noah expects to breeze through a plan to avenge his firing. Will he learn in time something all women know, that some men don’t take no for an answer? [That sounds like your plot, those last three sentences. I'm not sure you need much of what's in paragraph 2; in fact some of it may be hurting your cause.]
Inspired by the werewolf myth, Werewoman is 72,000 words. My short stories have been published in the Apalachee Review, Literal Latte and Catalyst, the student literary journal of UC Santa Barbara. I have never, to my knowledge, turned into a woman under the full moon.
I’d be happy to send you a copy of the manuscript for your review. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Notes
Inspired by the werewolf myth . . . or by Werewoman? Check out these 12 comic book covers (7 on page 1 and 5 on page 2). Hilarious. Some of them sound just like this plot.
At times it sounds like comedy, at times like serious business. Comic relief is okay in the book, but if it's not a comedy you don't want your query to hint that it is.
I'd dump the isolated facts about Noah and his situation, and provide more info about his plot. Why was he fired, and what's he doing about it?]
Saturday, July 07, 2007
New Beginning 311
“There’s no science lab?” Trevor repeated.
Trevor had told his father that moving to this backwater would ruin his life. Here was the first evidence that he was right. He always was. Why did people doubt him?
Mr. Johnson flipped through the file on his desk. “What? No, no science lab.” Trevor watched as he wrote the number 28 next to Trevor’s name on a list. “Here, sign here.”
“Is 28 my student number?” Trevor asked, as he signed the form. When he looked back up, Mr. Johnson had disappeared. “Mr. Johnson?”
The man’s head popped back up from behind his desk. “Here you go. You’re all set now.” He thrust something into Trevor’s hands.
“What’s this?” Trevor stared at the numbered shirt and red trimmed shorts.
“Your basketball uniform.” Mr. Johnson stood, picked up his clipboard, and moved toward the door.
"Basketball?" Trevor said to the now empty room. "Basketball?"
Trevor couldn't believe it. He was a geek, a science nerd. Always had been. Over the years, he'd demonstrated his geekiness by worshiping Gil Grissom on CSI, Garcia and Reid on Criminal Minds, the Professor on Gilligan's Island. But secretly, when he was lying in bed in the dark, he worshiped Kobe Bryant and Allen Iverson.
He pulled out his mini-chemistry set and threw it into the trash. He wouldn't be needing that anymore.
Then he pulled out something else, something he'd been yearning to wear for a long, long time . . . His bling.
Opening: Stephanie.....Continuation: Anonymous
Writing Exercise Results
The task was to complete the following scene:
"Hey, I get one phone call," Evil Editor said.
"Yeah, whatever," the cop replied. "Here, use my cell phone."
1. He tossed it through the bars, then leant back against the wall, and closed his eyes. His yawn squeezed them tighter shut.
Bedeep bedeep, beep beep, went the phone. Bedeep, beep. Beep beep. Bedeep, bedeep, bedeep. Bedeep beep. Beep beep beep.
The cop opened one eye. "You can't call abroad."
Beep, beep, beep, beep. Beep! Beep bedeep beep beep. Beep bedeep bedeep beep.
He shut the eye again.
Bedeep bedeep. Beep.
The cop opened both eyes. "What the hell are you up to, old man?"
"Shush," said Evil Editor. "I'm concentrating."
Bedeep bedeep beep bedeep.
"On what?" the cop said, through a yawn.
"This message from my friend Samue...er, to Sam. About my bail."
Beep beep bedeep. Beep beep. Bedeep beep bedeep beep!
The cop laughed. "Bail? You rejected the Chief's novel. With nasty little comments. And you think you'll get bail?"
Bedeep beep bedeep.
Evil Editor snapped the phone shut and handed it back through the bars. "All done."
Suspiciously, the cop checked his remaining credit, then looked straight at Evil Editor, bemused.
"But you didn't make a call--"
--Buffy Squirrel
2. Evil Editor took the phone. The guard thought he seemed reluctant to actually place the call when it came down to it, but he clearly knew the number by heart, punching it in without pause.
"Evil Lawyer? This is Evil Editor. I'm afraid I'm in a spot of trouble."
There was a pause, uncomfortable at this end and the bespectacled, gray-haired old man sweated and paced, and finally broke.
"Will you forget all that? Look, I need a lawyer and you're in the club . . . What? . . . Assault and some other drivel . . . Yes, I did but the first two or three were in self defense . . . well, wait a minute and I'll find out."
He turned to the guard. "How many charges of assault am I facing?"
"Assault - um, twenty three. That doesn't include the charges of murder, property damage . . ."
Evil Editor held up one hand and turned sideburn on to the guard, muttering something in the phone and receiving a response that was audible as a buzz from the cell phone.
"Well, if Evil Lawyer won't help me, what about Evil Shyster?" He dialed, got no answer. "I hate Caller ID," he said. "Let me try Evil Bonds Bailsman." A long pause. Finally Evil Editor folded up the phone and handed it back. The guard nearly turned away, but Evil Editor stopped him. EE took off his glasses and smiled resignedly. Then he took off the gray mutton chops and hair and looked at the guard totally bald."I would have preferred not to have to reveal this, but my hand is forced. So be it. Know, then, that I am . . . Evil Comic Book Character, and no prison can hold me."
--Anonymous
3. Ed flipped open the cell phone and burst into song:
Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,
Little Joe was blowin on the slide trombone.
The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang,
The whole rhythm section was the purple gang.
Lets rock, everybody, lets rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin to the jailhouse rock.
Gyrating his hips and playing air guitar proved too much. Ed dropped the warden’s cell phone, breaking it into three pieces.
“Uh, gee, sorry there mister. I got a little carried away. Lookin’ for number three though. She still here?”
“What are you talking about?” the warden asked.
“Number three.” Ed lifted his jail shirt, exposing the t-shirt with number forty-seven written on the front with black marker.
Number forty-seven said to number three:
Youre the cutest jailbird I ever did see.
I sure would be delighted with your company,
Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me.
“Ed,” the warden said. “You may be the king of blogs. But here in Memphis, there is only one king.”
The warden turned to his assistant. “Lock’im up with Mrs. Clooney. Give her a number three shirt to keep him quiet.”
--Takoda
4. EE takes the phone and dials.
"Hello, Mrs. McGillicutty? I'm standing here with your husband and I just want to say that I'd love to suck your toes while you lie naked in a bubble. The thought of your naked body give me a hardon." He breathes lustily into the phone. The cop grabs the cell phone and puts if to his ear.
"Hello, hello? Who is this!" he demands and waits for the answer.
"I'm sorry dear. I know dear. I'm sorry dear. Yes, dear. No, dear. I'll get a carton of milk, dear." He hangs up the phone.
"You dialed my wife? What are you a pervert?"
"But you just arrested me for making obscene phone calls. What else would I do with a phone." EE answers.
--Dave
5. "Patrick, you gotta get Danny. I just been arrested for playin' a Pìobaireachd in public."
"Oh God help me Patty, I know. Playing Pìobaireachd's in public on pipes is permanently enjoined. I told them it was Ceol Mor not Ceol Beag but they looked a'me like I was stupid. 'Merican police don't know a siubal from a Taorluath." The cop stared at him like he was a mental case.
"No, Johnny stayed at home in his bottle but I'm a wearing my secret military sporran and it's restin' right above me manhood with the son of barleycorn inside."
"What's that? No, I played Cabar Feidh."
"Well no, I'm not naked. I'm regimental. Bobby Burns would be proud o' me an' my Great Highlands." EE looked at the cop and made an ugly face.
"They took me dirk, me skean dhu, me cap badge, even me Ghillie Brouges. I swear they're all named bastard Cumberland and I need a Macdonald. Either bail or tis Bonny goodbye for me arse." EE's legs went wobbly.
"Hurry and bring the boy lawyer. You and Danny are me only hope."
The cop grabbed the cellphone. "I ain't no Cumberland. I'm Vittorio Castellucci. Can't you read a nametag?"
--Dave
6. EE dialed, waited, then spoke: "Perry. Guess where I am. No . . . No . . . No . . . Look, let me narrow it down for you, it's not a massage parlor, a bar, a bookie joint, a bordello . . . No! It was a rhetorical question, anyway. I'm in the big house . . . No, you numbskull. Jail! I don't know, something about drunk and disorderly. And apparently there's a law against manuscript bonfires in city parks. Just get down here and bail me out, will you? What? Yes, here he is." EE handed the phone to the cop. "He wants to talk to you," he said.
"Hello?" the cop said.
"Listen, pal, are you aware of just who it is you've got locked up?"
"You mean Evil Editor?"
"Precisely. Now would you do us both a big favor, and throw away the key?"
--EE
Friday, July 06, 2007
Face-Lift 372
Guess the Plot
500X
1. Asked by a centurion how many enemy soldiers are approaching, Algebron wanted to say DX, but having never been good at arithmetic he mixed his Roman and Arabic numerals. Though he was punished severely, he later was credited with inventing a new field of mathematics.
2. When urban rapper "500" Cent learns he's the illegitimate son of Malcolm X he leaves the hip-hop lifestyle behind in his search for a time portal.
3. "Fee Fie Foe Fum" is all well and good for scaring off the locals, but everyday life for a giant is not easy. For starters, it's nearly impossible to find a decent t-shirt in size 500X.
4. Sir Isaac Newton is on the verge of inventing calculus, but no one knows that he is being coached by Vallomint, an astronaut from the Twenty-First Century. If Sir Isaac can't figure out a derivative that yields 500 X, the future of the planet is at stake. Can Vallomint knock some sense into Newton's thick skull?
5. Janne is a Fortune 500 market analyst, but on weekends nosedives into the Xstacy-fueled underworld of Helsinki, Finland's grungy rave parties. Threatened with exposure by a colleague, Janne heads for the relative calm of New York City.
6. 500 . . . 499 . . . only 498 miles to go. Danica is on her way to winning the Indy 500, bagging that new hunky mechanic she hired, and showing the world women can drive fast too. She's got it all in the bag until she accidentally passes her pit . . . and has to back up. Where the hell is reverse on this car?
Original Version
Mr./Mrs.
My name is Henrik Wilenius and as I understand, you have an interest in commercial fiction. Therefore, I believe you may be interested in my novel, 500 X. Below, you will find a short synopsis for your consideration:
Bright, ambitious, and handsome Janne Valo wants to live his life to the fullest. Throughout the week, he is a hardworking, dedicated international market analyst with an exemplary life style, while on the weekends, he takes nosedives into the Xstacy-fuelled underworld of around-the-clock clubbing. [Uh oh. Not another autobiography masquerading as a novel.] When an embittered colleague threatens to expose his nocturnal life, [Actually, it's what he does on the weekends, not at night.] Janne makes a fatal mistake and the consequences throw his life into an abyss. He flees to New York [When your life is in an abyss, heading for New York is not the solution.] to seek oblivion through any means available. With death just a few breaths away, he finally awakens. [We editors and agents are rather dense, and would prefer that you spell things out for us. What was the fatal mistake? You mean literally fatal? He killed the embittered colleague? Why is death a few breaths away? What do you mean, "he finally awakens"? No need to be cryptic.] Along with the help of a friend, he makes a complete transformation, which sends him on a journey to face his past and find meaning in his life.
500X is a contemporary novel with 60 000 words. The story is set in Finland at the end of the 20th century. After the fall of the Soviet Union, many Russians immigrated to Finland in a quest for a better life. At the same time, the younger generation took to a new club culture and designer drugs. In smoky industrial warehouses with pulsating strobe lights, they were looking for a lost Eden while the rest of the country was pulling clear from the great depression caused by the stock market crash of 89. [We seem to have morphed from a novel to a Finnish history book. Perhaps that's a good thing. Finland is one of those countries that always gets short shrift in American history books, not unlike Uruguay. One might even say Finland is the Uruguay of Scandinavia. ] Janne’s insatiable thirst for fulfillment takes him from the grungy rave parties of Helsinki, Finland and through the megaclubs of Ibiza, Spain to the Yakuza-joints of Tokyo, and finally after a sobering stay in New York, to the remote Finnish woodlands close to the Russian border. [I got the impression earlier that he fled directly from Finland to New York. Now it seems he went there after a world cruise.]
My first book, The End of Restlessness, was published in Finland in 2001 by WSOY. Aktivist, a popular Helsinki city paper commented:”This new book surprises and will no doubt be one of the literary topics this spring. Mr Wilenius reveals his life of travel, parties and drugs not only honestly but also with laconic, gonzo-oriented and ultimately humorous (black) attitude”.
Currently, I am working on two screenplays for the Finnish market and preparing material for my third novel.
If you would be interested in reading a partial or the entire manuscript, I would be most happy to send you a copy either by email or snail mail.
I thank you for your consideration and I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.
With kind regards,
Notes
If Janne did indeed kill his bitter colleague, I would assume it was because he was in danger of losing his career. Then he gives up his career anyway. If I killed someone to salvage my career, I would be doing whatever I could to get rid of the evidence, not fleeing to New York. It's not like the cops in Finland know what they're doing anyway. They're all parked in front of Dunkin' Karjalanpiirakkas.
The title tells us nothing. I guessed X refers to Xstacy, what's 500? I note that the title is spelled 500X once and 500 X another. To you, no big deal. To Stephen Hawking, the difference between eternity and the end of the universe.
You might want to tell us what's to like about Janne. Readers like to pull for a main character, but you haven't made it clear why we should care what happens to him.
Has Janne committed a crime? That he fled to NY makes me think so. That he returns to Finland makes me wonder.
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