UPDATE - THE WINNER WILL BE POSTED ON MONDAY, JULY 11TH
Today's my birthday!!!!
Today's my birthday!!!!
And you know what that means....
Time to post your polished first page entry for my Birthday Blowout First Page Contest with Literary Agent judge Victoria Marini!
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Photo by James S. Rand |
We had a record number of participants sign up, so please only post once. If you decide to make changes, delete your first post and post your new one. PLEASE only do this once.
All entries MUST be posted by 11:59 PM on June 27th, 2011. Comments will be closed at that time and no further entries will be accepted.
In your entry, PLEASE Be sure to include ALL of the following:
- Your email address
- Title, genre, word count
- Your polished first page (250 words) Don't stop in the middle of a sentence.
- Where you follow me
- Where you spread the word
Contest rules:
- You must be a follower of my blog and/or Twitter
- You must spread the word, via twitter, fb, blog post, whatever.
- Your work must be complete.
- Your work must fall into one of the following genres: YA, Middle Grade, memoir, pop-culture non-fiction, and women’s commercial fiction.
- You do not have to participate in the critique portion of the contest, but why would you miss the opportunity to polish that baby until it shines before Victoria reads it?
Happy Birthday, Shelley!!!
ReplyDeleteTitle: FRACTURED
Genre: Women’s Commercial Fiction
Word Count: 82,500
There’s a palpable thrill at becoming a first-time, expectant mom. The darkening blue line on an EPT; the wonder over whether the baby’s a boy or a girl; the sudden appeal of newborn accessories and maternity clothes. The anticipation.
So milling around the maternity section of Target, pushing the camel-colored pregnancy pants with the stretch bellies across the rack, I remain oblivious to life’s samurai surprises. At three months—twelve weeks in pregnancy lingo—my size 6s just begin to tighten. But as an overzealous, first-time mom-to-be, I need to explore my clothing options.
“Mommy even has something for you,” I tell the little one as I shake a Winnie the Pooh rattle at my belly.
So customers overhear me, think I am crazy, I don’t care.
I step into the fitting room. With my street clothes pooled around my ankles, I examine my belly in the mirror. Barely showing. I wiggle into the powder blue dress, assessing myself. Not bad. As I turn, a sharp pain seizes the right side of my abdomen. Not the first time this week. The stretch of the uterine lining, I tell myself. According to Your Pregnancy Week by Week—totally normal. I try the cotton khakis, the overalls, and the too-large blouse. It is then that I feel it. It starts as a dribble, then quickly turns into a gush. Increased discharge—totally normal. That’s what the nurse practitioner told the receptionist to tell me when I called earlier in the week.
Email: susanoloier(at)gmail(dot)com
Follow: blog and on Twitter (@narrawriter)
Spread the Word: On my blog (www.susanoloier.blogspot.com) and on Twitter (both places more than once).
Email: stephanieheart7@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: ERHISTAUT
Genre: YA High Fantasy
Word Count: 74,000
I follow you on blogger & twitter. I spread the word on twitter (@StephanieEDiaz). Thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity!
--
In the dim lamplight of the cabin, her father’s fingers curled around his dagger.
He slammed its point into the edge of a piece of parchment, pinning it to the table.
In the shadows behind him, Heiren Delaire watched him with uncertainty. “What are you doing?”
He did not answer.
She stepped forward, letting her green eyes trail over the black ink as it curved and flowed into lakes, rivers, and mountains. A map. The tiny dashes trailed from her home in the Kadian Mountains northward to the walled city of Beniin, and farther. A trail to a sword of miracles.
Heiren’s eyes darkened. Of course. He would be obsessed with a thing of legend. A sword that doesn’t even exist. “The map’s a fake, you know.” She combed her tangled, long brown hair with her fingers, watching him. “I don’t understand why you bought it.”
Still he did not reply.
“You want to use the sword to bring Mother back, don’t you?”
He turned his head a little, and his greasy black hair fell over his eyes. He was listening now, she knew, but still refusing to acknowledge her. He did this sometimes, when he fell from his depression into one of his manic states. When he stops listening to reason.
Heiren folded her arms. “You’re a fool if you think Erhistaut can bring back the dead. The demons forged it; why would they make it useful for anything good?"
tjorg86 (at) gmail (dot) com
ReplyDeleteTitle: THE GIRL WITH BROWN EYES
Genre: YA Fantasy
Word count: 84,500
"You shouldn’t do that.” The Boy narrowed his eyes and glared with all the indignation called for in such a situation.
"Do what?" The target of his fury, a girl no older than he, swung her legs back and forth.
At twelve and not old enough for a title, the Boy kept his focus on himself, but he had stopped his daily walk through the cemetery at a sight even he could not ignore.
The girl had brown eyes, but as for her other features, he had not taken the time to notice them. He found something else far more interesting. "What you’re doing, sitting on that headstone there!"
"And why shouldn’t I?" Her question seemed genuine, but the Boy could not fathom how she could not see the issue with her actions.
"Because. Someone died there."
The Brown-Eyed Girl brushed an orange leaf from the headstone. "No they didn’t. Not one of these people died here. They all died at home in their beds, or abroad in the world, or wherever it suited the world best to have them die."
The Boy paused in surprise at her response, but could not deny she was right. "Well, I’m sure that person doesn’t want you sitting on his headstone.”
"Oh, I’m quite certain she doesn’t mind."
The Boy jolted. Who did she think she was? He puffed up his chest. "And how can you be so certain?"
She ran her fingers through her hair and shook it loose. "Because,” she said, “this headstone is mine.”
Where you follow me: Twitter & Blog
Where I spread the word: My blog & Twitter
Happy Birthday and thanks again!
Hey, Shelley! Great contest; it's been very helpful.
ReplyDelete1. TomHoefner@gmail.com
2. THE UNLIKELY ADVENTURE OF RACE AND COOKIE McCLOUD; YA; 87K Word Count
3. ENTRY...
The night rain fell by the gallon on the bustling metropolis of Westside City. Westside City was a large city, the second largest city in the American Empire as a matter of fact, and when the entirety of the city was being pelted with rain you can be certain the overall result was… well, it was a whole lot of rain on a really big city, that's what it was.
Westside citizens scrambled like bugs under a magnifying glass to find shelter, many ducking into brightly lit stores adorned with brightly lit neon. Those in the perhaps-not-quite-as-friendly-or-well-lit portions of town realized the double negative involved in being both unsafe and drenched, and scurried off in brighter, drier directions.
One young woman, a pretty and smartly dressed student from Westside City University, found herself in one of those unfriendly portions of town when the rain began, there for the only reason such a pretty and smartly dressed woman would be: she was on her way to see her starving-artist boyfriend. Hoping to shave a few seconds off of her trip, she took a shortcut through a dingy back alley, holding her purse over her head to block as much of the rain as she could, her well-heeled shoes quickly ‘click-click’ing as she hurried on her way.
It did not take the young woman very long to realize one as pretty and smartly dressed as she shouldn't go traipsing through back alleys in the unfriendly portion of town on rainy nights.
4. I follow you on this blog, and on Twitter.
5. And I dutifully spread the word about this contest on Twitter, on my own blog, and on Facebook (even got you another participant!)
ellenmrozek(at)gmail(dot)com
ReplyDeleteTitle: THE RECRUITED
Genre: YA
Word Count: 84,000 words
Chapter One: The Offer
Naomi Williams was running, tearing over the grass towards the concrete wall sixty yards away. She had maybe half a minute left to reach it, thirty seconds to push her legs as hard as they could go until she was out of time. Off to her right, clumps of uniformed girls paid her little attention, glancing up only after she’d blown by them.
Ten seconds. Five. Naomi slapped a hand against the wall just as the loud, metallic buzz of an industrial bell called them back inside. Breathless and panting, she braced both hands against the rough surface and leaned forward, dark hair hanging in her face as she stretched out the backs of her calves. There was never enough time for everything that running entailed. If she chose to stretch properly beforehand that took five minutes off her running time. If she didn’t, the cramps hit sooner. It was a battle she couldn’t win.
Raising her head, she craned her neck to see past the top of the concrete. From where she stood, the barbed wire curling along the top of the wall blotted out part of the sky.
“Williams,” a woman’s voice barked from near the entrance to the yard. “Get over here.”
Naomi drew a hand across her forehead, trying to wipe away some of the sweat. It wasn’t like she could go inside and put on a clean outfit. In juvenile prison, there were no changes of clothes at midday.
The guard opened her mouth to yell again, so Naomi picked up her feet and jogged back across the yard to get in line with the other girls. Not daring to push each other in front of the guards, they filed back into the prison’s air-conditioned interior, welcome after another eighty-five degree day. Gossip was for outside or the cafeteria, not inside when everyone was trying to get back to their cells.
I follow you on Twitter and I spread the word on facebook and on my Twitter.
Hello! My novel, Gateway, is:
ReplyDeleteYA Urban Fantasy
58,000 words
email: mail(at)ChristinaGarner.com
I follow both of your blogs and Twitter. I made postings regarding this contest on Twitter, Tumblr, and FB. Thanks for the opportunity--happy judging!
212 words from Gateway:
In the end, only the Voice remained.
I told you it would be better this way…
I was drifting, floating on something too silky to be water. It was warm, and it penetrated the deepest parts of me.
The Voice was right. It was always right. Everything finally felt soft. My sharpest edges were being worn away, melting into oblivion. I felt like candle wax before it cooled; nothing to do but let the remaining drops of consciousness slide down—
Pain. Where did that come from? How could I feel pain when I didn't have a body anymore?
My throat. It was my throat, being stabbed, or—
Shh… let it go. Let all the pain go. Rest easy…
For a moment I was comforted, the gentle motion of the not-quite water lulling me, pulling me back to safety.
But I was heaving. Huge, uncontrollable spasms. And then I was vomiting, although that word isn’t strong enough. I was erupting. The contents of my stomach spewed from my mouth, my nose. The wetness hit my chest, then my belly, and finally dribbled down my chin. My mouth tasted of charcoal. The warmth receded. The peace went with it. And I knew.
steenah@telus.net
ReplyDeleteFinding Emma. Contemporary Women's Fiction. 76,000 words
I follow you through blogger
I posted about this on twitter and on my blog :)
Thanks for doing this!
A child’s scream shattered the peaceful silence of the Sunday afternoon.
Megan shot up from the blanket, her heart hammering as she scanned the street in front of her. She groaned as two of her daughters squirted each other in a water gun fight as they came up the walkway. She’d dozed off. Again. The late nights working on Peter’s books had to stop. Yesterday she’d woken up to find Emma across the street at the neighbors’, half crawled into their dog house.
She glanced down at her youngest child who played with a dandelion on the blanket. Thank God she was still there. Her two year old gazed in rapture at the sky.
“Red balloon, Momma?”
Megan twirled her fingers in her Emma’s tight curls. “Later, honey.”
“Red, Momma. Red balloons,” Emma gestured towards the sky with her pudgy fingers. Megan turned her head and noticed the explosion of color that filled the air. Red, yellow and blue balloons danced with the breeze as they swept across the sky.
The annual carnival was here, just in time for the end of school celebration their small town always held. It was also Emma’s birthday. Megan wished for time to stand still. Her baby was growing too fast.
“Mom, can we have a popsicle?” Hannah shook droplets of water over Megan’s bare legs. The little twerp, that water was cold. Megan jumped up and backed away from her soaked daughter only to find a giggling Emma clutched around her leg.
Happy Birthday, Shelley! Thanks so much to this contest, and thanks to Victoria for participating. What a great opportunity!
ReplyDelete------
I follow this blog and I follow you on Twitter.
I spread the word on my blog, on Twitter, and on Facebook.
brigidrgh@gmail.com
Walking Shadow
YA Fantasy
98,000 words
Everything is a lie––their faces, their words, their clothes, the books on their desks. It's a barrier as fragile as the surface of a bubble.
Underneath it, I see their fears, their secrets, the feelings they hide. I know their loneliness; it emanates from their minds, building from a whisper to a murmur to a scream that ricochets around in my skull.
One of those shrieking souls is my own. On the inside, we're all screaming.
But I've learned that I'm different from them. I accept the scathing mess of words their minds throw at me: freak, girl, freak, witch, goth, freak.
I don't care what they think, as long as they never know the truth. They can think I chose to dye my hair blood-red, that my reflective eyes are contacts. They can think I wear long sleeves because I cut myself, even though I'm hiding something very different from the furious red slashes they'd expect.
I don't blame them. It’s human to make judgments. If I had a choice, I would make them, too.
Instead, I know every detail about everyone––who hates who, who's sleeping with who, who's doing drugs, whose parents hit them. Thoughts and dreams and memories and fears burst inside my head like fireworks … and someday, I won't be able to take it anymore.
I never asked for this. I sure as hell never wanted it. My whole life, I've kept it inside. And it's killing me, crawling through my veins like a disease.
How long before it takes over––before it takes me, like it took my mother?
Thanks again for the great contest, Shelley!
ReplyDeleteI stalk - er, I mean follow you on Twitter and through your blog. I've tweeted and blogged about the contest. @dorothydreyer
(Also, I was torn about which of my stories to post because I know Victoria likes mythology and paranormal romance but ALSO ghost stories, which I've also written. I asked on my blog and got mixed responses, so I just went with what's newer.)
BITTERSWEET MELODY
young adult paranormal romance
60k
One thing I can say for sure is I’m the only muse in history to ever have been grounded. I know this is true because my father told me. Well, more like screamed it at me while gripping the heck out of a lightning bolt, holding it over his head like a maniac. He totally over-reacted, of course. I mean, come on. Revoking my Inspiration License and grounding me for a hundred years? That completely sucks!
"Sucks" is a word I learned from my sister Calliope. She spends a lot of time with humans and picks up the best phrases. Whenever she comes home from a case she teaches them to me. Calliope’s a lot more fun than my other sisters—and there are many of us, not just three or nine like humans are misled to believe. And the only one who’s ever been suspended from inspiring? That’s right: me. It’s so unfair. My father says I had it coming, but I swear I’m not a trouble maker; I’m just misunderstood.
But that’s all over with now. I’ve served my time and I’m about to get my freedom back. Don’t get me wrong, Mount Olympus is pretty much the most beautiful place ever, but I’ve had it with being locked up here unable to do what I was born to do.
The last step toward my ticket out of here is a meeting with my Inspiration Officer so I can get my license back. That’s where I am now: sitting in his little office of cloud-white walls, rocking back and forth on the hind legs of a rickety chair while I wait for him to show up.
“Good morning, Melody. It’s been a long time.”
Happy Birthday! I'm a Twitter follower/retweeter of the contest in question.
ReplyDeleteTitle: The Heiress of Rhiangar
WC: 107,000
Genre: YA High Fantasy
It was, Miles concluded, an awkward position. He was trapped with his back against the north gate, every avenue of escape blocked by the advancing princess. She grinned, winked, and shook a coy finger at him.
"Not thinking of running again, are you?" Princess Brianette asked.
"Actually, I am," he replied, juggling several possibilities in his thoughts. Go left and trample the rare mourning lily his master so prized. Go right and fight his way through thorn-riddled shrubs. Going forward would require shoving the princess out of the way, which he dared not do. It looked like it would have to be right.
"You odd little flower boy." Little? She did realize, didn't she, that he had two years on top of her fourteen? Leave it to a princess to ignore such details concerning her lowly subjects. "You know, boy, you are the only one in the palace who acts this way towards me? It is not natural."
"Not natural? To want to keep my head on my shoulders, Highness?"
A burst of laughter fluttered from her lips. "What, you think my father would have you beheaded, just because of one teensy kiss? You are an incomprehensible fool."
"Better a fool than a criminal, my lady, which is what I would be if someone saw us now." It was easy for her to say. She was the princess here, not him. Apprentice gardeners didn't enjoy the same degree of leniency in the courts of Chrysanthem. It was true Brianette had yet to actually be caught during one of her escapades, but Miles didn't intend to be anywhere nearby when it did happen.
1. annemariewrites [at] gmail [dot] com
ReplyDelete2. The Hidden Vale, YA Urban Fantasy, 72,000
3. I hear voices that no one else can. I hear them speaking in the house I share with my younger brother and grandmother. They speak in a language I’ve never studied, nor have I heard elsewhere, yet I understand every word. They whisper from the dark corners of the house. If they were only in my head, they’d talk about me all the time, right? But they talk about the changing seasons, serpents, and warriors. They’ve ignored me until tonight.
From the corner of the room, a voice speaks to me, “You don’t belong here, you know.”
“Who are you?” I whisper into the void, the covers pulled tightly beneath my chin, my heart racing.
“Join us,” another voice begs from under my bed.
The shivering begins deep in the marrow of my bones. I wipe the palms of my hands against my pajama bottoms. I gulp in air. “Join who?”
“Don’t ask questions, wanji ceĥpi. Join us or we’ll drive you to madness.”
“Just like your dead parents,” a voice says, close to my ear. Gritty and ancient.
Coarse laughter floats past me like the rough sound of a violin played wrong. Every muscle tenses to race into Rian’s room and hide there. The possibility of something grabbing me from under the bed keeps me from moving an inch. Tucking myself deeper into my sheets, willing them to leave me alone, I can’t decide whether to stay or go. The wrist I broke when I was nine throbs from twisting the sheets between my fingers.
4. Follow you on blogger. I thought I followed on Twitter as well, but I can’t find you on my list. Will add tonight.
5. Pimped this contest on twitter (@annemariewrites) and on my LJ (annemariewrites).
Happy birthday and thanks for running awesome contests!!
ReplyDeleteEMAIL: marcykate@gmail.com
TITLE: CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE CYBORG, YA Sci-Fi, 71,000 words
FOLLOW: via twitter and Google Reader RSS feed.
SPREAD THE WORD HERE: http://twitter.com/#!/MarcyKate/status/84672351526060032
Weightlessness is a funny thing.
One moment ago, Dean and I were joking about the stupid, lime-green dress his ex-girlfriend wore to prom. His cheeks dimpled when he laughed.
Now his car skids over the embankment. Our bodies are a blur of pink satin and black tuxedo. My insides lurch and jerk, like knots trying to untie themselves. Dean’s face is a blank sheet of confusion and me, well, I don’t know how I look but I’m sure it isn’t pretty.
The free fall ends when we hit the tree. All that remains is pain and panic. And noise. All kinds of noise. Screams, creaks, and cracks from all sides. I can’t feel my legs or arms, but I’m standing and screaming and tugging at the crumpled car door.
Dean’s stuck. I have to get him out.
Gas fumes sting my nose and burn my chest. I tear the door off the car and nearly tear Dean’s arm off, too. He tumbles out and I drag him toward the field. The car explodes, flames consuming it in a burst of red and orange. The force throws us back from the wreck. I sit in the long grass in my tattered cocktail dress, barely aware of the hot metal in my hands or Dean unconscious at my side.
I can’t tear my eyes away from my left arm.
It’s ruined.
The skin is ripped open, gaping from wrist to elbow, but I hardly bleed.
Shock is an understatement.
Why am I not bleeding? I try to make sense of it, but my arm isn’t right. Something more is wrong than just the wound . . . .
Thanks again for hosting this!
ReplyDeleteEMAIL: deckerwendy@hotmail.com
TITLE: Where to Belong
WC: 72300
GENRE: Women's Fiction
I follow both twitter and blogger, spread the word on each, mostly twitter.
The cramped helicopter rattled and wrestled with itself as it tried to gain altitude in the cloudless night sky. Madison glanced out the window behind her to confirm they were actually rising instead of falling. She then turned back to the narrow gurney and her wounded friend upon it. He looked rough.
"Hang in there, Skyler," she shouted over the ruckus of the chopper. His blue eyes opened for a moment as he grasped at the hand she had pressed to his bandaged chest.
Madison studied him as she thought over their failed assignment. She couldn't understand what had happened. It went horribly wrong. Someone must have set them up. Her team followed the rules and conducted themselves flawlessly. They walked right into a trap. It had to have been. Now, Skyler was hurt and Morgan made the choice to stay and complete their assignment on his own.
With her free hand, she tugged at the ring hanging from the delicate gold chain around her neck. She wasn't supposed to wear the engagement ring during assignments. It might give away her identity, or Morgan. Tucking it back into her shirt, she looked again to the window and wished her love to stay safe and hurry back to her.
On the outskirts of Miami, the light of the full moon glinted off the exterior of the abandoned factory building. There wasn't any illumination from within the three story structure beside the pier, but Madison knew it was active despite the darkness.
Email: jamieheppner@hotmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: THE EVENT
Genre: YA Sci/Fi Fantasy
Word Count: 96,000
Days before the event happened, worldwide panic set in. Every channel ran a story about what to expect or how to prepare. The sun was going crazy and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. The world was getting ready to be destroyed.
I remember my parents telling me we had to leave quickly. As my father rushed around the house grabbing things; our camping gear; lanterns, batteries; my mother grabbed food, stuffing our four door sedan. I jumped into the driver’s seat, earning me such a glare from my father I mumbled a sorry and silently moved to the back.
I never saw my dad drive so fast, we practically flew away from our home. My parents were arguing about stopping at a store or not. As we got closer to the Super Store my dad began to slow down. Gunshots could be heard from inside. Every window was broken and people were running out carrying as much as they could hold. It’s odd the things you remember in times like these. I remember a man; eyes wide with terror as he held a bag of dog food in his arms, dog food, of all things. My dad gave my mom one look and drove away from the store. Lawns and houses blurred by so fast, all I saw was a blur of green.
Dad took us into the woods. There was an old cabin tucked away in a valley near a small lake; its waters were crystal clear. My dad said we were lucky that only a few people knew it was there.
I follow you on twitter/Facebook and blogged as well as tweeted this contest. Thank you for the opportunity!
Hi Shelly - And Happy Birthday!
ReplyDeleteMany thanks for this contest. And thanks to Victoria, too. It is very lovely of you both to give so much new talent a chance to be seen!
I follow your blog. I have spread the word on Facebook and fantasy-writers.org.
Email: hubbiida@yahoo.com
Title: Dream Warriors of Akaji
Genre: YA Fantasy
Words: 147,000 (all good ones!)
++++++
The first time I left my body, I had to come back to pee. Seriously! People don't think about these sorts of things when they get into Shamanism, but they should. Sometimes folks come back from another dimension to find a pair of wet pants. Or sometimes, they don't come back at all.
I suppose they need their moms around to remind them, “Remember to pee before you leave your body - at least try - and be sure to come back!”
But peeing your pants or being stuck in an alternate reality might be the least of your worries if you get into Shamanism. Even worse things can happen. For example, maybe a member of your family might get kind of, um, kidnapped. Not their bodies, that is, but their souls. Maybe even your kid sister's soul might get, um . . . stolen by a demonic entity from another dimension.
Not that that ever happened to me.
Well, yes it did.
But now I'm getting ahead of myself. So before we go any further . . .
Call me Elvis. Tanaka Elvis.
I'm just a normal thirteen-year-old kid. Kinda skinny, long dark-brown hair, an okay face, almond-shaped eyes (got those from my dad), always in a black tee-shirt and black jeans. I like rock-and-roll, my iPhone, gaming, fantasy novels, etc. Like I said, completely normal. Except for one thing: I'm also a Shaman.
But don't blame me for that. It wasn't my idea to become a Shaman. It was my mom's.
scott.springer[at]rocketmail[dot]com
ReplyDeleteWORMHOLE
MG Sci-fi
47,000 words
Most people don't know this about me, but I have a spaceship. Normally, people don't have spaceships; and especially, seventh grade boys don't. Not even these days. But I do. It's a small round ladybug looking thing with two seats. It's a super-compact. I hide it in a barn.
Most people don't know this, but Brandon does. That's because Brandon is my best friend since forever. We're in advanced math together, but he is bigger and plays baseball on a team. I'm too skinny and my elbows are spring loaded disasters. Like the other day when I shattered my aunt's vase into a million pieces all over the place and made her cry. I felt so bad and clumsy. So sorry about that, I said. But you know me. Right?
We are at the girl's basketball game in the gym after school. On the far wall is a banner left over from orientation that reads, Welcome to the Class of 2028. That's when we'll be graduating from high school in six years if all goes well. That is, if we're all still alive in six years; meaning if those alien invaders don't annihilate the human race first, or herd us off to slave camp, or whatever. You know, there's plenty of potential for things to go wrong with this, but so far so good. America and all the other countries surrendered peacefully, and life goes on for us like it always has. We still see the president on TV at night. We still have to go to school
follow this blog and on twitter and tweeted about this
1. Email: elschneider (@) hotmail (dot) com
ReplyDelete2. Title: THE LUCKY FEW
Genre: Young Adult Contemporary Thriller
Wordcount: 89,000
3. 250 Word Submit:
The honour of your presence is requested this evening. 6:00PM.
Those were the only words in perfect, jet-black calligraphy that crossed the formal white parchment of the invitation.
I rubbed a thumb across the ink and felt the fine linen texture of paper between my fingers, then flipped the envelope back over and re-read the front. Miss Blakely G. Sullivan was printed in the same elaborate lettering, leaving no doubt this was for me and not my roommate, Amie.
Setting them both down, I turned towards the black garment bag now hanging from the door of my closet. It was one thing to see the white letter shoot across the floor from under the front door, but when I opened the door and found only the bag and not a soul in the hallway, well...
Head cocked sideways and hands on my hips, I drummed my fingers as I stared at the poufy, black bag. It could’ve easily contained a body, but since it weighed almost nothing, I already knew that couldn’t be true.
A few quick prods to check for any unnatural groans, I tugged at the zipper, not at all expecting the mass of white feathers that spilled out around me.
Crap. It could've been the remains of a million geese, for all I knew.
________________________
4. Where you follow me: Blog and Twitter
5. Where you spread the word: Personal website (http://www.erinlschneider.com) and Twitter (@elschneid)
Happy belated Birthday, Shelley! Thanks for another great contest - and best of luck to everyone!
Happy birthday, Shelley - hope it's an awesome one! :)
ReplyDeleteEmail: khine.han363@gmail.com
Title: The Painted Tear
Genre: Women's commercial fiction - Mystery
WC: 90k
“Thank you, Kei. I’ll just be a moment,” Mihail said quietly, stepping out from under the black umbrella his butler had been holding over him. The snow had tapered off since the morning, and only the barest dusting of little white flakes swirled about them now. They clung to the straight, starched shoulders of the butler’s black coat before melting into the thick fabric as he inclined his head silently. Mihail declined the proffered umbrella with a small shake of his head and left the still, black silhouette to its stark vigil against the empty white hills beyond.
The wrought iron gate to his family’s private hillside cemetery gave with a slight creak. Mihail mused at how low to the ground it was; in his memories of his first visit here twelve years ago, it had been massive, ominous; a dark gateway to a frightening, somber world. He had clung to his mother’s skirts, sensing if not fully understanding the dreadful finality of his relatives’ tear-filled good-byes and had feared that any moment, a gnarled, decaying hand might shoot out from the ground to drag him away the way they did in the movies.
But as he tread carefully over the still, icy ground now, there was no mistaking that he was utterly alone in this place. The only thing gathering here was silence, a silence that seemed to extend to the whole world outside of him. There was nothing, nothing and no one now but him. How could there be when he stood surrounded by his entire family and yet remained utterly alone?
I follow you on Twitter where I helped spread the word! http://twitter.com/#!/mooglechan/status/85109157077860352
Huge birthday wishes Shelley.
ReplyDeleteEmail: tania.f.walsh@gmail.com
Title: Venery
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Word Count: 75K
It was always tricky, dealing with an irate wulfkin pack. Yeah, there were egos and tempers to rival mountains, but the problem at hand never failed to cause pandemonium. And as if on cue, a sharp ache in my gut flared. I closed the door behind me. The hearth's fire, the only light in the room, painted the other occupants in burnished amber.
“You’ve killed us.” Radu said to a figure in the corner.
Sandulf stepped out from the shadows, his chest puffed. “You’ve forgotten your place. I’m the alpha and won’t tolerate insubordination from any member.” Blood seeped through the bandages tracing his arm and torso.
A metallic sensation slicked over my tongue, but I shouldn’t have tasted blood from across the room. The full moon was days away, so it couldn’t be my inner wolf. “What happened?”
Sandulf’s head jerked in my direction. His eyebrows lowered and his voice hardened. “Doesn’t concern you, Daciana.”
Pack problems were notorious for ricocheting back my way. “Like hell it doesn’t.”
The alpha said nothing, never lifting his gaze off me.
Radu’s silvery eyes met mine for a split-second. Strawberry-blond hair, overgrown stubble and sideburns set him aside from the pack, and as the newest pup to cross over from werewolf to wulfkin, I admired his courage to confront the alpha. He turned to Sandulf. “We are shocked by the news.”
Had humans discovered our existence and injured Sandulf, or had another wulfkin pack entered our territory?
I follow you on Twitter and your blog.
I twitted your contest and announced it on forums on writing.com.
Happy Birthday!!!
ReplyDelete*Email: brazil(dot)brazil(at)gmail(dot)com
*Title: The Chloe Chronicles and the Rebirth
*Genre: YA, paranormal
*Word count: 76,000
If the Twilight Zone was a place, I was there.
I looked around, stunned to silence. A sea of green enveloped me. I had to suppress the urge to scream. I clasped my hands to my mouth to muffle the sound that escaped anyway.
I was on the football field.
How could I be here? This wasn’t possible. I gazed at the school I’d been in moments ago. I shut my eyes tight. Hands clenched into fist at my side.
“When I open my eyes I’ll be back in the school again, about to have the biggest fight with Zack,” I said aloud. I hoped it was the truth.
My heart hammered at my chest. Afraid of what I might find once I dared a peek. But standing here with my eyes closed wasn’t an option. A crow cawed overhead, as if to urge me on. My eyes sprang open, to my horror; I was still on the field. I wrung my hands threw my ebony hair.
I turned to face the school. I strained against the midday glare and took a reluctant step forward. That’s when I saw it. The crimson red thrust against the emerald green of the field. I faltered. A body lay on the ground, saturated in blood.
I gasped. I’d never seen a dead body before. My breath caught in my throat and the stench of copper invaded my nostrils. I fought against the urge to vomit. Yet I couldn’t contain the desire to move closer.
*****I follow both your blogs and Twitter. I retweeted the info on the contest. Thanks!!!
Email: sharonebayliss@yahoo.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: Stormland
Genre: YA Dystopian
Word Count: 70,000
I follow this blog using blogger and spread the word at http://sharonbayliss.blogspot.com/
“Why isn’t the sky blue anymore?”
The man sat under a bridge with his niece huddled beside him. The black rain seeped through the cracks above and left little pools of ash on the girl’s pale skin. He moved her over in the hopes of finding a dry spot. The child reminded him of a doll left out in the rain. He had cut the tangles from of her hair and now it rested around her ears in uneven clumps. She deserved something better than this.
“Why isn’t the sky blue anymore?” she asked again.
“Lena, dear, I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“The sky is a giant mirror that reflected the blue oceans. But someone threw a rock at the sky and it shattered. So now we only see what was behind the sky.”
“Can they fix it?”
“No.”
“I’m hungry,” she said.
The brush nearby crackled and in an instant the smuggler was there. Far too soon. The child pressed herself closer to him.
“Lena, I want you to go with this man.”
Her little green eyes went wide with fright. “I want to stay with you.”
He took a deep breath to hold back tears. “I am no good at taking care of you. He is going to take you to a better place. He is going to take you to a place where the sky is still blue.”
“Will Mommy and Daddy meet me there?”
Each time she asked about them, he felt like his heart would burst. But this would be the last time he would have to say it.
“You won’t see Mommy and Daddy for a long time. They will meet you in heaven.”
Email: cherry_chez@hotmail.com
ReplyDeleteI follow your blog and spread the word at: http://justifiedlunacy.blogspot.com/2011/06/check-out-this-first-page-contest.html
Title: Shadow Embraced
Genre: YA urban fantasy
Word count: 55,000
The pale girl knocks me back against the fleshy wall of the crowd with a couple of hard hits. I scramble away from a woman in a purple dress, my eyes on my opponent. Over the pulsing music, the crowd still keeps up their tribal chant.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
This is my first time at The Basement--innovative name for a club set up on a second-storey. The dim lights and smoky atmosphere make the graffiti on the walls blaze. Between the pinball machines, sagging lounges, and the close-pressed crowd, there isn't much room to manoeuvre.
“What are you waiting for?” the girl hisses. She could be Snow White with her porcelain skin and long, raven hair. “You started this. It was just between me and her.” She extends one long finger towards my best friend, Alex.
Alex watches from the sideline. I don’t know what she did to piss off this poisonous cow, but now I want blood.
“Come on, Scarlet,” Alex calls.
I take my focus off my opponent and glare at her. I hate it when she uses my name.
My opponent launches at me. I snap back to the fight just in time to shield my face from her punches. It all comes down to waiting for an opening. She’s fast, almost as fast as me. It’s difficult to maintain my balance enough to strike back.
I duck under a right hook and seize my chance. I throw an uppercut and knock her pale ass to the ground.
Email: WilliamsMelindaS@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: REMAINDERS
Genre: YA, romantic thriller with supernatural elements
Word Count: 88,000
*I follow your blog and twitter
**Spread the word on my blog, twitter, and Facebook
Entry:
The books reeked of salt and rotting fish. I kind of liked it. The libraries back home only carried the scent of aged paper and dust. Not nearly as charming.
I continued to browse, loving the search as much as the read. Cream cheese was my next stop. Running errands for Mom really bugged, but it gave me an excuse to get out. Alone.
New, shiny driver’s license. Back pocket. Me? Stoked. But Mom? Not so much. The picture had turned out dreadful, but fortunately, a glamorous photo wasn’t a requirement for the freedom it offered. Well, a little bit of freedom. Mom was still pretty stiff, but I would take anything to make my life less vanilla.
I turned toward the end of the aisle where a teenage boy sat by the window reading, bright colors parading over the comic section. He was watching me.
I froze.
His eyes bore into mine, but I couldn’t look away. An invisible darkness hung around him, so flawless, I could almost taste its putrid flavor. But at the same time, I just wanted to gawk as my finger longed to slowly trace his sharp features—make sure he was real.
Strings of black hair fell over his forehead, screening his sunken eyes, and the bones in his face looked rigid beneath skin that could snap. He was sickening, but tempting, too.
There was more. Something ran deeper, radiated from within. Something I sensed more than saw. He was…different.
I could feel it.
Email: mgpainchaud@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: The World That Does not Bow
Wordcount: 90k
Genre: YA/Scifi/Fantasy
Follow with blogger and tweeted contest deets. :) Happy birthday Shelley!
The first time I saw the headmistress, I was dying.
It wasn't a good death. I wasn't dying nobly, enlisted on the frontlines of the northern war like my dad would’ve wanted. Mom would’ve wanted me to die when I was old, surrounded by my grandchildren and a garden that was impossible in the diseased soil of our village. Both of them talked about how they hated the thought of dying at the hands of the Wave. Starvation, the raiders, mad dogs. Anything but the Wave. Too many had been wiped out before. Too many had been imbedded in the monster’s crimson skin and left to forever scream inhuman warnings as half-masticated corpses.
When the siren rang from the watchtower, the ocean was rippling just outside the driftwood wall that spanned the fishing ponds. I could see it from the stone windows of the temple. High tide. Rictor ran in, his hat askew. The Elder had been in the middle of our song lesson, but he stopped and talked in quiet voices with Rictor. Incense was thick and heavy around us, sweet enough to eat. The Elder dismissed us and we ran out, thrilled to be free of class.
Around us, the village panicked. People sprinted and gathered up their children, baskets of the day's gathering of fish spilled as feet tripped over them. Fires were extinguished. The rich-voiced birds in the tall palms were absent, the hushed whispers and terrified cries drowning them out.
The Wave was coming.
Happy Birthday, Shelley!
ReplyDeleteEMAIL: pakazo77@gmail.com
TITLE: X Dare & The Keys to Nin
WORDCOUNT: 65k
GENRE: MG sci-fi / fantasy
FOLLOW: blog and Twitter
SPREAD THE WORD: via Twitter
I’d take video games over real life any day.
The reason is simple: at age thirteen I’ve learned a lot about people, and even more about girls. Like how, even if they look bad, you’re supposed to say they look good; and how they whisper a lot and like to keep secrets. I know, because my entire life revolves around the girls in my family. Video games are less complicated, and when it comes down to a challenge between a game or my mom, I know I can beat the game.
“Oh, it’s so cute!” Mom says, grinning down at Veronica and making the little lines around her eyes smile too.
I let out an annoyed sigh—the kind that lets anyone nearby know I’m losing my patience. Clothes shopping with my mom and little sister is ranked right up there with taking all day exams and doing chores for no allowance. Mom’s been fussing over Veronica for the last hour. Like she doesn’t have enough clothes already.
Veronica beams, looking up from her wheelchair. She holds a bubblegum pink dress up, hiding her long blonde pig tails. Her eyes are twice their size through her bifocal glasses. “Can we get it, Mom? Please?” She smiles at me. “Do you like it, X?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Just like the last ten.”
Mom glares at me. “Xavier Dare, don’t give me any grief today, or you can forget about clothes shopping for yourself.”
Email: alissa.bilyk at gmail dot com
ReplyDeleteTitle: DADEWALKER
Genre: YA High Fantasy
Wordcount: 65K words.
I follow you on Twitter @lissawrites
I spread the word on Twitter.
I am not a protector of the innocent. I am a punisher of the guilty.
That’s one aspect of my ancestry. My banshee blood screams for the sins of others.
The pounding of hooves grew louder, and I could hear the men – the Storm Riders – bellowing at the top of their lungs. It was no match to my banshee keen, but it was still loud – and terrifying.
I turned to watch their approach, mentally steadying myself. The Riders came into view over the hillock, whooping their war-cry and swinging their swords, their horses frantic and foaming at the mouth, hooves tearing up the soft earth.
By my side, Tagodan growled horribly, his hackles raised, wolf teeth exposed. My brave, beautiful totem. He wanted me to run, but he knew I couldn’t. Not anymore. My injuries, blood loss, and the weight of my unborn baby were just too much.
I planted my feet and prepared to meet the Riders head on. They jumped off their horses and came at us, swords drawn.
Tagodan leapt at the Riders, teeth bared. I quickly lost sight of him among the sea of brown hair and glinting blades. The scent of their sin made me dizzy.
I twisted my palms down to the earth, and thought, Winter.
The temperature dropped immediately and the icy wind cut through the warm summer’s day. Snow that burned to touch whipped through the air and ice crusted at my feet.
But it wasn’t enough.
I couldn’t protect the innocents.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteEmail: lc7ultraviolet@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: The Silver Strand
Genre: MG Fantasy
Word count: 55K
“Let me pluck your silver hair.” Bianca’s stumpy fingers crept up Isabelle’s arm.
“Shhhh!” Isabelle swiped them away and glared at her loud-mouthed friend. No doubt everyone on the crowded school bus had heard, and forty-two pair of eyes stared at the girl with the freaky, silver strand. She glanced around the rows of black vinyl seats. One seventh grade boy dished out dead arms to some poor kid across the aisle. Four rows behind her, a group of girls competed in blowing gum bubbles.
“Pleeaasssse.” Bianca’s almost invisible eyebrows drew together and she made a sad, puppy dog face.
Sinking in her seat, Isabelle hunted through her honey-brown hair for the silver strand. Thick like a skewer, it resembled polished silver and sent tingles rippling through her fingertips. A little voice inside her head begged her to leave it alone. But it had caused nothing but trouble since sprouting. Like the time in science class when magnets attracted it as if it was made of metal. Boy that spooked her lab partner. And news of her freaky hair spread faster than the flu. Twirling the strand around her finger, Isabelle looked at her friend, suddenly feeling torn about getting rid of it.
Bianca sighed and slumped in her seat. “Fine,” she said, using her navy school blazer to wipe a year’s worth of smudges from her glasses. “Don’t whine to me next time someone calls you, grandma.” She mimicked the high pitched old lady’s voice that had haunted Isabelle for the last two months.
I follow your blog and spread the word on my blog and on writing.com
Happy Birthday, Shelley.
ReplyDeleteEmail:~ valentinahepburn@hotmail.co.uk
Title:~ Speaking from the Heart
Genre:~ YA/Family Saga
Word Count:~ 90,000
Follow on :~ Blog, Twitter
Spread the Word on :~ Blog, Twitter
December 1975
Snow tumbled from a leaden sky onto Borough Market as Kate McGuire anxiously dodged the tidal wave of Christmas shoppers surging towards her.
"Will you get a move on, Emma?", she called to her younger sister who dawdled behind.
The thin stockings and jacket that Kate wore were no match for the freezing air that seemed to cleave into her flesh, numbing her to her bones.
Children running around the market who were making enough noise to wake the dead stopped suddenly, their eyes wide and shining. They held out their hands to catch the soft, fluffy flakes, then shrieked with excitement, their cold, red cheeks wobbling with laughter.
Fifteen year old Emma ate a hot pie from a paper bag as she meandered through the crowd, skilfully avoiding anyone who crossed her path.
"You're crazy, Kate," she said, her mouth full of pie. "You're panicking about getting home and you're only a little way in front of me."
She put the last piece of pie into her mouth, and licking each of her fingers in turn rolled the paper bag into a tight ball and flicked it into the gutter.
"You're such a litter bug," Kate said. Emma grinned, cheekily.
"Do you want me to help you with your bags?"
"Oh, please, Princess Emma. Don't put yourself out on my account." Emma pulled a face, choosing the lighter bag.
"Come on then," she said. "I thought we were in a hurry."
Happy Birthday and thank you again for the opportunity!
ReplyDeleteEMAIL: tisiphonie@gmail.com
FOLLOW & SPREAD THE WORD: I follow you via Blogger, as well as on Twitter @SoulTrekking
TITLE: Gorgon-zola!
GENRE: Commercial Women's Fiction w/ Magical Realism
Word Count: 100,000
FIRST 250 WORDS:
Aspirin, aspirin, aspirin, the word thumped along in time with my headache. I fumbled at the bottles, trying to remember through my Italian brain, the word in English for super duper extra strength. I bent over for a closer look.
“Nice ass,” a man said behind me.
I whipped my head around, groaning, to see a young man, dark hair with a little too much gel, leering.
My anger rose, and my eyes narrowed. I opened my mouth to say something in return when I noticed the man was no longer moving.
No moving, no blinking.
No blinking? I snapped my fingers in his face to make sure. Definitely no blinking. He stood there like a creepy wax statue, a grin on his face like a clown who broke loose from the circus. Except for that we weren’t at the circus, we were in a drug store.
Merda. This was the second time this had happened in the past week.
Why wasn’t he moving?
I needed to get out of here.
I walked by the cosmetics aisle and caught a quick look at my face. My eyes had always been green, but never chartreuse, and never so swollen. Maybe I needed to see a doctor.
A face appeared in the mirror behind me and I stumbled backwards with a muffled yelp into a display of nail polish. Bottles skittered everywhere and I clenched my teeth as my headache kicked up a notch.
I turned to blame the jerk who surprised me, but there was no one there.
kbelcamino@yahoo.com
ReplyDeleteBLESSED ARE THE DEAD
Women’s Commercial Fiction, Mystery
73,000 words
Another boyfriend pissed off at me over a dead body. The silence on the other end of the line confirms it. Snapping my cell phone shut, I turn my attention to the view out my windshield.
Flashing red and blue lights and yellow crime scene tape mar the beauty of the trees framing the distant San Francisco skyline.
“One-Eighty-Seven,” a cop’s voice crackles through the speakers of the police scanner bolted to my dashboard. It’s the California penal code for murder. “Looks like a double.”
Two bodies? I forget about my limping love life — the clock is ticking. The paper goes to bed in four hours so I’ve got to hustle.
A group of people clusters at the bottom of a driveway that snakes its way up into a thick stand of trees. The crime scene tape strung between two trees blocks the drive and the cops aren’t letting anyone any closer.
Peering up the hill, I can just glimpse a hint of the A-frame house with its huge deck on stilts facing the bay. The view off that Oakland Hills deck must be spectacular, with tonight’s sunset transforming the San Francisco Bay into a glowing pink and orange inferno, sending sparks off the rollicking waves.
I can’t help but think how the two dead bodies inside that house will never see that stunning vista again.
I follow you on Twitter (@KristiBelcamino) and on your blog.
I spread the word many times on Twitter
Happy Birthday, Shelley!
ReplyDeleteI spread the word on Facebook, and I just discovered you on Twitter (shame on me.)
Title: How I Learned to Hate Shadows Or The Demons of my Sophomore Year
Genre: YA Paranormal
Length: 34053 words -- yes, I know that's short, I'm debating whether to combine it with the second part, making it over 86,000 words.
Note -- I picture most of this being in Italics, to set it off from what follow.
E-mail: rainerja1959 at gmail dot com
First 250 words:
Dad died in my dreams again that morning – the morning before they came.
Dad and I stood in our kitchen. He was cooking hamburgers. Mom had to work late. He wanted some father and daughter time.
We had just begun to talk. I didn’t want to tell him, but I was having a hard time in school.
He prodded until he finally got it out of me.
I told him I knew no one liked me.
He laughed, said, except for your buddy, Bennie, and asked how I knew no one liked me.
I said, I just do.
I didn’t want to tell him why I knew.
He got serious and asked, are people bullying you?
I never could lie to my Dad. I lifted my head up. I was going to tell him. I know they hate me, Daddy, because I can read people’s minds, I said.
He looked surprised.
I thought I saw something dark enter his chest.
Then he collapsed.
I screamed.
I fell to my knees.
He was staring at me.
No, he wasn’t. He was just staring.
He wasn’t breathing.
I jerked up, grabbed the telephone, and dialed 911.
Then I woke up in my bed crying. The sun was shining; the prism I hung in the window reflected rainbows around the room. But I stared at the ceiling. Why did he have to die?
The nightmares were just beginning to go away.
And what was that dark thing? That hadn't happened.
Had it?
Happy Birthday!
ReplyDeleteEmail: kaleenharding@gmail.com
Title: Nepenthe
Genre: Paranormal Romance (Ghosts)
Word Count: 96,000
The night was chaotic, and I welcomed every minute of it. My new cafe buzzed as the employees made their way through their first shift. We had only been open an hour, and were down to half the desserts in the display case that ran the length of the side wall.
"Can you believe the turnout? Trisha, my manager and new best friend, bounced beside me as she rinsed a large knife under hot water. "And it's only June! Imagine how full we'll be when peak tourist season hits next month."
"Yeah, it's great." After years of working in my parent's restaurant this wasn't overwhelming.
As I was about to lean down to grab a fruit flan for the next customer in line, a man about my age—maybe late twenties at the most, caught my attention. His light blue eyes were a stark contrast to his jet black hair, with irises the colour of blue jeans that had been washed too many times. They were bright though. Almost gleaming.
I'd seen him before, but never this close or for this long. A couple of times I'd caught him watching me from across the street while I spoke to the contractor about exterior renovations on the cafe. I was drawn to this mystery guy the first time I saw him, but he'd always disappear before I got the chance to cross the street to speak with him.
He was familiar even though I knew I'd never actually met him before, and the way he looked at me told me he knew me as well.
I follow your blog and on Twitter.
I spread the word here: http://commadrama.blogspot.com/2011/06/shelley-watters-has-done-it-again.html
Happy Birthday and thanks so much for this contest! The critique portion was amazing and I'm so glad I participated!
ReplyDeletename: Christy Hintz
email: lynnea.west@gmail.com
title: Solstice
genre: YA Paranormal
word count: 65,000
I follow you on twitter and follow your blog.
I tweeted and blogged about this contest.
First 250
Deep down I knew this was a bad idea. I sat on a bed of dry, crunchy leaves with my back against one of the oak trees in Haven Forest. Pale morning sunlight streamed through the trees and the mist, making the forest look eerier than normal. The metal-bound journal I’d sneaked from my great-grandma’s old trunk lay unopened in my hands. Its binding was seamless and without a clasp or lock. Staring at it, willing it to open, did no good.
Nothing I’d ever tried had opened it. Giving up had never been an option, for no reason other than its mystery intrigued me. Recently, however, my desire to get in the journal flared, like a spark catching on paper, the heat in the pit of my stomach in stark contrast to the chill in the air as I examined every corner of the book. The secrets taunted me though everyone else seemed able to ignore them.
Whispered conversations between my dad and aunt, years ago, had reassured me that there was a story within its hidden pages. “Grandma Mari sealed her story," my dad had said. "When necessary, one of us will know how to open it. Only then will our true history be known.” As soon as I heard those words, shivers quivered through me. And I’d known who that one would be. Me.
That was the first time my intuition had spoken to me, using a type of sign language on my skin with its icy fingers.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteEmail: Tanya@acfbellegarde.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: I WHISPER ALONE
Genre: Upper-Midgrade Fantasy
Word count: Entry 252 words of 56,300 word MS
Where I follow you: on Twitter, and on your neato blog. Plus I spread the word, on my blog, on twitter, heck, I even emailed a few friends!
Thanks for the fun contest and Happy Birthday Shelley!!
The four of them huddled together on the dirt floor, deep in the Moose Jaw tunnels, studying their cards as if the fate of the world depended on them. Gabe had to decide and hated these moments. If he chose to play a diamond, he’d have to tell these buggers a secret, but if he chose clubs, he’d have to let the girl whisper to him. Either way, he was going to lose this card game. This sucked.
Gripping his cards tighter, he studied the girl again. Could he fight off a whisper from a girl who called herself Boy? She appeared confident. How powerful was she? He was tempted to try, just to see.
Gabe was tired of bogies trying to haul him off. In fact, he was lucky to be alive. Well, maybe it wasn’t luck. He knew how to use magic to cheat, and sometimes, cheating was good. Very good.
Now he played for a bed that he couldn’t win, yet desperately wanted to. The bed was deep in the tunnel wall, like a gold nugget. The sheets were torn and it smelt musty, but Gabe was sure it’d be worth it. If only he could cheat enough to win a prize that fantastic. A bed. Wow. He hadn’t slept in a bed in years.
Feeling like a coward, Gabe played the diamond.
“I fly,” he announced, proudly. Of course, he couldn’t fly. Yet, there were rumours that some whisperers earned magic that allowed them to fly—bogie magic.
Happy Birthday! I follow your blog and I follow you on Twitter. I spread the word on Twitter and on my blog at http://suzimcgowen.blogspot.com/2011/06/in-which-there-is-birthday-and-awesome.html
ReplyDeleteEmail: suzi.mcgowen@gmail.com
Title: Any Fae May Apply
Genre: Urban Fantasy (YA)
Word Count: 83k
I stood at the library door, itching for the sun to go down. The librarian was helping a kid get his first library card, so she didn’t give a second thought as to why I was lingering by the doors.
Once the sun had set and it was safe for me to leave, I headed out for my nightly cuppa tea. A shooting star raced across the sky and I crossed my fingers to make a wish. It was a kid thing and I was too old for that now. How many times had I wished for friends? But I'd already crossed my fingers, it was too late now. I wished for something interesting to happen.
I walked in and out of the pools of light from the streetlights, the silver charms on my pockets jingling softly with each step. Sometimes car headlights would pick me out of the darkness, but I wasn't concerned. My glamour was up and I could pass for human. Tall, but human.
The telephone pole on the street corner was littered with signs and posters. Ads for weight loss, garage sales, a local band. The normal dross of human society. But the scent of magic caught my attention.
My nose twitched and I stopped to give the posters a more thorough look. There was one that was dusted with glamour. Humans probably only saw a poster for a lost pet, or something. What I saw was the flier that changed my life. It said simply, "Job opening: Night Hours. Any fae may apply."
Happy Birthday!
ReplyDeleteEmail: elizabeth.arroyo5@gmail.com
Title: Some Kind of Trouble
Genre: YA Contemporary
Word Count: 59,000 words
I follow your blog
I posted the info on my June 17 post on my blog www.chandarawrites.blogspot.com
I read somewhere that if you chant something enough times it eventually comes true. I once chanted one hundred and three thousand times in one night for my mom to get better. It didn’t happen. I tried the wishbone, the eyelash, and the birthday candle. I've tried coins in all types of water: fountain water, holy water and well water...nothing. My mom was still dying. Chanting turned to praying at five bucks a pop and easily arranged through mail order. I stopped the mail order and extended the praying to just about anything. I didn't discriminate and worked with a few deities.
_Moirae, Greek god of fate, please let my beat-up seventeen-year old jalopy turn on so I can get my butt to school._ I turned the ignition and the engine caught with a grudging screech just as my phone rang.
Miranda, my best friend, never seemed bothered by anything, not even running in a cold Chicago morning wearing stilettos and carrying a book bag too big to be hers.
"Don't leave me!" she yelled into the phone, her hair flying in the wind, her hips moving side to side as if she were dancing _merengue_ to the beat of her stilettos.
"Hurry up, can't be late," I said, looking at her through the side mirror, my lips curled into a smile. Miranda and I have been friends since the third grade and although we pissed each other off enough times to garner snickers and glares from those unlucky enough to be in our trajectory, we were a good fit.
Happy Birthday, Shelley!
ReplyDeleteI follow you on your blog. I spread the word about the contest on my blog.
email: lndgry2003@yahoo.com
TITLE: AND WHEN I DIE
GENRE: Commercial women's fiction/women's suspense
WORD COUNT: 83,000
FIRST 250 WORDS:
A shadow breezed past my left elbow in the form of a dark suit. The way it moved was familiar. Blood-chilling. I'd seen it flicker behind me as I explored London the past three days. I was in a Mediterranean restaurant in Shepherd Market, shoes kicked off under the table, sipping a glass of sharp red wine and perusing a city map. The edge of the suit jacket brushed against my arm as the man wearing it strode fluidly toward an alcove seating area ahead, his back to me all the way.
Whatever that inner sensor of danger is that we have, mine started screaming. What seemed like subtle menace yesterday expanded into certainty in an instant. I fumbled for cash in my purse, thrust my feet into their shoes and slid out from behind the table. I tossed a ten pound note onto the white linen cloth, dropped the London map over it, and was out the door, gone before the man had a chance to sit down and miss me.
For a few seconds, standing there on the sidewalk, I couldn't think or get my bearings. Dusk was settling in and everything looked different. I prayed he'd think I'd gone to the Ladies as he gazed across the room at my map keeping a lonely vigil next to a half-empty wine glass. Then it clicked. A couple of blocks away was a main thoroughfare. The kind that the big red doubledeckers ran on. If I could get there and jump on a bus before he spotted me, he'd never find me.
Title: SYNESTHESIS
ReplyDeleteGenre: YA Dystopian
Word Count: 95,000
Following you: on your blog
Spread the word: via twitter & my blog
E-mail: gblechman_contact@yahoo.com
“You there!” The booming voice stirred Jade into alertness, reaching her eardrums with the subtlety of a blunt mallet. Only two lines of bushes and a wrought iron fence distanced her from the pairs of footsteps running her way.
“You!” the officer shouted. “Where do you think you’re going?"
The officer barreled down the street, running after the young man who darted just a few feet ahead of him. The clunk, clunk of the officer's footsteps and the wheeze of his voice escalated as he ran. “You there! I said stop!”
The escapee continued running, dashing towards the bushes that lined the inside of the gates. Tall. Muscular. Short hair, Jade noted. But before anything else could be processed, he slammed into the fence in front of her, rattling it and then hitting the ground. The runner groaned angrily, coughing up the little air he had left in his lungs. Jade's heart pounded. She gasped with him. Beneath the cover of leaves and branches, the man was now nearly invisible.
Jade turned her attention to the officer, whose face twisted in irritation as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Peter! That’s not you again is it?” the officer barked. He flexed his muscles, perhaps for the gods to admire. "You know what happens to those who disobey, don't you, son? Don't want a repeat of last time do we?"
Happy Birthday and mille grazie for this generous opportunity!
ReplyDeleteFlamingo Jones
Women’s Contemporary Fiction (Romantic suspense)
80,000 words
elkamins@yahoo.com
I follow you on your blog; I spread the word on my blog, elkaminsky.com
"Family - that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to." ~Dodie Smith
The pink alarm clock bleated like a sheep in distress. Annie Steiner swatted in the direction of the sound, making contact with the snooze button. December sun sliced through the bedroom blinds, prying open her brown eyes.
“For crissakes, leave me alone,” she said, yanking her comforter over her head. The sun, like the alarm clock, didn’t listen. They conspired her awake. Tossing the covers aside, she rose from her bed like Frankenstein from his slab, outstretched arms flailing. Her left elbow caught the closet door on the way past.
“Sonofabitch!”
She rounded the corner into the bathroom and held her arm up in the mirror. Her grandmother appeared just above her elbow.
“Such language, young lady.”
“Sorry, Bubbe. But look at my arm!"
“It’s just a little bump on your funny bone.”
“You’re dead. You probably don't remember what it feels like to bang your damned elbow.”
“This is how you speak to your grandmother?”
“I’m sorry. I just…”
“Sweet girl, what’s wrong?”
“I eeked through Hannukah, then Christmas. I’m dreading New Year’s. I’m so tired of feeling like this.”
“Like what?”
“Alone. This house, this town… I feel alone, even in a room full of people.”
“Your uncle and I are always with you.”
Annie touched her hand to the glass. “No offense, but I'd like someone alive to talk to.” A few tears fell out, splashing on the sink.
“Don’t cry, bubbala. Everything is going to be fine. Some exciting times are just ahead for you.”
mchenry.jamie@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteOn Fallen Wings
YA Fantasy/87,000 words
For as long as I could remember, Faeries had danced at Stone Meadow.
I loved dancing and the night was perfect, like a dream. I was innocent to its graces. Raising my arms, I leaned my head back to absorb glowing blue rays on my face and hands. I closed my eyes and caressed the cold tips of grass with my feet, repeating the familiar sway of my steps. As a frosty wisp of air stirred me from my trance, I swept my gown in a circle and spun to kneel where my young sister, Leila, sat watching.
She reached up and parted a long strand of hair from my face. “That was wonderful,” she said. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes.” I fell to the grass. “I can’t believe this is happening.” I covered my face with both hands and cried out with joy. “My Day of Promise, at last.”
Leila rolled onto her stomach and leaned on her elbows, propping her chin with her palms. “What is it like to be in love?”
I grinned at her curiosity and stretched my arms straight. “It’s like dancing barefoot in the meadow under moonlight,” I told her. “Love tickles your toes and then climbs to your heart.” I rolled on the grass. “It spirals toward your fingertips as you spin and spin. Then it reaches up to the moon, grabs its rays, and pulls them down like a warm blanket.”
Leila sighed. My sister’s wide eyes revealed their wanting.
I follow you on twitter and this blog
I spread the word on twitter and my blog
Happy Birthday!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Shelley!! Lots of hugs for you, girl.
ReplyDeleteAnd WHAT AN AMAZING CONTEST!
I happen to <3333 Victoria. She once gave me an awesome R&R. Her editorial eye was just great:D
And I think she's really sweet for doing this.
SO good luck to y'all!
I hope Victoria signs with someone here! :D
I would love to enter, but I'm still in revision, so the MS isn't technically done. Good luck to everyone one else!
ReplyDeleteemilycaseysmusingsat gmaildotcom
ReplyDeleteRoses and Mirrors
Middle Grade, 30,000 words
I follow the blog and twitter. I spread the word on twitter. http://twitter.com/#!/Shelley_Watters/status/84349825553932289
It looks like a packing store puked all over somebody else’s bedroom.
This isn’t my room. Boxes everywhere, ribbons of peeled-off packing tape. The bare mattress, yellow with machine-sewn squiggles, mocks me from the corner. I’m unlivable, it says. You’ll never get to sleep.
No teenage girl should have to live like this.
My sheets are around here somewhere, but I’m not looking for bedding. I shove another half-unpacked box to the wall, leaving a path in the new carpet. Frustration gets the better of me. I lie flat on my back and press the inside of my elbow over my eyes. I can’t look at this place any more. It’s not a bedroom. It’s a storage closet. Complete with the stinging fumes of fresh paint.
“Mom, I need help!”
I shout as pathetically as I can. Even without looking, I know as soon as she steps into the room. My whole body tenses up and the same thought keeps shooting across the room at her: You did this.
“What’s wrong, Ivy?” Mom’s voice sounds run-down. Moving always makes her tired. You’d think she’d learn.
“I can’t find my pictures,” I say without uncovering my eyes. Mom can always tell how upset I am by looking at my eyes, and I really don’t want to talk about it.
“You mean the one of Dad?”
I hate it when she reads my mind.
Email: Greyvaledesigns(at)gamail(dot)com
ReplyDeleteTitle: THORNBRIAR
Genre: YA Fantasy Retelling
Word Count: 78,000
The first arrow would have killed Beauty if she had not been lucky enough to trip over her injured coachman at just that moment. Instead, the black shaft of the arrow passed through her ruby curls as she staggered sideways. She trampled the coachman’s broken leg in an attempt to regain her balance, eliciting a cry of pain from him. Beauty ignored the man, turning to look in the direction from whence the arrow had come.
She could see the archer then, facing her, a second arrow aimed at her heart.
Although he stood what seemed a great distance away, his features were inexplicably defined. It was as if some magic brought clarity to what ought to have been impossible to see. His long hair danced in a breeze that touched nothing else, the silver-blond strands sparkling in the few patches of sunlight that broke through the canopy of trees. His ivory skin shone luminously, eyes solid black. He seemed a spirit, rather than a mortal man.
“Lady Beauty!” The downed coachman pulled on the skirts of her gown, breaking her trance.
Beauty heard the hiss of air and swirled, throwing herself to the ground. Three arrows whistled, following her motion with astonishing speed. All missed their mark by only fractions.
When her coachman pushed himself onto one elbow to shield her, she caught sight of the archer, again with an arrow directed her way. He held this one, though, his unearthly face contorted in rage.
I follow your on Twitter, Facebook and Blogger
Spread the word on twitter @GreyArtemis and Facebook as well as my Blog
Thanks for this opportunity and good luck everyone!
Happy Birthday! What an awesome way to celebrate!
ReplyDeleteEmail: rowenna.miller at gmail dot com
I follow your blog and Twitter, and posted on my blog and tweeted the heck outta this contest to spread the word :)
Title, Genre, Word Count: The Courier / YA Post-Apocalyptic (and pre-dystopian lol) / 57K
First 250 Words:
“The winds have changed,” Father says as he tugs a pair of thick woolen gloves off his hands, his voice lowering a bit, like it’s a secret. He speaks this way when he wants me to make note of something, to see how a scuffed tree trunk in the woods tells you a deer has marked it, or the way the leaves show their silver undersides before a storm. “Winter’s coming in.”
“Early this year,” I venture.
“Early. We’ll need another cord of wood, and soon.” There is more grey in his beard than last year, I notice as he shucks his coat by the fireplace. He is getting to the age that I’ve begun to think I owe him grandchildren to ease his work on the trap lines and the fields, but that is far in coming. I turn back to jointing a chicken for supper. “And village Council meeting tonight.”
My mother wrings out her dishrag and laughs. “You say ‘village Council meeting’ with that same cranky old codger voice you use when you say ‘early winter.’ ”
“Well, they’re quite similar. Long. Tiring. You run out of decent food before either is half over.” He gives in to my mother’s teasing and laughs. “Besides, we’re talking over next year’s apprenticeships and there’s sure to be a row over a few of them.”
I’ve waited for the last week for him to mention the apprenticeships, so I slow my knife’s progress on the chicken to listen.
“Which ones?” Mother asks, though I know she knows the answer.
Thanks again for this great contest! Enjoy your birthday!
Email: janaya75@hotmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: MAGNETIC
Genre: paranormal YA
Word Count: 81,000 words
I follow you on Twitter and Blogger, and I spread the word on my blog, www.jeanmarieanaya.blogspot.com (posted about it on Saturday, June 25th).
SUBMISSION:
Carly knew something was off about the old man the moment she spotted him. He peeked out from behind one of the towering flower arrangements dotting the funeral parlor, twitching his head back and forth, like a rat sniffing at a trash pail and hoping not to get caught.
She sized him up. Little bits of white lint covered his wrinkled black suit like thistles. He wasn’t exactly well put-together. Maybe he was a priest. She quickly nixed that idea—no collar. Besides, what kind of priest hid behind flowers instead of shaking hands or praying? He was nothing like the other mourners at the funeral, either. He didn’t kneel on the padded velvet footstool beside Nonna’s casket to pay his respects. And he didn’t offer the requisite sad, pitiful smile Carly had grown accustomed to seeing in the last three days.
She kept her eyes pinned on him as she stood behind her father, leaning against the wall, hoping not to be seen by her mother or Aunt Marjorie. Good grief, those two had been sobbing all day. Marj had bits of Kleenex stuck to the end of her nose. No way was Carly getting within a six-foot radius of that pity party. She didn’t need to be reminded of the obvious, thank you very much.
Besides, watching the old dude was by far the best entertainment she’d had all day. She needed something to take her mind off the fact that her grandmother was in that wooden box.
Following you here and Twitter. Blogged and tweeted :)
ReplyDeleteTitle: PLAYING GOD
Genre: YA dystopian
WC: 70,000
First 250:
Kalyn knelt at the back stone wall to read the faded inscription, only pausing to send a nervous glance over her shoulder into the darkness.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
No matter how potent it seemed to her, it had probably been there for centuries—one, at least, since no one had believed in the myths of religion for over a hundred years—and the weathered lines suggested even longer.
Every time she came to this spot, the inscription seemed bolder, deeper, more prominent than the last, as if time itself were going backward and erasing the very marks of age. At that ridiculous idea, Kalyn gave a rueful laugh, the sound echoing in the empty ruins of the old building. Progress. That was the key word of this era. Moving forward step by step and leaving behind anything that would suggest man did not have control of the world.
Kalyn’s gaze slid from the thick gray wall and searched the sky above. Through a jagged hole in the roof of the crumbling structure they used to call a chapel, she saw the moon hanging like a fat fist amongst a glimmering array of stars. A burst of light cut the darkness in half, and for a moment Kalyn could almost bring herself to believe she’d seen a shooting star.
But no. Reality told her it was most likely a shuttle, or a passenger plane, or even a ship off to the colony on the moon.
My completed novel is titled FrankenPig, and these are the first 255 words of the first chapter, "A Pig's Paradox." Genre: YA Urban Fiction Word Count: 54,339. To read about how one scientist, Professor Hiromitsu Nakauchiand, and his team plan to grow human organs in pigs, read the news article, just released last week! (I can't put a link in here, just search for the scientist's name!)
ReplyDeleteIn a hurry to get on with their odd assignment of bringing a pig to court, both police officers climbed in the car and slammed their doors. A whir sounded. After watching the oxygen-conditioning indicator climb to a safe level, they pulled plugs from their noses. The plugs and tubes were never reusable—nasty from one use. After shoving tubing in disinfecting bins in the dash, they pushed their breathing tanks into the same compartment for a refill. Click. Sshhh. Click. Sshhh. All this trouble to breathe outside in the year 2030.
“Man, oh, man. I got razzed this morning by the other officers about this assignment. You get any coffee cake?” the young officer, Polease, asked from the driver’s seat.
Coffee sloshed out of the top of the senior officer’s cup as he slid it in the holder. From the passenger seat, he answered with his hoarse morning voice. “Cake?”
“Someone baked one—pink and pig-shaped. When I came into the break room, they sang their version of Happy Birthday, only they changed the words to ‘Happy pig day to you.’ The guys had hung a banner that read: Talking Pig with Cloned Human Brain Hogs Court Time. Like a Happy Birthday banner, get it? Good cake, though.”
“You ate some? Should have shoved it in the server’s face. Did ‘ya get the cook’s name?”
“Yeah, I mean, no. Uh, everyone just calls you Sarge. Speaking of names—
“New recruits know me by my screen name, Theocop, and it’s all you need to know.
skate678@att.net. I spread the word on my blog (frankenpig.blogspot.com), twitter, and on Facebook. I'm following Victoria Marini on twitter as Faith Chips.
Hi Shelley,
ReplyDeleteI follow you on Twitter, where I also spread the word.
Email: iwritethusiam@yahoo.com
Title: CHASTE
Genre: YA Contemporary Romance
WC: 80,000
Nice. That pretty much wraps up who I am. Everyone knows it’s true. I have a nice smile, a nice family—even my manners are nice. And although I don’t feel nice most days, keeping up that image is what I cling to. Because well-trained Mormon boys know their place. They respect women, love children, and willingly put their lives on hold to help a person in need, even if that person happens to be their messed up sister.
“Waaaaaaaaa!” My three-month-old nephew wails as I shove a newly warmed bottle into his mouth. That kid can eat like a maniac. Thankfully he can’t eat and scream at the same time. With one hand I cradle him, with the other I hold his bottle, and with my butt I nudge open the bathroom door, which makes a loud creaking sound. Elijah starts squirming. So I rock him until he goes back to sucking. If I’ve learned one thing from my sister’s stupid choices, it’s that taking care of a baby is a ton of work.
I turn on the bathroom light and know I’m in trouble the moment I glance at myself in the mirror. Elijah has spit up on my pajamas, leaving a big nasty wet spot on my arm. The circles under my eyes look like bruises; the blond curls around my head resemble a home for small rodents; and there are red lines on my cheeks from the corduroy stripes on the couch cushions.
Shelley,
ReplyDeleteI follow your blog, and have spread the word on my own blog and Twitter. My email is daniellescasale at gmail dot com.
Title: Y-RACE
Genre: YA science fiction/dystopian
Words: 70,000
There was a time little girls and boys played together. I know this is true because my Mother remembers it, and she has told each of her Daughters the story.
His name was Kagen, and they passed summers together at the the winery, shaking bugs off the grapevine into each other’s hair and hiding in the cool dirt beneath the bushes. They filled their mouths with warm grapes as they played, racing and shrieking until the sky dimmed, the house lights blinked on, and adult voices echoed over the hills to beckon them back.
Life was good, Mother told me once. Very good.
We know they’re traitors now, the Y-Race, but back then Kagen was her brother. They thought it was all fun. My Mother thought she loved him.
But that was a long time ago.
---
I found the body in what used to be a grocery store.
She was rag-dolled on the floor with one arm bent behind her back. Clouds of blood spotted her dress and hands even though I saw no injury to cause the bleeding. Her swollen belly jutted toward the sky as though she had swallowed a boulder. I had never seen a woman in such a state, but I had heard the stories and seen the public service announcements.
She was pregnant.
And now she was also dead.
Email: chelseyblair (at) gmail (dot) com
ReplyDeleteTitle: Background Vocals
Genre: YA Contemporary
Word Count: 81,000
My first 250 words:
Outside of Boston’s South Station I became the anonymous girl-with-the-guitar again, the person I’d been when the European city streets were mine to fill with music. The chords I strummed reaffirmed my choice to flee my suburban Massachusetts exile, and my ticket to New York would be my ticket to a record deal. Manhattan would never be Paris, but at least no one there would want to take my music away.
“Sweetheart, do you have a permit?” My tiny audience parted for the cop pushing his way toward me.
I misfingered a chord, and my E-string let out a low moan, like it knew we were in trouble. I dropped to the ground and laid my guitar in its open case. The concrete bit into my knees through the holes in my jeans. The right clasp on my guitar case had bent when I broke the lock Uncle Rob put on it, and now refused to snap. I pressed it until the metal almost broke the skin on my hand. It shut, but it wouldn’t hold for long.
“Can I see some ID? Lots of runaways lately,” the cop said with an I’m-sure-you’re-not-one-of-them smirk.
Reluctantly, I slung my guitar case over my back and slipped my hand into my pocket. My D.C. license didn’t match my Boston location, or my New York destination, one of the perks of having a mother who couldn’t tolerate living in the same place for more than six months at a time.
***
Where you follow me: blogger. I follow Victoria Marini on blogger and twitter.
Where you spread the word: twitter http://twitter.com/#!/Chelseyblair/status/85355747076079616
Happy Birthday!!!
ReplyDeleteNicole.Zoltack@gmail.com
Riona's Pen
Fantasy YA
80,000 words
Mr. McMichaels hated me ever since he confiscated a story I wrote during class last week. A story about an evil goblin warlord. Named McMichaels.
I guess I can't blame him, but wouldn't most English teachers love students who wanted to be authors? Not this one. I was lucky he only threatened me with detention.
So I took my time walking to English class. The crowded hallway slowly thinned out as kids ducked into their classrooms. The scent of mold and putrid gym clothes wafted toward me when a junior slammed his puke-green locker shut, and I gagged.
"Riona?" someone called.
I turned and spotted Artex, the new guy. He smiled and waved a piece of paper in his hand. Wow, were his teeth white! "Hi." I smiled back and wondered why he was talking to me. I was decidedly unpopular. I refrained from shuffling my feet. Good-looking boys always made me nervous.
He jogged down the hall. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, making him both messy and dreamy. "I think this is yours." He handed me the story I had started in Spanish class.
"Thanks." I shoved it into a notebook. "I guess I accidentally left it behind."
"You really wrote poor Roderick into a tight spot. Those bloody pirates are more than he can handle." He fell into step beside me.
My cheeks grew hot. "You read it?" Even though I dreamed of seeing my name, Riona Streaming, on the spine of a book, I didn't have the courage to allow someone else to read my writing.
blog and twitter follower (@NicoleZoltack)
spread the word on twitter
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteEmail: lorrainemci@hotmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: Strange Fire
Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 104,000
I follow you here on your blog, and I spread the word about this competition on my twitter feed @doreangray:-)
Chapter One
The Story of Florence Vaine
I was born to be a victim.
I was born to be weak. I was born to be abused. I was born to be a prisoner. I was born to gaze at my shoes and not be able to get the words out. I was born to be dragged up instead of brought. I was born to kill my mother in the process of being born. I was born to be the target of my father's hate. But still, I was born. Doesn't everything that is born deserve to live?
The one daisy growing on the patch of grass outside of my grandmother's doorstep indicates the truth. Everything that is born does deserve to live, but that doesn't mean that these things that are born are going to get what they deserve. Because I am sitting on the step and looking at the daisy, just as my father storms out of the house and stamps the defenceless little flower into the ground. Crushing living things seems to be his speciality. Or maybe just poisoning them slowly.
I barely know my grandmother, and yet he is abandoning me here because he doesn't have time for me anymore. I should feel liberated. But I don't. I must have become institutionalised by his brutality somewhere along the way. How could it be possible to be sad about getting away from a tyrant? I am being freed by a cruel and evil dictator, and yet, I feel let down.
Title: Soul Without a Boy
ReplyDeleteGenre: YA urban fantasy
Word count: 80,000
Following you: on your blog and twitter
Spread the word: http://twitter.com/#!/LoriMLee/status/85341302576783360
Email: leemai82 at gmail dot com
On his thirteenth lap around the block, London Howell spotted the monster watching him. It was crouched against the wooden post of a neighbor's mailbox, little more than a shadow with large-knuckled fingers that raked at empty air.
London stifled a groan. Sprinting through his neighborhood at midnight was annoying enough without an unwanted audience. He stopped to catch his breath beneath a lamppost, his hand braced against the cool iron.
The monster across the street moved, shifting on spindly legs that trembled like branches in a storm. Its eyes glowed in the dim evening.
London had learned that if he ignored the monsters hard enough, eventually, they went away. Didn't help his doubts about his sanity, but at least it had worked. But they'd been showing up more frequently in recent weeks, and the watching-him thing was new. Pretending something wasn't there was a lot harder when it was staring at him.
His mobile vibrated in his back pocket and, with a glance at the screen, he picked up.
"You sound like a goat on the rack," Amun said in greeting.
"How," London asked between breaths, "do you know what a tortured goat sounds like?" He shook out his legs, but it didn't help. Even running for three miles hadn't burned off the energy. Great. He considered just rolling into a ditch and letting the monsters have their way with his bones. Or whatever it was they wanted.
"Animal Sacrifices Hour. Wednesday nights at eight. Bring your own blood bucket."
"Brilliant mental image. Thanks."
Hi! Happy birthday and thanks sooo much for doing this!
ReplyDeleteaudreyreadsandreviews@gmail.com
DROP DEAD, GORGEOUS
YA Mystery
63k
Chapter One
Ian de la Cruz saw his future through the heavily tinted windows of a limousine.
It wasn’t the car that made him pause—he had a limo of his own. Nor was it the girl’s pretty face that made him stop dead—he knew a lot of pretty girls.
It was the fact that she rolled down the window, waved her fingers, and drawled, “Ian. So nice to see you again,” like she knew him.
And he had never seen her before in his life.
She rolled the window down further, cocking her head at a coquettish angle.
“Don’t you remember me?”
He didn’t. He looked around the square, but the workday was ending and people were preoccupied with rushing home, barely even glancing at him.
“Sorry,” Ian tried to look like he wasn’t nervous at all.
“Oh.” She pouted. “You don’t.” Then she smiled, her bleached teeth perfect, but her incisors were sharp like a shark’s tooth. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.”
Then Ian felt strong hands curl around his upper arms, shoving him into the open car that was idling on Powell Street. The man—a bodyguard?—was huge, with a shaved head and cruel eyes. He had a tattoo of a snake curling around the base of his neck, its blue-ink fangs sinking in to his collarbone.
A navy bruise blossomed along Ian’s bicep. The girl faced him, held out her hand, said, “Sorry about that. I’m Helena Lockhart.”
Union Square disappeared in the rear-view mirror.
I follow your blog, and I did a blog post about this:(http://audreyreadsandreviews.blogspot.com/2011/06/first-page-contest.html)
Thanks again and, again, happy birthday! I hope you have a great day :)
Audrey
ilimatodd@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteA SINGLE FEATHER
YA Mythical Romance
51,000 words
Kila stepped into the water, letting the blue of the Pacific dampen the hem of her kapa skirt. A wind from the south pinned the bark cloth to her legs and sent her long black hair into a frenzy about her face. She closed her eyes and raised her arms, willing the wind to carry her away from the island, and away from her father.
“Kila, hele mai!” Her father’s shout was closer now.
Kila turned to see him standing on shore. “Yeah, I’m coming,” she murmured. She left the sea behind and marched past him without a glance.
On the grassy bank beyond the sand, Kila traced her hand along the side of the family’s wa’a. Her fingers danced around the canoe’s intricate carvings. The wooden images weaved together the story of the ancient chief Akua. She stroked the weathered shapes of his many forms: a shark, a sea turtle and a goose tickled her fingertips. Kila longed for such a transformation. His was a tale of adventure and freedom. She withdrew her hand and brushed it against her hip, wiping away the temptation with a sigh.
“Aue,” her father said, disgusted. He piled a stack of taro stems in her arms. “If you are going to daydream, at least do it in the fields where you can do something useful at the same time.” He shook his head and walked away.
Happy Birthday Shelley!
I follow your blog.
I spread the word on my blog(ilimatodd.blogspot.com) and Facebook.
Thank you for hosting this contest!
ReplyDeleteEmail: iapetus999@gmail.com
Title: Teen Alien
Genre: YA Science Fiction
Word Count: 60,000
Submission:
They say before you draw your last breath, your life hits replay.
They never said it could happen after.
Grett Hawk’s eyes stared up at the pale blue sky. Her heart and lungs lay still. A sharp rock spur impaled her belly, her jaw hung to one side, and her knees and elbows bent at impossible angles.
Two mule boys argued above her body, screaming in girlish voices. One grabbed her broken hand and yanked. Her shoulder separated in a sick, painless snap. The other seized her shattered wrist, grinding the cracked bones. They hauled her out of the ravine, over the jagged, blood-smeared rocks that had blendered her body.
Grett could neither move, blink, nor speak, only stare at the solar trees that crowned the ridge top. On Gwanda, trees were dead things, floral simulations. Grett was as dead as those machines, but by some miracle, thoughts still coursed through her head.
Is this what death is like? Grett wondered. She felt night-sky calm, disinterested in the assault that had just claimed her life.
Uninvited holovid-like images impinged her mind, of whips lashing the mule boys while a white-haired girl laughed at their torment. What do they know of suffering? she had thought. A year ago, Grett’s mother and sister had been killed in action. Someone had to pay. Someone had to suffer as much as Grett. Why not the dirty mules? They had overturned her mother's shrine with their frivolous play.
If her guts could clench they would.
---
Follow: Blog, Twitter
Spread word: Wrote a blog post (blog.writerunner.com), tweeted.
authorrachel@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteTHE DEVIL'S FOOL
YA Urban Fantasy
87,000 words
I always knew my father was a monster, but watching him torture someone other than me made me ill. A girl dangled before him, her pale hands clinging to the rope around her neck while her naked toes struggled to touch ground.
I leaned over, high on my perch of a Scotts pine tree, and drew in the crisp night air. Normally the smell of Switzerland’s dense woodlands, a rich earthiness laced with the aroma of an approaching storm, would’ve soothed my nerves, but nothing could calm the growing turmoil in my gut. The scene below wouldn’t allow it.
The towering full moon spilled into a wide clearing of the forest, spotlighting four figures as if they were actors on a stage. My father stood at the center pacing near the young girl, stage left. I’d seen her once from the window of our home. She was the daughter of Sophie, our head housekeeper. We resembled each other with our honey-blond hair, though she may be a year younger, sixteen perhaps.
Her mother Sophie kneeled to the right, hands clasped together and tears pouring from her eyes.
And finally, there was my own mother—a spectator, rather than an actor in this production. She sat on a blanket spread out on the grass; her long black gown gathered up, exposing her thin legs all the way to her thighs. Even the chill in the air didn't seem to faze her. The only thing holding her attention was a jasmine plant resting in her lap, which she repeatedly plucked leaves from and tucked into a leather pouch.
Happy birthday! Mine's today. :)
I follow your blog and promoted this contest on my own blog. Thank you for your time!
I just realized that I didn't say HAPPY BIRTHDAY in my entry and I meant to, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY Shelley!!! :D And thank both you and Victoria for putting this on!
ReplyDeleteA very happy birthday, Shelley! I follow your blog and tweets, and I talked about the contest on my blog and Facebook.
ReplyDeletename: Linda Ulleseit
email: lindaulleseit (at) sbcglobal (dot) net
title: On a Wing and a Dare
genre: YA fantasy, 63,000 words
Chapter 1: Fanfare
“Rhys is listless, not eating…” Mum’s voice trailed off as the winged colt collapsed like an empty burlap sack.
Emma dropped to the floor, heedless of her skirts, and cradled Rhys’s head. The glow of early dawn helped the flickering lantern illuminate the stall.
“Mum?” she asked. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s fevered. Try giving him some water.”
“Iawn, del,” Emma murmured in Welsh as she dribbled a handful of liquid into Rhys’s mouth.
“Water balances fever, but it’s not enough. Maybe the mare’s milk…” Mum broke off. “Emma, don’t risk angering your father today of all days. I’ll care for Rhys. Go.”
“Da won’t notice I’m not there.”
“Cariad, you’re sixteen. Time to take over your responsibilities to the barn and the family.”
Emma reluctantly laid the colt’s head on the straw and rose. “Send a groom if you need me.”
Her mother nodded, reaching to fold the colt’s stubby wings.
Outside the sanctuary of Rhys’s stall, the rest of the barn came alive as the sun rose and the winged horses began taking flight. Riders and grooms scurried forth clad in blue and silver barn colors. For her father it was all about the glory of the barn, and to Rhiannon’s Fire with everything else. Da cared more about winning the Aerial Games than about sick colts, or his daughter. Emma couldn’t deal with him right now. She slipped away from the barn and headed for her best friends, Davyd and Evan, the sons of Da’s biggest rival.
Kimberly VanderHorst
ReplyDeletekimberly.vanderhorst@gmail.com
S.U.P.E.R.
Middle Grade - 60,000 words
Follow: Blog
Spread Word Via: Twitter and My Blog
Chapter One: Ninjas and Knives
Most teenage girls would scream if they woke up to find a ninja assassin in their bedroom. Alexandra just grinned. Finally, someone thought she was important enough to kill.
Judging by the ninja’s heavy footsteps, he had more muscle than skill, and he nearly tripped over a stack of her textbooks as he hunched over and edged closer to her bed. Despite the fact he wore the traditional black garb, there was no way this fumble-footed guy was the real deal. What a shame. She could use a challenge.
Manhattan’s city lights poured through her windows and reflected off the small knife clutched in his hand. She barely held in a laugh. Did he really think that would be enough to take her down?
Alexandra slowly drew her legs up into a crouching position, rolled onto her feet, and leapt off the bed. The springiness of the mattress gave her just enough lift to come down on top of his stooped-over shoulders, and one swift chop to his elbow joint sent his knife skittering uselessly under the bed. She whipped off his hood and dropped to the floor behind him with a soft thump, throwing the scrap of black fabric across the room. She had him now.
But then the ninja began to glow, his dark clothing eerily backlit by the green light pulsating beneath his skin. He turned to face her, smiling like a jack-o-lantern.
Crap. The guy had status.
“The knife was a decoy, little girl. Just to get you close. You’re coming with me.”
His clothing came alive with the fire of his power. Green flames licked down his arms and gathered in the palms of his hands. She threw herself into a roll but it was too late; one of the flames caught hold of the sleeve of her nightshirt. Alexandra smacked at it, but the fire quickly spread, engulfing her in a cool-burning nimbus of sickly green. The crackle of the flames buzzed in her ears like a thousand starving mosquitoes.
Happy Birthday, Shelley!!
ReplyDeleteEmail: saphirablue84@gmail.com
Title: The Demon Chronicles: The Black Light Of Purity
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Word Count: 60,000
Her entire life, Taisie Monahan knew the hollow feeling of loss. Even though she had never experienced it until now, she always carried it in her heart. As her father sped the black Lincoln Town Car toward home after the funeral, her mother’s words echoed in her head as she watched the rain slide down the car’s windowpane and make little liquid trails down its length.
“Your heart is just aching for you to find that great love you left behind, dear. Don‘t worry. He‘s closer than you think.”
As she climbed out of the car, the rain felt like icy daggers being driven into her fair skin. I don’t want to move! I don’t need to remember her. She’s here! It’s not like it’ll bring her back anyway. She’s dead. Her hometown isn’t going to change that fact. Why can’t he get that? She thought to herself as her blue eyes flicked up at the ever-graying evening sky and watched a lone raven glide across the silver clouds. Standing there in the winter’s storm, Taisie could swear that someone, or something, was watching her every move. The bitter wind stung her face as she glanced around in hopes of catching a glimpse of her admirer. It’s just your imagination, Tais. Get a hold of yourself.
“Taisie…go up to your room and start packing,” her dad said as he tried to hold back the tears that he had been welling up all day.
She tugged at the bottom of her black cotton dress as she turned around swiftly, making her brown hair fly wildly into the unforgiving weather.
I follow you on twitter & your blog.
I spread the word through twitter & my blog.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteShannon Taylor Hodnett
ReplyDeleteemail: jaxfam96@aol.com
title: Solitary Sky
genre: YA Paranormal Romance
word count: 77,700
I follow you on Twitter (ShanonaRyder) and on your blog.
I spread the word on Twitter and my blog: shanonawriter.blogspot.com . ;o)
I peeked through the back door window and saw Claire sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing her dress and apron from work. She held a cup of coffee and cigarette in one hand while going through mail with the other. I tossed my purse and book bag to the side of the porch and sat down on the grass hoping to wait her out. The last thing I wanted today was a conversation with my mother.
She got up fifteen minutes later, but only to refill her cup. I sighed and slung my bags over my shoulder, lifting myself off the grass.
“You’re home,” Claire said as I rushed through the door and past her. “Hey, get back here, Lilah. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” I stopped and turned, avoiding her overly made-up eyes.
“Well you look like crap. Have you been crying?” She pursed her lips and blew the steam rising from her cup, waiting for me to answer.
“No, I’m just tired.”
She pulled a chair out from the table and patted her hand on the seat. This was her mother-who-cares act, but I wasn’t buying it. Did she really expect me to sit and talk with her about my life over piles of old mail and breakfast dishes she’d left for me to clean up? I shifted my bags to the other shoulder and stood with my arms folded against my chest.
“Fine.” She shoved the chair back under the table. “I’m not gonna beg you to talk to me.”
Happy Birthday! Thanks for the awesome contest!
ReplyDeleteherocagney@gmail.com
THINK OF ME
YA paranormal
52K
My conscious tells me that what I’m about to do is a total violation of privacy, but screw playing nice. It’s time to take a chance. I grasp the pulls on my Harley Quinn backpack and lean forward in my seat, watching the clock above the whiteboard turn to three-thirty.
As soon as the final bell rings, I spring out of my desk and head straight for the hall, dark flyaway hairs tickling my face. I smooth the strands out of my eyes to scrutinize my classmates. They shuffle toward Emerson High’s main exit, two heavy doors with initials and crude pictures etched into them. I fall into the crowd next to Mark and hesitate for a moment. Then, with a slightly shaking hand, I brush my fingers against his knuckles.
Katie Westmore is so hot. What I wouldn’t do for the chance to—
I jerk my arm away, wrinkling my nose. He’s staring at Katie, blue eyes narrowed, as if trying to conjure up x-ray vision. I wonder what he’d do if he knew that, with a simple touch, I can hear his thoughts. Blush? Run away? Call me a freak?
Tapping into his mind wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I even don’t have a headache, yet. My heartbeat’s racing, but I don’t think it’s a side effect, just excitement. I hang back from the throng of juniors and lean against the royal blue lockers that line the hall.
I follow you on your blog and Twitter
I spread the word on Twitter (@herocagney)
Happy birthday!
ReplyDeleteI follow you on Twitter and your blog.
I also spread the word by tweeting and blogging.
Sarah Lofgren
sarah(dot)talithajoy(at)gmail(dot)com
Title: Switch
Genre: YA fantasy
Word Count: 58,000
What little hair Magda possessed stuck up from her scalp like clumps of weeds. Scabs and age spots covered the spaces between tufts. A procession of warts traveled from behind her right ear, across her face and down the high neckline of her nightdress. With her pointed nose and glazed eyes, the old woman resembled the mole rats that sometimes burrowed through the walls of her underground home.
Magda's breath came in ragged gasps and shudders. She had known for a while that death was only steps behind and now, now that she could no longer make her own breakfast or sweep out her home, now that she was relegated to the comfort of her wooden bed, it seemed time to let him catch her.
The woman's only concern was for the five girls in her care. Could they survive without her? Magda had protected them for as long as she could, but now nothing would stand between them and the beauty-obsessed citizens of Parnear. It bothered her because, ugly as she knew herself to be, Magda's five girls were so much uglier.
The girls gathered around their guardian's bed, watching with anxious expressions. Magda looked into each face and wished for the power to bestow beauty and luck. She tried to smile.
"I couldn't be prouder if you were my own blood," she said. "You are special in every way imaginable. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
The youngest girl made a whimpering noise and reached for Magda's hand. Magda swallowed as she felt the tiny fingers wrap around her wrist.
Gwynne Meeks
ReplyDeletemeeks.gwynne@gmail.com
Title: Chrysalis
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Word Count: 94,500
I follow you on Twitter, (gwynnemeeks) where I spread the word. I also talked about it on my blog, (gwynnemeeks.com) and an online writing community I'm a part of: Hands on Keyboard (handsonkeyboard.livejournal.com)
I have already forgiven you for this.
Shadow bit into her skin. There was little blood. She lay against the hard earth sobbing, begging. She screamed against the sharp pain of the marking. Scarring had never before been so wondrous and beautiful.
It was the first time he was not calculated with her.
You cannot run fast enough or far enough.
She threw herself off the ledge, twisted in the air and fell the four floors to the opera’s orchestral pit. The rushing air slapped against the folds of her dress, filling her ears with a roaring whisper.
The impact wouldn't kill her despite her effort. She lost sight of him but the shadow wrapped possessively around her. A heated embrace.
No one noticed. No one remembered.
You beautiful fool.
The first time he kissed her, her curls were twisted between his fingers, a hand to her throat. She was fifteen and it was amazing.
No one else could compare with forever.
My name is Devlin.
She only saw flame the night her world burned. It ate everything. She never saw bodies, only burned patches of ashy dirt. There were two monsters made of fire. The female was beautifully terrible and the male lay like a dying ember.
He was shadow and ice against the fire that stole her life. The woman lifted her hand to attack her. He saved her then. His shadow came around her, through her, and protected her against certain burning.
And I have some rules for you.
Title: Hope Springs
ReplyDeleteGenre: Memoir
Word Count: 70,000
I now follow your blog, after Tom Hoefner gave this contest a shout-out on facebook. In turn, I plugged the site and the contest on my personal facebook page, my professional page, and the page of the theatre company for which Tom and I both work. (Momentum Repertory Company)
TLC’s “A Baby Story” makes my uterus hurt. The episodes all start out innocently enough, with sweet stories of growing families. But just when I’m too emotionally invested to change the channel, the horror show begins, and soon I find myself physically exhausted, helping a total stranger push from the comfort of my living room. I’m relieved the end is near- just one more big push - when I hear the familiar squeak of our rusty mailbox, and I’m pulled out of today’s labor. Of course, I’ll fall for it all over again tomorrow. But for now, unlike the new Mommy on the screen, I am full of life and energy, able to leap up from my spot on the sofa to see who might have sent me evidence that they’re thinking of me. It’s likely only Ed McMahon, but one never knows. This must be what the people of River City were feeling as they sang about the Well’s Fargo Wagon.
My daily mail ritual involves sorting each piece into one of three piles. The first is for the people who live in the upstairs apartment of our duplex. Their mail is easily identifiable by the fact that it is addressed in Chinese. Pile number two is made up of things that go directly into the trash, and it is often made up of multiple Pottery Barn catalogues. Finally, there is a pile for the things I will open and shred before putting them into the trash, because my only other options are delivering my information into the hands of identity thieves, or wallpapering our apartment with opportunities to consolidate our student loans.
I follow you here and on twitter. I tweeted your contest several times. :-)
ReplyDeletemrso_d at yahoo dot com
Title: Scott and the Naughty Boy Factory
Genre: Young MG
Word Count: 19,700
Pink pony piñata . . . check.
Invisibility . . . check.
Cup of worms . . . check.
I crouched in my favorite tree, fourth branch up from the ground and only one branch over from my sister’s piñata. The perfect place for a ninja ambush. I just needed those girly girls to come a little bit closer.
My little sister, Victoria, spent all morning picking out her perfect party dress, pink and lacy, with a bow in the back. She and her frilly friends had a fashion show with fake jewelry and feather boas, played “Pin the Crown on the Princess,” and paraded around Fancy Nancy style through the back yard.
Boor-ing. Time to show Victoria how fun is done.
I waited above her piñata, holding an old soda cup filled with worms. Only the best ones, though: long and fat and slimy. If worm-collecting was an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medal winner for sure.
Oh, yeah. This was gonna be good.
When the girls finally got close enough, I took careful aim and dumped. The worms and dirt tumbled out of my cup and then—splat!—Victoria screamed and started hopping up and down. I raced down the tree for a better look.
Victoria’s hair and the shoulders of her pink, frilly dress were covered in dirt and wriggly worms. Excellent! She shook her head and flipped her blond ponytail like it was on fire. Dirt and worms were everywhere, even on some of her friends—and they were screaming too.
It may have been the greatest moment of my life.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteEek! It's time! Thanks for the wonderful contest, Shelley, and a happy, happy birthday to you.
ReplyDeleteMy email: RileyRedgate@gmail.com
I follow you on Blogger and Twitter, and I tweeted the contest a while back from @RileyRedgate. I also blogged about it in passing.
Title: PARTITION
Words: 89,000
Genre: YA Dystopian Romance
MAYA
No one sneaks into the Glass City and returns unscathed, especially not us Pewts. My best friend told me not to come. He said this was stupid and reckless, and he was probably right, but I gotta try.
I wish he was here. Hell, I wish any of my friends had the guts to climb up with me.
But it’s probably less the climbing part and more the breaking-into-prison part that scared ‘em off.
As I pull myself up, my bare feet struggle to grip the glass pillar. My biceps burn like acid, and I spit a curse into the darkness, reminding myself that this pain is probably nothing next to what’s coming. If I get back without some sorta serious injury, it’ll be a goddamn miracle.
I look down. My throat yanks shut like the neck of a drawstring bag. This height is dizzying, painful, and being so close to the top is totally unreal. I’ve seen the City my whole life from below, seen it sitting smug on these glass anchors like it’s balanced on a forest of fat crystal straws. Beautiful, especially compared to the filth of the Sprawl.
The City’s stilts are linked together by a webwork of shining metal struts, which make solid footholds. So it’s possible to climb up, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean it’s easy. Someone told me the anchors aren’t real glass – knowing the Glass City, it’s probably some sorta special-engineered material.
Ryan Hunter
ReplyDeleteryanhunter.45@gmail.com
PREMEDITATED - Young Adult - 90,000 Words
I follow this blog and have spread the word on Twitter @ryanhunter45
I used to imagine that confessing to murder would take some of the guilt away, make the act easier to live with. I was wrong.
I realize now that it doesn’t really make much difference whether I confessed or kept the secret. The man was dead and I could not bring him back. Not that I’d want to, I mean the world is no worse off without him. I can say that perhaps it shouldn’t have been my decision to make the world better in that respect. Yes, I’m pretty sure I should have let God make that move.
But it doesn’t matter now. The man’s dead and my confessing certainly didn’t bring him back. It only put me behind bars and left other lives vulnerable to the decisions I’ve made about who should live and who should die.
That’s why you should know that I’ve decided to leave this place.
Playing God is not just a game anymore.
Sincerely,
Inmate 54763
Jenna Adamson
Detective Tambri Carlson slapped the letter atop a jumbled pile of reports and lifted her black desk phone. Within seconds she had juvenile detention on the phone. A siren blared in the background and voices screamed over the intercom making it nearly impossible to hear the man who answered.
“We were just about to call,” he admitted when she identified herself. “We think we’ve lost one of your girls.”
“Lost?” Tambri glared at the letter on her desk.
“We’re not exactly sure yet.”
Tambri’s fingers lost feeling on the handset. “Jenna Adamson escaped. She did not get lost.”
Happy birthday!
ReplyDeleteBethany Hudson
bethanyhudson@gmail.com
I follow this account in Twitter @CiderWriter
Title: GUARDIAN
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance with a literary bent, Book 1 of 4-part series
Word Count: 90,000
I can still feel his hand on my shoulder in the dark. The weight of it presses through my muscle into bone until I can feel his goodwill settle into my marrow. Even after he’s loosened his grip, I feel it, and it strengthens me. I don’t deserve it.
I hear his voice, barely a breath in my ear. “I’m sorry. I have to go now. You’re on your own.” I see his sure step falter at the edge of the trees. Then, he recovers his footing and strides forward, unafraid and unassailable.
“I won’t forget.” I whisper quietly enough to be inaudible above the crackling of the nearby flames. Even so, I know he can hear me.
The daemons’ laughter stabs through my core and burns like acid in my chest. They jeer and spit and quake with sadistic ecstasy. I strain my ears for the one voice I hate above all others, and though I do not hear it, I know he’s out there somewhere. I grit my teeth like a dog poised to attack, but I make no move to strike.
I say it again to myself, this time without breath, my dry lips pressing together silently. “I won’t forget.”
In a single, screeching mass, they descend on him. He puts up a sham of a fight. None of them seem to notice that he’s barely trying. It’s as if they don’t realize that an angel of his stature could easily take down half a dozen of them. In any case, the deal was sealed before he ever stepped foot on the hill. Even at his best, there’s no way he could have defeated so many. I see only two shadowy figures fall before they bind him. He doesn’t strain against the ropes, and they carry his limp body uphill toward the rising flames.
author@francespauli.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: Shrouded
Genre: Science Fiction Romance
Wordcount: 80,392
He managed to cut her off four steps from sanctuary. Vashia pressed her spine against the steel wall and watched the transport slide to a stop between her and the Comet’s back entrance. The alley she’d snuck down reeked of grease and sweat, and she held her breath for more than just a need for silence. A gutter lizard slithered up the wall opposite her, snapping its purple tongue at invisible insects. Vashia cringed and slid a half step back down the way she’d come.
The hover sled powered to idle, and the long door panel slid open. Her father’s insignia disappeared into the housing as the gap widened and Jarn stepped out of the vehicle. Vashia’s mouth twisted in distaste at the same time she did her best to merge with the alley wall. Jarn knew about the Comet. Damn it.
He tugged at his gloves and sneered down the street in both directions. His vulture eyes picked through the riff-raff for any trace of her. Vashia’s skin crawled. She froze in the shadows and fought off the urge to flee. She couldn’t risk one more step, couldn’t risk making a sound that might alert the governor’s aide. Instead she watched his shorn head shake and heard him bark out orders to the driver and the armed thugs standing at either side of his car. “Wait. Keep your eyes sharp.”
She held her breath until he disappeared into the Comet, until he’d slid his skinny, uniformed shoulders through the nightclub’s entrance and the blast of music faded once more into the clatter and hum of normal street noises. The hover car whined in front of her, blocking the route she’d intended to take. Jarn’s toadies might not have genius level IQs, but they couldn’t miss an attempt to slip past them in the full light of Eclipsis’ primary moon. Vashia backed further into the alley and let out a slow, silent exhale. She was so screwed.
I follow the blog and on twitter, and I've posted on both.
Thanks again, for another great opportunity.
LGwenn @ yahoo.com
ReplyDeleteAlamandine's Song, 80,000 words, UF
I Follow you on Twitter and I follow the Blog
I spread the word on Twitter(@LGwenn) and on Absolute Write.
*Happy Birthday & Thanks for this opportunity!*
Just outside the door heat and humidity grabbed me. I kept moving. In a few steps, I felt the slight "pop" of walking past my store's magical wards.
I paused and took a moment to breathe in Philly. Above me a sliver of open sky peeked between the jagged teeth of ancient buildings. The city lights obliterated the stars, one of the few things I didn't like about urban living, but a blind man could have seen the shooting star that streaked across just then.
Ambling along, I blithely stepped over clumps of trash on the street. I wondered how many other people had seen the meteorite. My feet carried me down the usual path-- past vomitous ginko trees and over steaming grates. My mind was on home, my comfy couch, my dog and a good book.
Walking with my eyes on the sky was pure, unadulterated dumb. I'd spent my whole life in Philly. I knew better than to wander around, not checking down dark alleys--not peering behind crouching stoops.
He was just crossing the street, or so I assumed. But instead of breezing by, he grabbed my hand. It floated across my chest and then held there. His body snapped behind mine, commanding, like a strong dance partner. *It's like we're doing the tango*. Time slowed. He held me closer, my arm pinning my body to his. It wasn't until something cold and sharp pressed into the soft space under my ear that I realized just how fucked I was.
Happy birthday, Shelley!
ReplyDeleteI follow your blog.
I spread the word on Facebook.
tmilstein at gmail dot com
Naked Eye, YA Fantasy, 67k words
You know how adults always warn children not to run with scissors because they could lose an eye and to stop tipping back their chairs because they could crack open their skulls? I’ve never cracked open my skull from tipping back a desk chair, but in 7th-grade, I ran with scissors and lost an eye.
Three years later, my prosthetic eye looks and works almost like my old eye. The unusual amber hue of the left eye has been recreated to an amazing degree. If my left eye moves to the left or right or up or down, so does my fake one, though not as well. At this point, most people have forgotten I’d lost an eye. I didn’t forget. For one, it doesn’t feel like my old eye and I know if I step into sunlight, my left pupil dilates while my right one does not because it’s always set for “moderate light” as Doctor Ocular calls it.
I also haven’t forgotten how the other kids at school treated me for the year I'd refused to get the glass eye. Only Orion and Morgan have stuck with me.
Sitting in the rustic kitchen eating yogurt, I watch my mother blab into her cell phone at the other end of the table. “Yes, if there’s anything really wrong after the inspection, you can walk away without penalty…. Yes, the inspector will be very thorough. Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”
I smirk because at least she’s there for someone.
(1) shaxpeare(at)live(dot)com
ReplyDelete(2) "Finding Kate" YA Historical Fiction/Shakespeare Adaptation 49,500 words
(4) I follow you on FB, Twitter and your blog
(5) I spread the word on Twitter and my blog
First page of "Finding Kate: The True Story of the Taming of the Shrew"
Oh, the weekly torment of market day. The entire village gathered on the green at the center of town to buy and sell, visit with neighbors, chat with friends, to flirt and laugh.
I detested market day but Father, as the self-appointed most important man in town, insisted that I go as an escort for my younger sister, Blanche.
I detested Blanche as well.
Every Monday, carters and merchants from all around set up their carts on the grass of the broad common, vying for the best spots in the shade of ancient apple trees. Merchants who had businesses in town opened wide their doors and set baskets of wares on their front steps. Within an hour after dawn, the market was as alive with activity and sound as a beehive. And just as a beehive has its queen, this market had my sister Blanche.
Everyone’s eyes were drawn to her; it was impossible not to notice her. I had abandoned her as soon as we arrived on the green, yet she was a constant nettle under my skin. She stood beside a fruit carter’s wagon, one hand lightly on the rough wood. Her pink lips were parted in a smile revealing her perfect teeth, her hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves, and her eyes gleamed golden brown, a perfect complement to the honey of her hair and peach of her skin. Around her were gathered her followers: the two Eleanors, three Alices, three Margarets and three Marys of Whitelock who formed her little flock.
Shelley, happy birthday, and thank you so much for this opportunity!
Hey, Shelley! It's my cousin's birthday too! Happy Birthday!
ReplyDeleteEmail: slbynum3(at)gmail(dot)com
Title: Grim Crush
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Word count: 60,000
First page:
He was taking too long to die.
Sometimes it seemed like these things took longer than usual. I guess I shouldn’t be too eager to collect a person’s soul, but the waiting and anticipation drove me nuts.
I stepped up to the precipice of the cliff until the tips of my boots hung off the edge. Leaning forward, I stared down the fifty or so yards to the ground below. When I shifted my feet, tiny rocks tumbled down the red-orange crags of the cliff face.
Yep, a fall from here will do it all right.
Sighing, I stood up straight and crossed my arms, staring off to my left. I hated that I had to be here early. Death had some pretty stupid rules. I could be doing something else rather than waiting for this guy to kick the bucket.
He was probably in his mid-twenties. A guy of average build, with black hair like mine. He had on a backpack and held a camera in his hands; an expensive one with a large lens like what photographers used. He was taking pictures of the birds in the trees, while standing way too close to the precipice.
A nature buff. Great. I’d picked up another one of these last week. They needed to learn to be more careful.
The nature guy took another step back, his foot inches from the cliff edge. He continued taking pictures without paying attention to the sheer drop behind him.
I follow you on twitter.
I spread the word on my twitter (@WriterSLBynum).
Title: Library Jumpers
ReplyDeleteGenre: YA Urban Fantasy
Word Count: 91,000 (revised version)
I swallowed my breath mint when some hot guy across the reading room busted me staring at him. I completely froze, unable to tear my eyes away from him. He totally stood out in the conservative atmosphere of the library with his messy brown hair and tight leather biker clothes. His intense gaze held me for several seconds before I shot my eyes at Afton. Submerged in a book on the Salem witch trials--a strand of her dark hair-weave all twisted around her finger--she hadn't even noticed him. A gust of wind came from his direction and rustled the pages of her book. I swung my eyes back to him. He was gone.
"What the . . .?" I blurted and stood to get a better view of the large reading room. The biography on Samuel Adams slipped from my hand and clunked onto the table.
"Shhh, Gia." Afton glared over her book at me.
"Hello? We're in a library."
We weren't in just any library. We were in the Boston Athenaeum, an exclusive library with a pricey annual fee. Afton's father got her a membership at the start of summer. It's a good thing her ticket in allows tag-alongs, since my pop would never splurge like that, not when the public library is free.
"What's wrong?" Afton asked.
My eyes flicked around the reading room searching for the guy. In the core of the room, a collection of antique furniture and sculptures surrounded large walnut tables with leather chairs.
**************
Shelley, you know I follow you everywhere. Happy Birthday and thanks for being such a great critique buddy!
Thanks, Victoria, for the wonderful contest. :D
Happy Birthday Shelley! I follow you on twitter and your blog. I tweeted and blogged about this contest.
ReplyDeleteThank you to both Shelley and Victoria for this awesome contest. Enjoy.
Jessica LeSaicherre
j.lesaicherre@hotmail.com
Title: IN IRONS
Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 60,000
In the coolness of the summer night, Liz Kavanagh crossed her backyard, trailing uncertainly behind her mother. Her heart beat faster with each step. Sure, it was her thirteenth birthday, and she was excited to hear that a surprise was waiting for her. But the party and the presents had been more than enough, and she found it strange that her mom had stopped her just as she was going to bed and led her outside. What kind of surprise would be out here, anyway, near the tree-lined edge of their property?
Her mother’s ivory skin seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight. Liz’s confusion grew as they drew closer to the cliff’s edge, and she concentrated on the comforting sound of the waves rolling onto the shore below. Her mom offered a gentle, reassuring smile as she stopped beside the largest oak, the one Liz’s little sister loved to climb.
Liz watched, wide-eyed, as the tree began to sway, and then shudder. The bark sank inward in spots, forming a rectangular seam. Then a section of the trunk just . . . swung open. The blackness inside looked dense and impenetrable.
Instinctively, Liz reached for her mom. But her shock was so intense that, by the time her arm obeyed her brain’s command, her mother had already stepped through this bizarre doorway and was signaling for Liz to follow.
“Come now, love, and don’t be afraid, ” her mother whispered. “They’re all waiting for you.”
SarahJPerry9 (at) gmail (dot) com
ReplyDeleteTitle: Dream Girl
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Word Count: 74,000
I’d imagined it forever but when the time came, I wasn’t prepared for my gothic fantasies to become real. For most of my eighteen years, things were as normal as the Cheerios I’d eaten for breakfast. The day I met Gabriel started out no different. My alarm had gone off. I’d gone through the same old morning routine. Checked my phone for new texts from my best friend, Tiffany. Listened to a voice mail from my mom and left my apartment the same way I always did: wondering WWJE do? (What would Jane Eyre do?)
That particular morning, I drove to work wondering how Jane Eyre would spend the summer after graduating high school. Summer stretched out before me like a lazy cat. I really hoped I could figure out what to major in at college. I didn’t have to decide until next year, but it would be nice to have it squared away and know where my life was heading.
My thoughts had to wait when, ten minutes late, as usual, I hustled into the public library, my workplace for the past three years. Ditching my purse in my locker, I strode into the workroom, an open space populated by cubicles for the librarians and long tables for the support staff. I held my breath as I scurried past the row of supervisor offices on my right. The last thing I wanted was one of them to notice I wasn’t manning the circulation desk already.
I follow this blog and posted the contest on my blog.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
ReplyDeleteTitle: COVETED
Genre: YA Urban Fantasy
Word Count: 85,000
I’m going to kill him.
Caleb found comfort in that thought. And he meant it this time. Funny how a guy’s best friend could bring out the murderer in him.
“Lighten up Azzy-baby, it’s a party!” Martin sat there oblivious of any plots to end his life. He was too busy being the ham in a babe sandwich.
“Don’t call me Azzy-baby.” Caleb scowled, figuring he could leave the body in a construction pit on the side of I-70 West to be paved over this weekend. “You know I hate these places.” They sat in a sectional at the back of Confessions, the newest club in downtown Kansas City. Two hundred people ground against one another on the other side of one-inch thick glass to the dreadful techno oong-tss, oong-tss, oong-tss.
Martin’s grin split his face as the girls pressed against him giggled. “Not as much as you love me.”
“If love means a desire to bludgeon you to death in a back alley. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” He should be at home waiting for Connie, like a good big brother.
“I can’t believe I had to talk you into it.”
“Only saying hi to a couple people, he says. Just five minutes, he says. That was over an hour ago—I could strangle you.” He curled his hands around the empty air in front of him. “Then bury you in your own back yard.”
Email: Tangynt@ymail.com
I follow your blog and twitter as Tangynt on both
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ReplyDeleteTitle: NANOPLAGUE
ReplyDeleteGenre: Women’s commercial fiction
Word Count: 132,000
Email: TadpoleWroteIt@aol.com
Dr. Catherine Thomas’ eyes threatened to close, so she decided to leave her nanotechnology lab and go home, shower, and sleep a bit before picking Ryan up at the airport. She missed him and needed him now more than ever. If only he would stay this time.
She trudged towards her cherry Smart Roadster with shoulders drooping and feet dragging. Halfway there, she heard steps crunching across the sandy concrete. She lifted her head and spotted him: the young man in the suit from the charcoal Audi. He was striding in her direction. Their eyes met, and she knew he had come for her. Her pulse kick-started. She scanned the car park left and right. No one. Bollocks. She pivoted and sprinted for the lab, but her sleep-deprived body moved in slow motion.
Behind her, his footsteps pounded faster and faster. No. She would not let him catch her. Still running, she crossed the street and transferred her car keys to her left hand. As soon as she reached the entrance, she began to enter the code.
He grabbed her around the waist from behind and slammed her into the building’s door. “Where do you think you’re going, moça?”
She kicked and scratched.
He laughed and shook his head, making a clicking sound with his tongue.
“Querida.”
She twisted and raised her keys to slash his face, but he didn’t give her the chance.
*** Happy Birthday Shelley! ***
Where I follow you: On your blog
Where I spread the word: On www.writing.com
Email: bscottmcc(at)gmail(dot)com
ReplyDeleteTitle: All That Glitters
Genre: YA
Word Count: 56,000
Your polished first page (250 words):
Facundo and I sit at the kitchen table, wearing white coats.
The crisis took away most of our money, which means our parents can’t pay for private, single-sex, Catholic school anymore. No more plaid ties and blazers for us. Now we wear the regulation Argentine public school uniform. A white lab coat that makes us look like doctors or scientists.
“How far away is this new school of ours from here?” I ask.
My father pauses for a second. “It’s pretty close. I think you can take the Subte, line E, to Jujuy and walk a couple blocks down San Juan and up Humberto Primero. It should be right there.”
The Subte? Line E? Whenever I’m on the Subte, I only ride line D. It’s the one that goes through Palermo. My Palermo. My beautiful, classy Palermo. I miss you.
My stomach sinks. I’m no longer in the mood for a fresh-baked medialuna or a piece of bread smothered with sweet, caramel-like dulce de leche. “Facu, do you have money?”
“How much does it cost?” he asks.
“One peso ten,” Papá says. “Sounds cheap, but don’t let that fool you.”
I snatch a grapefruit from the center of the table and stick it in my book bag, while Facundo digs through his pockets for change. I look up at the clock mounted on the wall. “Whatever, Facu. I can pay for you this time.” I stand up. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Where you follow me: Twitter & Blog
Where you spread the word: On Twitter
Happy Birthday Shelley! Thanks for another great contest.
ReplyDeleteEmail: Tinamosswrites@gmail.com
Title: BLOOD BOND
Genre: Urban Fantasy w/ strong romantic elements (Women’s commercial fiction)
Word Count: 80k
Follow on Twitter and Blog. Spread word at http://www.tinamoss.blogspot.com
The scream stuck in his throat, a foreign sound he couldn’t set free. The surrounding quiet enfolded him, deafening in its intensity. Air hissed through his gritted teeth as he struggled for control.
City lights, the only sign of life, shimmered in the distance, mocking his pain. No other creature stirred in this desolate place. It was as if humans and animals alike felt the dangerous current in the air and chose to stay away. Only the full moon reflected in the water, an indifferent observer to his torment.
Blazing pain struck, sweeping through his body like a wildfire. He knelt at the edge of the dark lake, watching his muscles contract beneath smooth skin. With a shaking hand, he reached back to touch the empty space by his shoulder blades. He grunted at the contact, an alien noise in the absolute silence of the night.
He needed to breathe, to work past his suffering, to bring order back to his world. He needed a plan. Clothes, he thought muddling through the murky waters of his mind. Yes, clothes first, then supplies. He groaned as another burning wave overtook him. Charge. Have to find the damn charge. The quicker he acted the better.
As his thoughts unraveled, he caught his fragmented image through the water’s ripples. His body stilled as the lake’s surface calmed, bringing his reflection into view. Where was the stoicism he so prized? The face that stared back at him contorted in agony.
Happy Birthday!!!!!
ReplyDeleteI heard about this contest on the Critique Sisters Coner blog and follow you here and on Twitter. I spread the word via Twitter and Facebook. ;)
Title: ENDURE
Genre: YA Dystopian
Word Count: 75,000
First 250 words:
I hated afternoons the most. Why? Because darkness followed—the time when death could literally snatch you out of bed and drain all the blood from your body. Amazing that any of us survived with all the raids and extermination campaigns to rid the world of us red blood cell deficient freaks.
I rubbed my shoulder as we walked, still sore from the last fight. Some dude tried to scrimp on my fair share of the rations we snatched from the distribution truck. I wished Sammie didn’t have to watch me pummel the guy, but he started it. If I hadn’t ended it, he would’ve left us starving.
“Justin, I’m hungry.” Sammie tugged at my shirttail, her small voice squeaky.
“Me too.” I was always hungry. Whoever came up with the idea of food pellets and water tablets must have enjoyed making people suffer. Really, how could eating a sawdust-flavored pill make you feel full? But the Vie didn’t need food, only blood. So, the pellets kept their prey alive. We did the same with chickens…when we lived in the forest.
That was before. Before Dad blew it and got us kicked out of the community. Everybody told him peace with the Vie was impossible. But he didn’t listen. Now he was dead and Sammie and I were on our own.
email: laurabdiamond@yahoo.com
Thanks for the contest, Shelley. Have a great birthday.
ReplyDeleteEmail: btclasen@att.net
Title: FIGMENT
Genre: Middle-grade Fantasy
Word Count: 60K
Follow on Twitter and Blog. I spread the word on my blog.
Audrey Parker pulled up to the nearly empty bike racks with only a few minutes to spare. Well, duh, she thought. Only I would ride my bike to school on a rainy day. The first day at that.
As Audrey looped her chain around the spokes of her bike’s wheels and clipped the lock, she heard the sound of high pitched laughter, signaling the approach of Kayla Whitford and her gaggle of “giggle girls.” Seriously? I can’t even get through the first bell?
She crouched down, pretending to tie her shoelaces. Maybe they wouldn’t notice her. They used to make fun of her imaginary friend, George, but he disappeared a long time ago. The teasing hadn’t stopped; they just changed topics. Why should eighth grade be any different?
"Nice granny bike," one of the girls said. Audrey glanced up at her bike. She'd found it at an estate sale a couple of years ago, and she loved the wide seat and saddle bag baskets.
Get ready for the giggles, she thought. Kayla herself was a not a giggler by any means. She was more of a smirker or a look-down-at-her-nose-at-you’er. Definitely not a giggler. But her cronies giggled. A lot.
“Oh dear God, Audrey. You don’t think anyone would actually want to steal that piece of junk do you? You know, I bet they have programs that give new bikes to the needy.” Kayla stood above her, giving Audrey a mock “poor you” look while her entourage looked on and—surprise—giggled.
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ReplyDeleteHappy Birthday Shelley! And thanks for hosting the contest...
ReplyDeleteEmail: mculi@aol.com
Title: THE BLINDED GARDENER
Genre: Y/A Contemporary
Word Count: 60K
Follow on you blog and twitter. I Twittered and blogged.
Danny
One moment I’m my Dad’s personal punching bag, and the next, well, I’m a pawn in his maniacal master plan. That is, until Danny discovered my secret.
Dad forced me to move across the country and once again, I found myself at a new school, the third in two years. It sucked having a dad in the military.
The final bell rang. The halls cleared with the slamming of doors. As I wandered about searching for my classroom, I heard someone approach me from behind. I turned and saw a blonde guy walking up the center of the hallway. He completely ignored me. Long bangs fell over his eyes as he loped past me with a kind of natural ease.
“Hey, dude. Could you tell me how to get to room 305?”
A slight curl formed on his lips as he faced me. He tossed his head. Platinum fringe shifted to the side and revealed freakish blue eyes that glanced toward me, unfocused.
“I’m heading that way.” His deep voice held a trace of a southern accent. He turned and continued his long strides.
I envied his height: well over six feet and me just an average dude.
“You better move. Conners loses it when you’re late.”
I rushed to catch up to him. His hand overshot the rickety metal banister. On the second swipe, he made contact and climbed the stairs.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
He never turned back, not even when he spoke.
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ReplyDeleteMonster's Maze by Halli Lilburn
ReplyDeletehlilburn@telus.net
Mid Grade
25K
“I’ve got super bombs and I’m going to pummel you!” Shane dove onto the lawn firing a Nerf gun and spitting out laser blast sound effects.
“Yah well I’ve got the shield of death and anything that hits me bounces back at you.” Jared grabbed a Nerf ball and threw it back.
They didn’t notice Constable Ethan Buchard pull up to the yard on his bike.
“Your mom home yet?” he yelled to get the boys attention.
“Cool bike!” Jared said, “I brought my BMX so we can do stunts at the park. Hey Shane! Wanna have a race down the hill?
“Sorry, Ethan, she’s not home yet. I hope you’re not gonna cook us supper again...” Shane said, dropping his gun and grabbing his bike.
“No! No, I just wanted to thank her and Petra and you... again.” It was then that Shane noticed a package of wrapped flowers sticking out of Ethan’s backpack. “Can you tell her to call me? When she gets home?”
“Hey, is this the guy who almost choked to death yesterday and your mom saved his life? That would be so cool if your mom started dating a cop. I thought she hated cops because of what happened to Brody.” Jared blabbed on as he buckled on his helmet. Leave it to Jared to bring up topics that shouldn’t be discussed, Shane thought.
“Yah, uh, See ya later, Ethan. I gotta go.” Shane turned to hide his red face, shoved his helmet on and raced out of the yard.
Happy birthday, Shelley! :)
ReplyDeleteEmail: leesielis (at) gmail (dot) com
Title: CRUEL SUMMER
Genre: Contemporary YA
Word count: 90,000
I follow your blog and your twitter and tweeted your contest.
“We’re live from outside the hospital where the latest Hollywood ‘it girl’, Chey Morrow, has been brought in. According to an unnamed source, she lost control of her BMW earlier tonight on a slippery stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway and spun out into oncoming traffic. No reports yet on whether or not alcohol was a contributing factor…” The perky blonde reporter from the premiere flashed a bright smile at the camera like my sudden downward spiral was the highlight of her day.
The screen split in two, and before the serious-looking anchorwoman could ask a single nauseating question, I clicked the television off, glaring at the darkened screen. Alcohol a contributing factor my ass. I hadn’t been near any all night. I’d been stone cold sober throughout the entire painful ordeal.
I eased down in bed, wishing I had the chance to redo at least part of my summer. I’d been so naïve when I arrived, thinking the whole time was going to be about me and my father bonding, hanging out and having fun. All the things I’d missed out on since the divorce nearly a decade ago.
Yeah, if I could go back in time, I’d seriously think about smacking that version of me up alongside the head as I issued a dire warning.
Beware of Adriana.
Enough said.
Title: Blood Thief
ReplyDeleteGenre: Paranormal Romance
Word Count: 65K
First page (250 words):
"It's Celeste, anybody home?" I called out cheerily, but received no answer as I headed to Catherine’s brightly-lit kitchen. I've seen enough death. I should have recognized what I was seeing, but I stood there frozen looking at Catherine. She was sprawled on the floor, her head severed. A dark pool of blood was spreading out beneath her, the red a stark contrast against the cool white tile. I stared a bit before my brain made sense of what I was viewing.
Sinking to my knees, I sobbed. Losing those you love is part of being a vampire, but it always hurts. Wiping red tears, I got to my feet. My friend was gone. She’d given all to protect the reliquary vital to my bloodline. I would see it safe. I sped silently through her darkened living room, fearing the worst. Holding my breath, I ripped open the bottom panel of the Grandfather clock. A relieved exhalation escaped me as my hand found the heart-shaped enameled glass vessel that held the comingled essences of my bloodline. This was the safety and source of our vampiric abilities.
Stepping outside into the dark pre-dawn hours, I opened my phone to check the time, squinting at the bright screen. Snapping it shut, I realized my mistake as faint footsteps followed me. I'd taken the reliquary from its hiding place and whoever had killed Catherine was now somewhere behind me, waiting on the chance to take it. I had played right into their hands.
Email address: rebeccatlittle@aol.com
Follow both blog and on Twitter
Re-tweeted this to spread the word: http://twitter.com/#!/Shelley_Watters/status/84299787964395522
Title: Legacy
ReplyDeleteGenre: YA Contemporary Fantasy
Word count: 70,000
Email: riouch.sara(at)gmail(dot)com
I follow you on the blog and on twitter, and I spread the word on twitter. Thanks for the awesome contest!
Danielle stared at the ground fifteen feet beneath her, and screwed her eyes shut as her breakfast threatened to make an unwelcome reappearance. Funny, she’d never had vertigo before. Then again, she’d never contemplated jumping out of a two-story window before.
Her hand sought the cold comfort of the metal bracelet strapped around her wrist. It pulsed with the same power it always did, sending sparks of warmth through her arm. The magic stored inside – her mother’s magic – felt different, though. On edge. Like a knife balanced on its point, about to tip over.
Reckless insanity on one side, bitter disappointment on the other.
Danielle blew out her breath and channeled her will through the bracelet. The metal slowly warmed against her skin – reluctant, a warning. But the shield obediently appeared around her, encasing her in a bubble of green-tinted energy.
Still, she hesitated.
She couldn’t stand here forever. Jamie was bound to come looking for her sooner rather than later, and then she’d have to explain why his sister was hanging over her balcony’s railing. She couldn’t imagine that conversation going well.
But she wasn’t suicidal. Just desperate.
Once the clock struck midnight, she’d officially be eighteen. She’d officially be normal. Powerless. Her mother’s bracelet would be the only spark of magic left to her. And what use was a shield against a horde of sorcerers?
Who would avenge her mother’s memory then?
Danielle took a deep breath, prayed to Gods she knew couldn’t hear, and let her hold on the handrail slacken.
Title: BLOOD OF THE GODS
ReplyDeleteGenre:YA Urban Fantasy
Word count:80,000
Email:theresapocockatgmaildotcom
I follow on your blog and I spread the word on my blog.
BLOOD OF THE GODS
Why on earth were my hands shaking so much?
I remembered a book my guidance counselor had forced me to read about fear and how human bodies react instinctually in dangerous situations.
Situations like the one I was in right now, perhaps?
My hands continued to shuffle around in one of the cabinets as I pretended to search but my mind was trying to remember what I should do.
It was then that a strange, bright purple canister caught my eye. It gave me a freak out. I had opened this cupboard five minutes ago and not seen it. I knew I hadn’t. I picked it up and read, Yerba Mate: tea of the gods, written in orange letters across the front.
A little stunned, I stood and went to the window. Confusion colored my voice, “Yes, actually, we do have that tea sir.”
The man sat looking forward as if he expected as much. Then in a aggravating, blasé way he said, “The water needs to be 160 degrees, and I’ll take a bit of sugarcane, if you have it.”
A violent shiver rolled down me as he spoke. It was such a strong reaction that I openly examined him —well, the bit I could see of him— and narrowed my eyes even as my body continued to respond. I wondered if he was dangerous or just superhumanly annoying. Perhaps his voice was on the exact wrong frequency for my ears —like one of those whistles that torture dogs.
Megan Conway
ReplyDeleteEmail: meganconwy@gmail.com
I follow this blog and I spread the word on my twitter, @MeganDConway and on my blog, "Writing Files of Megan Conway" (http://megan-conway.blogspot.com/2011/06/first-page-contest-with-victoria-marini.html)
Title: UNEXPECTED, Book 1: The Mystery of Dullish
Genre: YA (Supernatural Mystery)
Word Count: 92K
THIRTY-SEVEN, THIRTY-EIGHT, THIRTY-NINE, FORTY, FORTY-ONE—
“Nat, look out the window,” Dad said eagerly, interrupting me from counting the ribs on the back of Micah’s seat. I looked up with unblinking eyes. A smile played on Dad’s face through the rearview mirror, something I didn’t return.
What exactly is he talking about?
Through the window, there was nothing but trees and the same stretch of rutted highway we’d been driving along for forty-five tedious minutes.
“I don’t see anything,” I mumbled, my voice lifeless, I noted. For the past few months I’d been like this: blank, unresponsive, empty. I might as well have been dead for all the good I was doing.
As I was about to remove my gaze from the desolate scenery outside, I saw something—some indication of life—up ahead.
Dilapidated farmhouses with large expenses of fields came first: boards falling off the sides; shutters hanging precariously, threatening to fall; broken windows; roofs caving in. Next, the random houses—most of them huge, abandoned-looking mansions in need of repair—popping up among pine, birch, and evergreen trees along the road. My window was open the tiniest bit and I caught the strong smell of rot, pine and manure. Not a pleasant combination, if you ask me.
After a few more long minutes of only looking at trees, I spotted the WELCOME sign. It was old and plainly adorned. The dark slabs of wood were worn away at the edge, like any other WELCOME sign belonging to any other small town.
And trust me, Dullish, Manitoba was a small town.
Jenna Wallace
ReplyDeletedreamstate (at) att (dot) net
I follow you here at your blog and posted about this FANTASTIC contest on my blog sidebar: www.inthedreamstate.blogspot.com
Title: SOMNILOQUY
Genre: YA Suspense
Word count: 78k
SOMNILOQUY
I eyed my pillow like an enemy. It beckoned, white and smooth, the promise of oblivion. And yet I dreaded sleep. The fear that it could happen again, that I might wake up wandering somewhere in the house, or even worse, outside on the grounds, kept me from closing my eyes.
From my perch on the window seat, I turned to stare out into the fading day. Though it was well past eleven, the last threads of light lingered on the gardens and the flat green lawn surrounding Heraldsgreen House. In Memphis, it would have been dark by this time, but June nights in Scotland were so short. A restless wind stirred the towering chestnuts and the leaves murmured with secrets, sending twitches of anxiety into the depths of my stomach.
Five nights of interrupted sleep. My head, heavy and leaden, dropped against the window and I rolled my forehead on the cool glass. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many books I nodded into or songs I blasted through my headphones, I couldn’t stay awake forever. I unfolded the massive wooden shutters across the window, struggling against hinges gummed up by centuries of paint.
The bed was cold, the sheets slightly clammy, when I crawled beneath the covers. The glow from my laptop screen lit my room, which still looked wrong and unfinished. I stretched out, lying rigid with my fists clenched, fighting. But exhaustion won in the end.
The sound of screaming woke me from a deep sleep. And then I realized I was the one making that terrible noise.
1. strangepegs@hotmail.com
ReplyDelete2. The House on the Corner
YA/MG
120,000
3.
The last bell of the school year is like waking up on Christmas morning. You lay there in the dark straining your ears for some sign of life out in the world so that you know it's time to get up. Holding your breath waiting for that first glimmer of dawn through your window. Time creeps to a halt, and it's as if you are the only thing alive in the universe. Not just the only person, the only thing. Everything else crystalized in amber. Frozen. Just when you think you can't take it any longer, though, you hear, muffled through the walls of the house, your parents alarm clock going off and time surges back into motion. Those last minutes of school are just like that. Except with more noise. The last bell finally rings and you have three months of days glittering before you, presents waiting to be opened.
Thinking about those days of summer is all consuming at the end of the school year just like obsessing over Christmas presents all through the month of December. Planning. Anticipating. Day dreaming.
Being told halfway through May that we were moving was like having Christmas canceled. No presents. No plans. All the anticipation of spending summer with my friends, with my best friend, yanked away. Like waking up Christmas morning to find that the Grinch had visited.
The problem was not that we were moving; it's that we were moving out of state. My parents had decided that moving at the beginning of summer would give us, us being my brother and sister and me, time to get used to the new neighborhood before school started.
4&5. I follow your blog. I posted on my blog and shared the link to facebook.
Lori Lopez
ReplyDeleteTitle: First Glance
Genre: YA Fanasy
Word Count: 140,000
Email: LJFetters@Lostinthewriting.net
I follow you on Twitter @fetterslopez & your blog. I’ve spread the word on Twitter, Facebook, and my blog.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Lace muttered. She paced, stopped, looked around seeing naught but streetlights and the occasional passer-by. This part of the Midwestern United States with its small towns, the era with its faster pace, wasn’t like her adoptive home, yet no one took notice as she pulled her travelling cloak tighter and began the pace again.
“Where are you?” she whispered, then a little louder as if that might help. “Please, show yourself.”
She had come on the promise of a prophecy, but time was running out. Running out, she thought, nearer to expired. Unconsciously she rubbed the underside of her forearm as she glanced inside the diner where her travel companions sat eating and laughing. Laughing, if I were inside…, before remembering the lot didn’t know the gravity of the situation. Neither the truth of their travel, nor how near the end stood. In the distance, a dog bawled, closer, the oppressive sweet smell of maple wafted from inside. Lifting the sleeve of her tunic, she looked at what had only a turn gone been ridges, now angry red furrows the result of magic she knew better than to have invoked.
“Dark as blood.” She breathed into a night that suddenly took a chance to blackest pitch and chilled. Every light within a block extinguished, not that it limited her sight, only stiffened her back. Lace closed her eyes, remembering the gathering in the tavern. The argue of blame before the others arrived. And then… him.
Hello there. I'm a latecomer, but I now follow you on Twitter, and have tried to do as much publicity as possible in the 30 minutes since I found out about the contest.
ReplyDeleteMy email is: sleeplesstwit@hotmail.co.uk
Thanks and Good luck to all.
Title: Regarding Resurrection
Genre: YA (Comic Fantasy)
Word Count: 79,000
Walter climbed the last of the worn wooden steps and pleaded with the portly chap by the lever, one last time.
‘Nobody likes to be hanged, Mr Lewis. But it’s what we do here.’
This response was no help to Walter whatsoever, and he shuffled over to the trapdoor.
The Hessian bag being placed over his head was itchy, and stank of sweat and bad breath, which may well have been his own. The biting freshness of toothpaste and the slippery caress of soap had long been absent from his life. The only caress he could look forward to these days was that of “Gums” Jensen; who had recently taken to “snuggling” Walter in the mornings, caring little for his objections.
‘That comfortable, Mr. Lewis?’
The voice came from outside the sweaty bag, as the rope was placed over Walter’s head and the knot tightened behind his right ear. It was an absurd question under the circumstances, but answering in the negative would only buy him a few seconds and Walter just wanted the whole thing over with now. He nodded his head slowly.
It was very quiet in this room. Never like the sort of executions you might see in a film about some eighteenth century folk hero; stepping bravely up to the gallows to the mournful cries of big-breasted women and admiring men.
Walter was no hero. And the only person in here with large breasts was the guy in the apron who pulled the lever.
OMG, Happy Birthday Shelley. I'm stoked about this, especially with an agent I've been aching to get my work to. Thanks!
ReplyDelete1. jehhillenberg(at)gmail(dot)com
2. HOW SOON IS NOW; 61,000 word Contemporary YA.
3....
Vianne stood by her locker and watched them -- that’s all a lone wolf could do.
Brad walked over to Danica’s locker and struck up a funny conversation, from the way they giggled and all, and Vianne witnessed the flirting with miserable eyes.
That sure set the tone for sophomore year.
Watching those two wasn’t as unbearable as being in school altogether. But she was there…as required.
The wide hallway wasn’t that crowded for once so she could observe Brad and Danica without bringing any unwanted attention to herself. Brad was sweet and cute and Vianne liked him, but Danica was pretty and…well perfect in Vianne’s eyes so she probably had no chance with him to begin with.
When Brad touched Danica’s cheek and leaned in towards her face, Vianne just had to get away because it irritated her watching something she wanted and couldn’t have, so she turned away and walked onto the empty green and yellow hall lined with blue lockers.
And yeah, she realized her problems were a little more serious than she thought once she swung her hand out and hit the locker -- and all because she was jealous?
“Damn it, what’s wrong with me?” She mumbled as blood oozed from the deep gash.
Maybe she did have some anger issues or probably just wasn’t in touch with her emotions, since she’d been so petulant lately…and no she wasn’t pmsing.
She went into the girls’ restroom and rinsed water over her wounded hand, didn't mean to break skin, but it was already done.
4. I follow you on twitter @jehhillenberg and I follow your blog.
5. I retweeted about the contest and mentioned it on my blog here: jehill.blogspot.com
Raiza Jaimes (raizonstar@yahoo.com)
ReplyDeleteTitle: Superstes Island
Genre: YA Romance/Science Fiction
Word Count: 90,000
I follow your blog and spread the news on mine.
I sat perched atop a boulder, waiting for my hunter to find me. I was tired of running. Tired of pretending I was afraid when I knew I could easily defeat him. He was about my size, five feet six, thin and built like an athlete. Our physical stature matched in strength and ability, but my reflexes and instincts well surpassed his.
As if proving what I already knew, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled, alerting me that my hunter was close. I felt his presence nearing before my green eyes locked on his frame. He seemed confused; curious maybe because I had chosen such an open area for our combat. We had left the wooded section of the playing fields behind and we were now in the middle of an open clearing where the archery contest had taken place only hours ago. Dusk was now tinting the sky in hues of orange and pink. I didn’t want to drag this out any longer than I had to, which was why I had led my stalker out into the open clearing.
It was time to finish this.
He approached me with caution, watching me with the eyes of a skilled predator. Within a matter of seconds, a pelted bag materialized in his hands and he launched it towards me with impressive force. I flipped back off the boulder, narrowly missing the attack. Landing on my feet, I crouched behind the boulder and listened for his footsteps.
Happy Birthday, Shelley!
ReplyDelete1. phanhnguyen at yahoo.com
2. JUST A CON, YA contemporary romance, 54k
3.
His stomach grumbled like a hybrid between a sputtering submarine and a wounded grizzly. Glancing at his watch for the twentieth time, Alex Harper tapped his right foot, mentally urging the cashier to hurry up with the orders.
If he was late for soccer practice one more time, he’d get kicked off the team. Or, at least, that’s what Coach Wilkins threatened every other week. If anyone asked him, it was the coach’s fault for having practice so early. Didn’t he know that teenagers weren’t supposed to get up before twelve in the summer? It was practically a law of nature.
Then again, he instinctively knew Coach would never actually kick him off the team. Not if he wanted to keep winning. Everyone knew Alex was the best sprinter on the field. No lie. He could also mention that he knew Coach was sleeping with his stepmother whenever his dad was out of town. She certainly brought more than snacks to practice.
Thank God for adultery.
Alex relaxed and leaned back against the plastic yellow railing. Yeah, there’s no need to hurry.
As he studied the burger menu above his head, he couldn’t help noticing the girl in front of him. Not only was she wearing very tight jeans that showed off her slender legs and round—although small—ass, but she was wiping her eyes on a Kleenex every few seconds like her rabbit had been run over right in front of her.
4. Twitter
5. On my blog and twitter at JennPWilliams
E-mail: smib37@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: SO MUCH FOR PRINCE CHARMING
Genre: Middle Grade-fantasy adventure
Word Count: 24,500
Happy Birthday, Shelley!! I follow you on twitter and your blog. :-) I re-tweeted this contest on Twitter.
You’d think it would be easy being a princess, but let me tell you a thing or two, it’s much harder than you think. That may sound overly dramatic, but I promise, it’s not.
There are many rules to being a princess, but not all of them are easy to follow.
It started twelve years ago the Queen of Winder had a baby girl. She promptly took it upon herself (in dictation to the royal scribe) to document all things princess related and her personal opinion of them. Thus a rule book for princess was created which she named, ‘Princess Etiquette.’ There were a grand total of twenty four. Her plan was for every princess to read the book and follow the rules… her rules.
Such as rule one, Do not fidget. Or number three, Never lose your temper. And I couldn’t forget rule six, Be graceful. And of course, number nine, Do not get dirty.
But it was the prospect of facing rule ten, Wait patiently for your prince to rescue you, that I, Seraphina, Princess of Winder, detested the most. Yup, I was that Queen’s daughter. Talk about having to live up to unrealistic expectations and it was about to get worse…much worse.
For each and every princess, it was upon their twelfth birthday that they were sent to Hammermild Castle. Tomorrow was my dreaded day.
Yup, I was turning the big one two. I was about to sit around and wait while my prince completed his ‘tests’ to prove himself worthy to become king.
A belated happy birthday to you! Here's my entry:
ReplyDeleteMy email: Margay1122ATgmailDOTcom
1. Title: The Jane Austen Society Pages
2. Genre: Women's Fiction, Word Count: 100,000
3...
The Jane Austen Society Pages
Back Bay Intrigue?
It is the observation of This Lady that a woman in want of a good reputation should not risk being found in a compromising position with a man who is not her husband. Take a certain Mrs. M, for instance. Not three hours following the renewal of her vows to Mr. M, she was seen renewing something else with a mystery man at least twelve years her junior.
Tsk, tsk, Mrs. M. Are you so desperate to have a child that you’re raiding the college campuses for your pleasure? One must wonder what Mr. M thinks of this behavior. Could he be regretting his decision to renew his vows? And where is Mr. M while his wife carries on so? One can be certain that when the answer to this – and all of your other pressing questions – is found, This Lady will report it here forthwith.
In the meantime, Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, Dear Readers!
Labels: Back Bay Intrigue, Mr. and Mrs. M, politics, relationships, The Jane Austen Society PagesPosted by: This Lady
If there was one thing of which Athena Willoughby was certain, it was this: Left to their own devices, the dregs of society would ultimately discover a way to mess up their lives. And people like her would be there to obligingly record it. For what were the dregs but attention seekers and social wannabes who expected their antics to be reported in vivid detail for all to see?
4. Follow via GFC
5. I tweeted it here: http://twitter.com/#!/Margay/status/84731624331284480
Colleen@myartsite.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: Whispers of the Pines
Genre: MG
Word Count: 30,000
I whistle and Junebug, my faithful hound, tears out of the house and slows to a trot behind me. Good ol’ dog. Shoved in my back pocket is the shopping list Mama left me this morning. Looks like I’ll be spending the day in Mother Nature’s supermarket. That’s Mama’s name for the woods that surround our house, the New Jersey Pine Barrens. My Peterson’s Botanical Guide Book is tucked in my knapsack, just in case, but I’m pretty confident in my ability to ferret out everything she needs to make her special salves and potions.
My feet move silently over dry pine needles and moss, avoiding crunchy leaves and twigs. As I search for familiar leaves and flowers, Junebug speeds ahead of me, nose to the ground. He pauses, lifts his muzzle, and takes off through the scrubby pines. Probably hunting down an unlucky rabbit or squirrel. Junebug sure does love a good chase.
I spy a clump of frilly white flowers; their lacy caps bend toward me in the breeze. They’re commonly known as Queen Anne’s Lace or Daucus carota. “Daucus carota,” I say, liking the feel of the Latin word in my mouth. Alone in the woods I can say all my “smarty pants” words out loud without worrying about being teased by the stupid jerks at school.
For this particular medicinal concoction of hers, Mama needs the roots, not the flowers of the plant. When I bend down to yank out a handful, the scent of fresh cut cucumbers grabs my nose; my scalp prickles and I freeze.
I follow your blog and also on twitter.
I retweeted Kidlit's post about your contest on twitter @writergirlrowan
Happy birthday Shelley, and thanks so much for this opportunity! You rock.
ReplyDeleteemail: LisaMarieBasso(at)yahoo(dot)com
Title: ANGEL SIGHT
Genre: Paranormal YA
Word Count: 66,000
First 250:
Three months, twelve days, and fifteen hours. I was just starting to get used to freedom again. Doctor Graham said I was cured the day he signed my release papers, but there was nothing like spotting a big fat set of wings to pour on the doubt.
Men with white wings were occasional—or they had been before my release—but the young dark-haired guy across the room was another animal altogether. His were black with a rainbow-like sheen of an oil slick. But I was just imagining him, I had to be.
Hyperventilation threatened. Cold fingers of disbelief circled my heart, my lungs, coiling, choking. I slammed my eyes shut. He can’t be real, he can’t. They’ll send me back for this. And I won’t go back. I won’t.
“Darlin’?” The waitress called out, her voice grating with the ease of sandpaper.
But I didn’t listen, didn’t falter, didn’t stop wishing the strange angel sitting at the counter gone.
“Darlin’?” The waitress folded her fingers over my arm, jetting my attention toward her. “You still interested in the job?”
I opened my eyes but refused to check. I couldn’t handle if he was still there. “Job?” The fingers, both the phantom ones around my throat and the waitress’ very real ones on my arm, slacked. My ponytail hit the side of my face as I turned toward her, slapping me with much needed sense.
A strange feeling brushed the back of my neck. The bell above the door chimed.
I follow via Google Friend Connect
I tweeted the contest: http://twitter.com/#!/LisaMBasso/status/84696068486479872
Seedy Culper
ReplyDeletemr.cculp@gmail.com
Conterrif, YA Fantasy, 93,107 Words
I follow and spread the word on Twitter!
Chapter One: Thy Will Be Choked
“Death is not something we fear.” – Sonue Hazilria
She sprinted through the haunted darkness of trees and fog, holding the last free baby in her tattooed arm. All other children had been taken, hidden where no grown human could ever go. Brown, bare feet broke through the untouched snow, ready to give. Running would no longer suffice. She would have to hide, if she wanted to live to see the morning sun.
“Dear Hanzo, help me through this,” she whispered, stopping behind a wide tree trunk. “Give me strength.”
Sonue glanced at the crescent, rosebud moon, suspended in the night like a waiting sickle, lighting her path through the icy stillness. Snowflakes swirled from the blanket of clouds above the mountains. Darts of winter wind shook her bones. She caught her breath.
She was not always a fugitive. At one time she was a basket weaver, but after hearing the words of Hanzo Cretus, she became one of his many followers. She had no regrets, even now, as she was being chased through Wormer Meadow, her heart was pumping courage. If only she had wings, she could fly.
Sonue veered away from the tree and jumped into a thicket of naked brushwood. Three twisted figures stormed by, saddled on the backs of their steeds, their mastahorses, with ivory horns and thick legs, known to roam wild in some parts of the land. They mashed into the slush with their mighty hooves and stopped at the tracks near the edge of the brambles. Another human was about to slip through sallow fingers. It could not happen again.
Happy Birthday, Shelley! Hope you're having a great day. Here's my entry:
ReplyDeleteTitle: DARKLING
Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 68,000
email: worddance8@aol.com
I follow you here and on Twitter.
Tweeted about the contest and mentioned it on my blog.
CHAPTER ONE
THE RENEGADE
The heavy stoneware crock slipped from Taela’s grasp and smashed to the dirt floor. Stiffing a cry, she jumped back as shards of pottery and summerbeans scattered. She bent to clean the mess and heard footsteps approach from the other side of the weathered door. Cursing herself for her carelessness, she ducked behind a barrel.
Blood rushed in Taela’s ears. Ribbons of moonlight shone through the slats of the storage shed illuminating the casks, barrels and crates stacked around her. The sour smell of vinegar soaking the dirt overpowered the scents of aging wood and hay.
The wooden handle turned and the door inched open. Taela hunched in the shadows, holding her breath. A young woman wearing a white nightdress entered, flickering candlelight illuminating her face. Selita. Long brown hair hung loose around her shoulders and she carried a wooden spoon as if it were a club. Misshapen shadows cast by the candlelight danced on the opposite wall.
Taela shifted to ease a cramp and her boot scuffed the hard-packed dirt. Selita turned toward the sound. “Who’s there? Show yourself or I’ll let in the dogs.” She was bluffing. The dogs weren’t anywhere near or their yapping would have given Taela away. Selita took another step toward her hiding place.
Taela cursed under her breath. She'd almost gotten away with it. Conceding defeat, she stood. “Selita, it’s me.”
Her cousin shrieked, then laughed. “Taela, you nearly startled me to death! I thought you were a Terrinian raider.”
Lori Lopez
ReplyDeleteTitle: First Glance
Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 140,000
Email: LJFetters@Lostinthewriting.net
I follow you on Twitter @fetterslopez & your blog. I’ve spread the word on Twitter, Facebook, and my blog.
I apologise for the repost; however, it would not allow me to edit or remove the original post.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Lace muttered. She paced, stopped, looked around seeing naught but streetlights and the occasional passer-by. This part of the Midwestern United States with its small towns, the era with its faster pace, wasn’t like her adoptive home, yet no one took notice as she pulled her travelling cloak tighter and began the pace again.
“Where are you?” she whispered, then a little louder as if that might help. “Please, show yourself.”
She had come on the promise of a prophecy, but time was running out. Running out, she thought, nearer to expired. Unconsciously she rubbed the underside of her forearm. She glanced inside the diner to where her travel companions sat eating and laughing. Laughing, if I were inside…, before remembering the lot didn’t know the gravity of the situation. Neither the truth of their travel, nor how near the end stood. In the distance, a dog bawled. Closer, the oppressive sweet smell of maple wafted from inside. Lifting the sleeve of her tunic, she looked at what had only a turn gone had been ridges, now angry red furrows, the result of magic she knew better than to have invoked.
“Dark as blood.” She breathed into a night that suddenly took a chance to blackest pitch and chilled. Every light within a block extinguished, not that it limited her sight, only stiffened her back. Lace closed her eyes, remembering the gathering in the tavern. The argue of blame before the others arrived. And then… him.
Happy Birthday, Shelley! I follow you on Twitter (@hiccupcricket), and I RT'd (is that a verb?) the contest announcement. Thanks for all the hard work it takes to put this effort together, and please convey my appreciation to Ms. Marini for her time and consideration.
ReplyDeleteTitle: NOTHING GIRL
By: R. King Kollman
email: rkollman@sbcglobal.net
Genre: YA Paranormal
Word Count: 60,000 words
Chapter 1: Busted
THE GIRL THE CAPTAIN RAISED ON HIS BOAT stood in the stern and grasped the deck rail. She leaned on her hands and closed her eyes.
"Come to me," she sang across the trawler's wake. "Come. Feel the food and the air and the light in my hands, what you need so much. Come. All you want, all you need. Everything flows to me, flows through me, from my touch ."
Beneath the blended drone of engine and propeller, a salt-scented breeze rustled like silk through double-rigged nets spread like green wings. She felt for the rhythm under the surface through her palms and bare feet, listening in the way the Captain had taught her to the life-tones chorusing from the creatures below. She untangled strands of melody and focused on the notes he sought.
She raised a slender arm and pointed. He throttled into a wide circle. A disc of fire above the eastern horizon silhouetted the trawler's rigging and stained the Gulf of Mexico the ruby red of a Texas grapefruit. He dropped the winch arms.
The girl lowered her head and sang her promise to the depths, "What you need flows to me, through me." She swayed to the schooling tempo beneath the keel. Hypnotized shrimp yearned toward her, ripple-dancing into the trailing nets.
"Two passes, we cooler out," one of the crew predicted as the trawler settled into the rich water.
"Three," his brother grinned, "but we'll still be first in."
They went to work in a smooth choreography to haul in the catch and dump it on deck. The Captain joined the girl at the nets. They first picked out the largest shrimp and returned them to the sea to spawn. Next they hurried the keeper shrimp into one cooler, and then dropped the edible bycatch–turtles, redfish and snapper–into another. The trash fish and poisonous jellyfish–the purple Portuguese man-o'-wars–splashed overboard last.
Two more passes and they cooler'd out. They headed in, the heat of the rising sun a weight on their backs, a raft of pelicans wheeling above.
Name: Ella Schwartz
ReplyDeleteEmail: ella@ellaschwartz.net
Title:GATEWAY OF THE ONE
WordCount: 65,000 WORDS
Genre: MG Fantasy
I follow your blog and follow you on Twitter
The box tumbled off the top shelf, bouncing off of Riley’s head before landing on the concrete floor. The impact caused the loosely sealed box to burst open, spilling papers all over the place.
Riley shrieked, clutching at the tender spot where the box had collided with his skull. A wave of nausea passed through his chest. His knees went weak. He grabbed for the shelving unit in front of him for support.
“Are you okay?” called Riley’s mom from across the garage.
Riley nodded, rubbing his head where a sizeable goose egg was already forming.
At that moment, there was no possible way Riley could have known that this simple cardboard box would bestow upon him much more than a large goose egg; it would change the course of his life forever.
“Let me take a look,” she said moving towards him.
“I’m fine mom. It’s just a little bump.”
“That’s not a little bump,” she said parting Riley’s hair to get a better look. “You better go ice it.”
“It’s okay mom. Really. Let’s just finish this up.”
Riley had promised his mom he would help her clean out the garage today. She was gearing up for a huge garage sale – as she had called it – and you can’t have a garage sale with a messy garage – as she had asserted. So today was clean up day.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”
Riley nodded, squinting to fend off the throbbing in his head.
bjk925@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteSlaves in a Field of Paradise
YA - Science Fiction
Word Count
I Twittered your contest and have kept it up on my blog. I also follow your blog and Torie on Twitter.
Anne’s chin and throat cupped against Ki’s. Their arms entwined.
Anne reached behind her ear and slid her cable into the lone port behind Ki’s ear. Then with gentle fingers she inserted his within hers. And they shared memories. They relived Ki’s pregnant mother being summoned—her turn had come to deliver her child for The Cause. She walked alone the night before They would come. Ankle deep along the shoreline, she skipped in her own dance beneath the starry night. Her forearms caressed her coming son.
A new image pixelated—a much younger Anne embracing Ki’s mother weeping on the beach.
Another image interrupted: shuttles blazing across the universe, accelerating to burgeoning orbital colonies.
And Ki’s mother, Tania, weeping, caressing the back of Anne’s hand, running her fingers carefully through her fine golden hair.
Ki’s grasp on Anne tightened as the images bled away and returned again—Anne’s pieces melded with Ki’s, their throats nestled. Anne smelled of berry and spices; Ki wept.
Tania inserted her cable into Anne while whispering through tears.
Ki sobbed into Anne's face as the truth snapped into place like walking backwards from a mosaic and he heard his mother's voice speak to Anne.
“Take my memories.”
Tania embraced Anne many times as the memories left her. It was a one-way download. Pinned to her lapel a simple note.
Anne tentatively reached behind her ear and removed her tether. She took an insecure Tania by the fingers across the sand past the carousel to an officer. With one deliberate blink, he read the note and understood.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteCrowleykt@gmail.com
ReplyDeleteTitle: Unnatural
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Word Count: 110,000
It was homecoming, and I refused to let one scary vision ruin my night.
The butterflies beating my insides calmed and my heart rate slowed as I pushed the sound of his voice away. My parents wanted to take pictures on the front lawn while our neighbors watched, embarrassing me, so I had to be able to smile, and I couldn’t do that thinking about what could happen at the dance if my vision held true.
It was a typical beautiful evening in West Palm Beach at dusk; the clouds unique shades of pink and lavender. The air was unseasonably dry and the light ocean breeze felt great.
“Hey, Lexi.” Dell Landry said as I approached him on the lawn.
My pulse quickened at the sight of him, making it impossible not to think about our kiss. I did a double take, noticing how attractive he looked in his black suit and red tie. He stood as tall as a basketball player, lanky, but muscular, the suit showing off his athletic physique.
“Hey.” I tried to sound casual.
“You look…beautiful.” His crooked grin made my stomach leap into my throat.
I flushed. “Thanks, I like your--” Taryn Stabler bumped into me then, tripping in her high heels. Dell caught me by my elbow as I stumbled. A shock ran up my arm and I gasped, meeting his light green eyes. “Sorry.” I mumbled, stuck in his gaze.
“You were saying?” He breathed, the closeness to him intoxicating me.
I follow your blog and I also follow you on Twitter.
I spread the word via Twitter.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SHELLEY!!!
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHappy Birthday! I follow you here and on Twitter!
ReplyDeleteTITLE: Rock 'n' Roll Princesses Wear Black
GENRE: Humorous contemporary middle grade
WORDCOUNT: 26,000
EMAIL: kpolark (at) yahoo.com
My cousin Gina coined our place, The Loud House.
“Yes, I’m back in black!” blasted from the family room speakers. My little brother cried like a baby in his bedroom, because, well, he’s a baby. I stepped into my room and shut the door for some rare peace and quiet. Why couldn’t our place be The Occasionally Loud House?
Even with my door closed I could hear my dad listening to his AC/DC playlist on the iPod speakers. He always did that when he paid bills. Probably because they have two songs with money in the title. AC/DC is a classic rock band. Which means they’re old. I like music and all; in fact, I love it. But there’s a time for rocking out, and there’s a time to get things done. I needed to find something to wear to Brooke’s birthday party right now. Stat. Immediately. Pronto. If only my brother would go back to sleep. He should be napping now. He usually can sleep through music playing, dogs barking, anything in The Loud House. Mom said that he’s teething. Another reason for my parents to smother him with attention. Another reason to say, “Stef, wait a minute. Stef, I can’t do this now. Stef, your brother is the only thing we care about.” Okay, maybe they’ve never said that last one, but they’ve probably thought it.
I rifled through the middle drawer of my white dresser and searched for something to wear. I couldn’t find one thing with pink on it.
Happy Belated Birthday Shelley!!
ReplyDeleteEmail:beckyanncarlton@gmail.com
Title, Word Count Genre: Smoke Rising 79k Young Adult
I follow your blog and twitter, I shared on twitter @dontwannatwitta & on my facebook.
I don’t blame anyone for how my life started, but I’m less than thrilled by how I’ve been told to live it.
I remember what it was like when I was little, before I knew Conner was my father. The first time he stood up in front of our class in Precademy I felt a connection to him that drew me in. I was fascinated by his ability to answer any question we had for him and how he’d get so excited when we would mimic something he worked on with us. The excitement faded the day that I noticed our resemblance.
Conner was teaching us a lesson in observing our surroundings and asked us all to look around and find something another person may not have noticed. I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the window behind him. I sat there amazed at the exact replica of my eyes on another person. I was an orphan and my twin brother looked nothing like me so I’d never shared a likeness with another person. The similarity made me feel more connected to Conner and I wanted him to feel the connection as well. When it was my turn I announced my observation with pride.
“Your eyes are just like mine.”
I expected the typical cheerful response from him, but instead his facial expression left me feeling as if I’d disappointed him with a wrong answer. Now I know that I wasn’t supposed to have noticed our resemblance.
1.Email address: kristinthetford@msn.com
ReplyDelete2. Title: SILHOUETTE
Genre: YA Urban Fantasy
Word count: 74,500
3. First 250 Words
I’ve heard it said that you can know the beginning by the end. Does it then follow that you can know the end by the beginning? Perhaps in some things. It’s obvious that if you step in front of that train, you’ll be killed. And if you don’t, you’ll be spared. You can know the end by the beginning. Choices have consequences. Actions have repercussions. But I never could have known that one conflict, one choice, one action, would entirely change the course of my life. I never could have dreamed what would become my end from this beginning. Not even close.
Chapter One
They were upon me before I could react.
Three boys, two girls, and way more attitude than I wanted to deal with.
Mattis, the boy in front, nudged one of his companions. “Hey look, everyone. It’s Lana.”
At the pronounced sneer in his voice, I tightened my hands into fists.
He stepped in front of me, cutting me off, and the rest of the gang pressed close, trapping me in a tight circle.
The sun threw the shadows of rundown, three-story buildings far over the alley we stood in, closing the dismal passage in a vise of obscurity.
“Word on the street’s that you’ve finished another year of high school.” Mattis continued.
“Yeah, Chay and I both have thanks to a little initiative. I doubt you even know the meaning of that word.” It was stupid to provoke him. Of all the street gangs in this area, Mattis’ was the worst.
4. I follow you on Twitter and on your blog
5. I spread the word on Twitter (Tweet link: https://twitter.com/kristinlynnt/status/85105893569605632)
Happy birthday, Shelley!! Thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity. :)
Shelley, Blogger will not permit me to delete my previous post (11:33 AM). Please disregard the earlier post and use this one as my final entry. Thank you!
ReplyDelete(1) shaxpeare(at)live(dot)com
(2) "Finding Kate" YA Historical Fiction/Shakespeare Adaptation 49,500 words
(4) I follow you on FB, Twitter and your blog
(5) I spread the word on Twitter and my blog
First page of "Finding Kate: The True Story of the Taming of the Shrew"
Oh, the weekly torment of market day. The entire village gathered on the green at the center of town to buy and sell, visit with neighbors, chat with friends, to flirt and laugh.
I detested market day but Father, as the self-appointed most important man in town, insisted that I go as an escort for my younger sister, Blanche.
I detested Blanche as well.
Every Monday, carters and merchants from all around set up their carts on the grass of the broad common, vying for the best spots in the shade of ancient apple trees. Merchants who had businesses in town opened wide their doors and set baskets of wares on their front steps. Within an hour after dawn, the market was as alive with activity and sound as a beehive. And just as a beehive has its queen, this market had my sister Blanche.
Everyone’s eyes were drawn to her; it was impossible not to notice her. I had abandoned her as soon as we arrived on the green, yet she was a constant nettle under my skin. She stood beside a fruit carter’s wagon: perfect skin, perfect eyes, perfect smile. Around her were gathered her followers: the two Eleanors, three Alices, three Margarets and three Marys of Whitelock who formed her little flock.
“Mochyn cenfaint,” I muttered in Welsh, scowling.
Herd of swine.
Shelley, happy birthday, and thank you so much for this opportunity!
Immortalis
ReplyDeleteGenre/Word Count: YA/ Approx: 43,000
October 18, 1992
The baby's hair was a soft smattering of auburn silk. Her tiny hand wrapped around his finger; held it in its grip, and he knew he would live and die for her. Power ran through him, warm and fluid.
"She's your responsibility now." With a light heart the mother gently placed the child in the man's arms. He was hardly older than a child, but his Destiny was to accompany the girl through every stage of her life.
"She is mine, and I am her Guardian." His eyes never left the child now sleeping in his arms. The connection was instantaneous. His power knew her, accepted her, covered her, and would protect her. It might be in him, but it belonged to the tiny child he held. "I will keep her safe. I accept my Destiny." A bright aura of blue surrounded them, and power sizzled through the air, sealing the pact. His eyes never left the face of the newborn, as he lightly traced her mouth with his thumb. "What is her name?"
"Deliah." The mother said, a smile laced with exhaustion curved her lips.
"Hello, Deliah. My name is Cian, and I give my life to you."
The mother reached for her husband's hand, twining their fingers together. With a smile she looked at the Guardian in front of them and relaxed back against the pillows of her hospital bed. Her husband squeezed her hand and said, "Welcome to our family Cian Rion."
Follow: Blog
Spread the word: Blog, Facebook
Email: rsemeline@gmail.com (rsemeline (at) gmail (dot) com
Thanks for hosting this for us, Shelley.
Happy Birthday!
ReplyDeleteTitle: Freya Wolf, book one "Awakening"
Genre: YA supernatural fiction
Word Count: 40,000
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Chapter One
Freya Wolf sat alone in the back of the room. Her jagged black hair hung over her eyes much like the image she doodled so often on her jeans covered notebook or in the margins of worksheets. She pressed harder into the fabric, tracing around the teardrop swirl under the eye, letting the ink ooze into the lines. With every intentional indention she felt her own pressure releasing. Like tracing an outline in the sand over and over again until it was so thick and deep that not even the tides would wash it away. The oily ink covered her palms and fingertips. Itching her cheek, she left a smudge. She glanced toward a giggle coming from a group of clean and pristine girls huddled near the front of the class.
The school bell rang. A loud clatter spilled out from the classrooms as bodies scuffled between lockers. Freya bee-lined to the first floor bathroom, the darker one with old wooden doors that no one liked. She hated seeing the Social Club always primping and gossiping. The awkward silence whenever Freya entered their domain was almost as mortifying as knowing that half a dozen girls were listening to you pee.
Staring into the mirror to wipe away the ink smudges Freya winced. A pain shot deep and hard into her chest and back, like a knife twisting around. Freya doubled over and cried out. Her eyes burned and her limbs curled in agony. Then all went black.
“Are you okay?” Freya heard someone ask.
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Email: lisa.merrai@gmail.com
Follow: blog and on Twitter (@vivalabonbon & @freyaawakening)
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Thanks got the opportunity! I hope you had
ReplyDeletean amazing birthday. I follow you on twitter (@yamile.s.mendez) and I've been
a follower of your blog for a while.
Here's my entry:
Title: SOUTHERN CROSS
Genre: Multicultural YA
Word count: 97,000 words
Email: yamile.s.mendez@gmail.com
Lies have short legs. I’ve known this ominous proverb since before I could speak.
Who among my ancestors brought the saying across the Atlantic all the way to Argentina?
My Russian great-grandmother embroidered it on a pillow after her first boyfriend broke her heart. My Palestinian grandfather whispered it to me every time my mom found his stash of wine bottles hidden in the unlikeliest places, like underneath my bed. My Andalusian grandmother repeated it like a mantra, lost in her old woman insanity, before her memories and regrets called her to the next life.
Perhaps the saying doesn’t belong to any language, and sprouted from this land the early explorers thought encrusted with silver, and my immigrant family adopted the expression like its own.
In spite of seventeen years of practice, my lies’ legs haven’t grown stronger or faster. I know the consequences of lying to my father. A reflex slap that will leave my face burning for hours. A session of yelling and blaming his worries on a daughter who’s not as beautiful as her mother nor as smart as he is. A litany of all the reasons he gave my mom for not having any more children after Pablo—perfect, beautiful Pablo—was born.
With all these thoughts clamoring in my head, I still went to the stadium to watch my brother play in the Scoundrels’ opening match of the season. My brother and that other boy whom the press calls the Titan because on the pitch, he’s more than a god. Diego Ferrari.