An Agent's Inbox #17

Dear Mystery Agent:

Waking up bruised, bloodied and mortal was not exactly what Inga had in mind when she agreed to do a small favor for Odin. Not that she’d had much of a choice. Until the night of her sister’s wedding to one of Odin’s own, the ice-wielding, immortal Inga had managed to stay off the High King’s radar while still defending the snowy realm of her birth and drinking copious amounts of ice mead. But when Loki, Odin’s (moderately) attractive brother, puts the moves on her during the wedding festivities and she brushes him off, Inga finds herself at the wrong end of the High King’s blade, bargaining for her life.

Now Inga has to make good on that small favor, a favor that lands her in present day Boston in the body of Odin’s mortal daughter, Iza Frost. One of the King’s enemies has attacked the young woman and left her in a coma. Now Inga has until the close of Winter Solstice to find Iza’s attacker or die by Odin’s blade.

I practice corporate law at Keurig Green Mountain, Inc. a company with a knack for making good coffee. I earned my Juris Doctor from Northeastern University School of Law in Boston and my Bachelor of Arts in English and Creative Writing from Colby College in Maine, where I won our college’s top award for outstanding fiction writing.

Per your contest requirements, below please find the first two hundred fifty words of THE ICE MAIDEN, a 101,000 word completed adult fantasy manuscript.

Thank you for your consideration.

Best,
J.G.

THE ICE MAIDEN

Forget what you’ve heard about Valhalla. I’ve seen your mortal depictions. They’re all wrong. You’re missing its bellow of vitality. The miles of walls hung with chain-mail rippling like a silver sea. A roof of beaten gold pulsing like a blazing summer sun. The clamor of the fallen warriors and cries of the Valkyries. Valhalla, hall of Odin. Odin the High King. Odin the terrible.

Odin soon to be related to me by marriage.

The High King rose from his throne at our approach. He was broad-shouldered and firm, but there were lines on his face and his hair was iron gray shot with silver. He fixed me with his one fjord blue eye. The eye that some say can tell truth from lie.

“High King.” I dropped to one knee like a warrior. I don’t curtsy.

“Rise, Inga, daughter of Gymir.” Odin commanded. “Is this not a glorious occasion, the marriage of your sister? Does it not speak of further peace between our realms?”

“A glorious occasion,” I echoed.

Odin frowned. “Are you certain she is yours, Gymir? She offers so few words.”

Father fidgeted beside me, obviously regretting his earlier warning. Well, maybe he shouldn’t have said our lives depended on my ability to hold my tongue tonight. “You are gracious to honor us with this feast,” I offered. My gaze slid to Odin’s sword.

“Balmung,” he said, though I knew its name. Give me some credit. I live in a realm of ice, not under a rock.

An Agent's Inbox #16

Dear Mystery Agent,

When most people have a mid-life crisis, they buy a fancy carriage. When Komak Cer-Marin has a mid-life crisis, he teams up with a murderer and a possessed healer to stop death itself.

On parchment, Komak has everything a man could desire: status, wealth, family. In reality, status and wealth feel hollow with no legacy, and he would cheerfully murder his brothers if his hands stayed clean. When enigmatic traveler Sedhan offers Komak the chance to create an artifact that halts death, Komak can’t resist a lasting legacy to rub in his brothers’ faces. 

But the journey doesn’t come without problems. Sedhan is wanted by dragonriders for murder and by a goddess for breach of contract. A possessed healer joins them, fleeing the death sentence of her half-elf heritage. Together, the three lie and kidnap to gather the materials they need. When betrayal results in a death, Komak must decide what gives his life more meaning: achieving the legacy he’s always wanted, no matter the cost, or staking his life for morals he didn’t know he had.

With its dark atmosphere, flawed characters and religious overtones, PRISONER OF FATE, an adult high fantasy of 129,000 words, has series potential. Fans of Brian Staveley’s THE LAST MORTAL BOND or Jay Kristoff’s NEVERNIGHT will enjoy this book.

I’m a member of the Atlanta Writers Club and an avid fantasy reader. This is my first novel. I’ve included below my first 250 words. The full manuscript is available upon request.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,
D.M.

PRISONER OF FATE

Komak muttered a word, drummed his fingers on the council chamber’s table, and watched the cowlick on his brother Brannon’s head dance in the conjured breeze.

Petty? Yes. Beneath his station? Certainly. Deeply satisfying? Without doubt.

Brannon continued his lecture on the Guild of Dragonesse’s planned increase in taxes, but the cowlick waving back and forth undermined the issue’s severity. Komak lowered his head, hiding beneath his mane of greying golden hair, and covertly surveyed the room.

Surrounded by ensorcelled globes of light and heavy woven tapestries, twelve of them sat around the polished oak table: Komak, Brannon, their three other brothers, and an assortment of seven stewards and leaders of the Rule. The latter kept their faces carefully neutral, but Komak’s brothers didn’t bother. A wave of snickers rustled between them.

Malachi, in particular, made no effort to conceal his amusement; he hated Brannon as much as Komak did, perhaps more given that Malachi was the second son and Brannon the first. The lines of his face creased deeply as he chuckled and glanced at Komak from the corner of his eye--a temporary truce in honor of Brannon’s embarrassment. Komak inclined his head.

Sadly, Brannon wasn’t an idiot, and the lack of tension at his words didn’t escape his notice. He stopped speaking, fixating each of them with his piercing blue eyes. Komak met Brannon’s glare, trying to appear innocent, eyes wide and the line of his mouth straight, but Brannon wasn’t buying it. “A’hdali’s bones, Komak!"

An Agent's Inbox #15

Dear Agent,

Ella Grayson has one goal: to white knuckle her way through her first art show, anxiety be d*****. She can do this. She just needs to get through a few hours without vomiting, hearing voices, or creating another terrifying painting. No problem. With enough caffeine, anything is possible.

Then Sebastian Baldasarre barges into her life, and nothing is ever the same again.

At first, she thinks his story about rival clans with extraordinary powers means he's as crazy as she's afraid of becoming, but she soon realizes that every word he's said is true. What's more, she's the Storm Rider and is key to the final outcome of this battle, in which hangs the future of all humanity. The irony of being responsible everyone on the planet, when she doesn't even like people, is not lost on her.

Ella throws herself into training, to learn to wield her abilities. Without it, she could level city blocks the next time she runs low on caffeine. The passion and sensuality she discovers in Sebastian's bed...well, all work and no play would make Ella a dull girl.

When a traitor delivers Ella into the hands of a rival clan warrior, she's terrified. The one-eyed face in front of her is the one from her horrifying painting. A serial killer, with centuries of experience, he's determined to use her to guarantee victory for his own clan. She'll have to save herself...if she can.

EYE OF THE STORM is urban fantasy, with elements of romance, suspense and humour. It is intended for adult readership, and complete at 89,000 words. 

As a person with a severe chronic pain disability, and accompanying issues with anxiety and depression, I believe that I bring a unique perspective and reality to writing about a character grappling with disabilities. I am a mutli-published freelance writer, and my credits include articles with the Huffington Post, Scary Mommy and BuzzFeed. My article, "Princess Or Not, How The H*** Does She Look Like That?" was the top performing article at Scary Mommy in 2015

Thank you for your time and consideration,

M.C.


EYE OF THE STORM

Malevolence, like a palpable force, emanated from the painting as if evil had been splashed upon the canvas.

Ella swayed where she stood, her fingers clenching the paintbrush so tightly they ached. The smell of paint thinner stung her nose as she stared at the painting in front of her. 

A dark-haired stranger glared out at her. His narrow slash of a mouth had a slight twisting of lips, a mockery of a smile promising pain and terror. The left eye, a dark brown close to black, reflected the image of fire. Where his right eye should have been, there was only a ragged, gaping hole dribbling blood down his cheek. The background was a cacophony of jagged red and black.

Blood and death, her mind whispered.

She didn't know how she'd gotten to her studio, and had no memory of creating the terrible vision in front of her.

The last thing she could remember was stepping out onto the deck. And voices. The voices had come again.

Hurling the paintbrush away from her, as if it were a deadly snake she'd picked up by accident, Ella shook her head. A helpless moan tore from her throat. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. She couldn't have painted that! She turned to escape the studio but couldn't leave the painting visible. Cursing herself for being stupid, she threw a sheet over it with trembling hands. Immediately, her breath began to ease.

An Agent's Inbox #14

Dear Agent:

I am seeking representation for THE AMBER THIEF, a young adult fantasy complete at 98,000 words. It is comparable to the world building and betrayal of C. J. Redwine’s THE SHADOW QUEEN and Mary E. Pearson’s THE KISS OF DECEPTION.

Princess Jezzabelle’s father rules over the cursed kingdom of Nisentha. Every child born there must have a piece of their soul encased in gemstone in order to survive. This gemstone, a token, must be fiercely protected--for if it breaks, the owner dies.

After Jezzabelle’s sister is assassinated, her father is paralysed by grief and retreats from the world. It is left to Jezzabelle to take control of the kingdom, and root out her sister’s killer. To find the assassin, and the people he was working for, Jezzabelle will do anything--from burning down entire villages to smashing tokens without a second thought.

Rumours reach her about a rebel leader, known only as “The Shadow”, who has claimed responsibility for her sister’s death. Not only is he amassing forces against her, but he has a mysterious power over tokens that allows him to use people like puppets. After she is attacked by her own captain of the guard, under the Shadow’s control, she decides to take matters into her own hands.

Not knowing who she can trust, she leaves the council in charge and takes off in the middle of the night to find the Shadow herself. Disguised as a peasant, she enlists the help of a token-thief, Talin, who has been working for the resistance. She soon realises the Shadow’s power is much greater than she had expected, and that he might be able to control her too. She must find a way to stop him, or risk losing herself--and her kingdom, forever.

I am currently an undergraduate history student at UCLA, with a minor in English focusing on creative writing. I have had two poems published in the Young Poets Anthology in the UK. I was also one of the winners of the 2016 Pitch to Publication competition with this manuscript, meaning that I spent six weeks working on it with a freelance editor.

I appreciate your time and hope to hear back from you soon.

A.O.

THE AMBER THIEF

The cold, white peaks glared down at Jezzabelle, a constant reminder of how much further they had to go. Riding had long since lost its interest, and after nearly a day in the saddle she wanted nothing more than a warm bed and sleep. The dull scenery reflected her boredom, bare moors and pale mountains as far as the eye could see. She was itching for some kind of change. 

Anything to distract her from the nagging question that scurried around her head like a restless dog. It obscured all other thoughts, nipping at her insides with each step.

She just wanted to get there. She needed to know if, this time, they had found him. 

Her token bounced against her chest in time with the horse’s steady pace. The small emerald star gleamed in the pale sunlight like a third eye. The faint mist inside it swirled faster and faster with every passing minute, matching her growing anticipation.

She would turn to one of the other riders for distraction, but the company made the already dull journey insufferable. Riam, who had insisted that as Royal Vizier he should accompany her, kept stopping to point out the peculiar shape of the clouds, or wandering off to marvel at the unique nature of the weeds that grew in mountain country. Jezzabelle suspected he just wanted an excuse to stop and rest.

An Agent's Inbox #13

Dear The Agent,

I’m seeking representation for my humorous adult contemporary romance, PLAID PACKAGE, at 82,000 words. It’s written in dual point of view and works as a standalone novel, but is intended as the first in a Scotland-set series.

An ocean has never separated MARIE CHRISTIE from her sister, but her bestie’s destination wedding in Scotland demands she ease up on her overprotective tendencies. After arrival, she’s caught purchasing souvenir whisky flavored condoms by kilted hottie OLIVER STUART only to discover he’s leading the tour to kick off wedding festivities. A week in close proximity with him tests her two rules regarding romance: 1) relationship required, and 2) her post-weight loss saggy skin means no hanky panky. But his kindness, sexy accent and, well, kilt, have her daydreaming of a carefree life abroad.

Oliver swore off shagging his customers years--fine, months--ago, poring all his focus into a business expansion to better support his employees. However, the sexy American lass has this eternal bachelor second-guessing his priorities with her generosity and good humor. Sparks fly, but their romance expires along with her visa. Marie won’t abandon her sister in America, Oliver’s livelihood is tied to Scotland, and neither is prepared to relocate for love.

I do social media and media relations for a university and speak on these topics at international conferences and local events. I’ve visited every Scottish locale in this book for, you know, “research.”

Thank you for your time and consideration.

All the best,
L.L.

PLAID PACKAGE

Whisky flavored condoms? Marie laughed as she reached in her purse to snag a few coins for the vending machine. Her first day in Glasgow and she already found the perfect souvenir. Flavored prophylactics in festive packaging almost made up for the dismal state of the bathroom.

She admired the red and orange tartan cardboard packets as she exited the ladies’ room into the hallway. The top of her head slammed into something hard. She looked up and nearly combusted as a fast-moving burn spread across her cheeks. "Excuse me. I'm sorry, I-" She had head-butted a wall of muscle.

A curly-haired sexpot stared down at her with a playful glint in eyes the color of well-worn denim.

Her first thought? She wanted to jump up and wrap her arms and legs around him.

Second? Don't. That's inappropriate behavior.

Third? Wuss.

She stared back and watched his eyes lower to the ridiculous handful of condom packets pressed into his stomach.

"Hoping to pull?" he said with a toe-curling brogue.

The undiluted power of that accent should be criminalized. She scanned the hallway for a fainting couch. "Pull?” Marie ran through her vocabulary of UKisms to translate. “No, these are souvenirs." A laugh bubbled up and escaped like something far too close to a squeak. "Back home the condom machines don't have anything as fancy, or hilarious, as this."

He grinned down at her. "The flavored ones are only in machines. I prefer the plain ones."

"So...you've tasted them?"

An Agent's Inbox #12

Dear Agent:

When a mysterious lady moves into the ramshackle leftover farm in the woods, 12-year-old Evie cannot believe her luck. Suddenly, there are horses on the edge of her suburban neighborhood. Evie decides that she is going to ride one if it’s the last thing she does. She hooks her best friend Oliver into helping her sneak a ride.

As seventh grade comes to an end, Evie thinks of nothing except learning to ride. Well, maybe Oliver is popping up in her thoughts too. Lately, she is not thinking of him as just a friend.

Turns out the lady at the farm is more than mysterious. When Evie secretly witnesses what she suspects is the horse lady bringing a bird back to life, she strikes up a friendship with her. Her name is Jemima Blaze and she allows Evie to hang around the barn. It becomes Evie’s favorite place to be, especially when Oliver starts avoiding her in favor of his baseball team.

Oliver even ignores Evie at the school dance, and when he doesn't stop his friend from insulting her - she runs away to the one place she's happy. Heartbroken, Evie decides to risk a nighttime ride alone. The horse is spooked and throws her, knocking her unconscious. Unexpectedly, Evie finds her life depending on Oliver and whether Jemima will reveal her ancient healing magic.

RIDING INTO MAGIC is a Middle Grade Contemporary with a touch of magic, complete at 33,000 words. It will appeal to readers of THE INFINITY YEAR OF AVALON JAMES and any of the horse lover's series such as the Canterwood Crest or Quartz Creek Ranch novels.

Thank you for your time and consideration

Sincerely,
K.E.M.

RIDING INTO MAGIC

I crept through the woods toward the broken-down place on the edge of my neighborhood. It’d been empty for years. Some kids dared each other to go in and get back out alive. Everyone knew animals like raccoons and skunks lived there. Maybe even bats. 

But a strange lady named Jemima Blaze moved into it last week. I’m always on the hunt for something exciting in my neighborhood and am usually pretty disappointed. This was different. Nothing was going to stop me from investigating, so I weaved through the trees. Almost there, I held my breath and tried not to make noise. Snow flurries floated all around, and I picked my way carefully over the cold ground. Coming to a fallen tree, I hopped over it and wound around a puddle just turning to ice. I made it unseen to the paddock fence and couldn’t believe my luck. 

There they were, practically in my back yard! I didn't care who she was, Ms. Blaze had done the one thing that was better than anything else--brought horses with her. 

Sticks crunched under my feet making the palomino one swing his head in my direction. Not wanting to scare him away, I stood perfectly still. I rode horses in my dreams almost every night, but this one was real. 

His ears tipped forward and he looked right at me, as though asking, “Who are you?”

I whispered, “I’m Evie, what’s your name?”

An Agent's Inbox #11

Dear Mystery Agent,

Being Cupid's assistant was never the plan, Megan doesn't even believe in love. But, that's what happens when you hit him with your car!

Sixteen-year-old Megan Cooper doesn’t believe in love… not the familial kind, and certainly not the romantic kind. How could she? Since her mother’s death, her father’s been stuck in a fog of grief that has left little time for Megan. The closest she’s come to romance is sharing workspace in home economics with a flaky and highly irritating hunk. And now, instead of girding up her cynicism and moving forward, she’s second-in-command to an annoying little man with wings. 

For the past five years, Megan has built a wall around her heart with little room to experience true feelings. That all changes the moment she crashes into Cupid on her way home from finals. With his shooting arm significantly injured, she has no choice but to take his place. Now, as Megan races to find Cupid’s final three love matches in order to meet his quota by the new year, she comes face to face with the very emotions she has been pushing away for so long, the basic need for love and connection. Megan finds herself caught between what her head is saying and what her heart longs for. As she comes to terms with her emotions, she realizes that she must make a decision that will impact her for the rest of her life; to either open herself up and risk getting hurt, or keep her heart safe and live life alone.

An eclectic mix of My So-Called Life meets The Fault In Our Stars, STRUCK BY LOVE is a YA novel complete at 71,000 words. It is a standalone novel with series potential. 

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Warm Regards,

S.A.

STRUCK BY LOVE

The moment Mom said goodbye, my young heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. In my childhood imaginings, I had pictured death taking her as an old woman. She would be nearing a hundred years old, maybe older, her white hair wispy and uncouth, her warm smile wrinkled deep, spilling over her cheeks as she passed peacefully in her sleep. 

But, it wasn’t like that at all. 

Fate had caught me off-guard, plunging its silver tip deep into my heart and twisting before I could parry. 

Those last days at the hospital were the worst. She had just been through another round of chemotherapy and radiation. The treatments had taken a toll on her body, grey skin sagging from her long bones like torn, dusty sails on a pirate ship. She was barely able to eat--no more than a few bites--without fearing it might all come back up.

She motioned for me to sit on the bed. Not wanting to hurt her with the strength and awkwardness of my pudgy eleven-year-old arms and legs, I was afraid to get too near. 

With a voice long since faded, she insisted I lie next to her. I crawled up onto the hard bed, moving carefully around the crinkles in the blankets, not knowing if it were her legs creating the thin, stiff lumps underneath or if it were just the folds of the heavy industrial fabric.

An Agent's Inbox #10

Dear Agent,

It’s hard to hang on to your virginity when you’ve been raised to believe that pleasure is the ultimate prayer to your Goddess--and She delivers up your sexy soul mate on a platter.

When Asta, heir to a Bronze Age high priestess in Minoan Akrotiri, races after a pickpocket, she thinks she’s doing her civic duty. It isn’t until soulful foreigner Kyan--owner of the stolen satchel--charms her into a beachside picnic that she realizes it might be difficult to follow her mother’s requirement to save her virginity for her religion’s annual fertility ceremony. Kyan introduces her to a new way of thinking about society--and their discordant places in it. Because while Asta has spent her sheltered life with the priestesses focusing on her Goddess’s demands, Kyan faced tumult and horrors she never knew existed.

Never fitting in with native Minoans in his adopted home of Knossos, Kyan searches Akrotiri for his long-lost father, rumored to be close by. He hopes to heal his inner turmoil and Asta becomes the perfect panacea. She sees him for him, not his “slave-like” appearance. And when they fall in love, he’s as happy as he believes he can be.

Unfortunately, nothing about Kyan is good enough for Asta’s mother. When she--as the mortal voice of her Goddess--demands his blood after it’s found out he’s been sneaking around with her daughter, Asta faces a dilemma: rescue the lover and best friend she can’t live without, or imperil her island’s people. 

AKROTIRI is a 105,000 word Historical Romance with hints of magical realism and alternating POV's. I’ve studied this culture for over twenty years and visited the archeological sites of Knossos and Akrotiri over Thanksgiving this past year. I am so inspired by the idea of bare-breasted priestesses drinking wine and ruling and empire. I am a high school history teacher, traveler, and lover of mythology.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

M.M.

AKROTIRI

I winced as one of the hundreds of sticky people in the marketplace elbowed me in the back. The blow knocked the crudely-formed goddess figurine out of my hands. I scooped Her up and waggled Her under the pouty frown of my cousin Julla.

“I hope the real goddess doesn’t look like this."

She sucked her teeth but reverently took the votive. “Sometimes I wonder if your mother chose the right Descendant to be her heir. How can you be so blasphemous?”

Her well-aimed thrust hurt more than the elbow. We both knew my mother only chose me by default. But that’s not what Julla was really angry about.

I softened my voice. “You know the Rites don’t mean anything.”

She glared at me, hands on hips, her face in mine. “I hope one day you fall in love and know what it’s like to have your man ripped from your arms.” She stormed into the sea of people.

I spoke to the air. “You can have him back afterwards. It’s only sex.”

I dove into the crowd to find her and stopped.

A tall man with golden hair wove through the jostling elbows and chattering shoppers. I didn’t know every one of the inhabitants of the city of Akrotiri--how could I? But this man looked like the two westerners my mother enticed to visit and discuss trade a few moons before. Why was there another foreigner here now, and how did the Ladies not know about it?