An Agent's Inbox #21

Dear Agent,

Life loses its erection--oops, direction for fourteen-year-old Mike, when the girl he promised himself to one day marry, Teagan, starts high school. Then to top it off, her girlfriend Rachel nicknames him MGM--middle-grade Mike. Too bad his parents didn’t drink that bottle of wine two years earlier.

But, things appear brighter after Teagan visits her twin sister in the hospital and returns with a key she hopes will unlock a mystery surrounding the collection of ventriloquists dolls in Grandma’s study. Brighter, because Grandma’s away and Teagan needs help performing a candle séance she once promised her sister. Unfortunately, Mike’s thoughts of scented candles and holding hands, take a frightening turn when Rachel’s face makes it a threesome.

Inside the forbidden room, Mike submits to curtain duty as the ritual’s finale requires sunlight. He flings them open, ready to practice his stand up routine, but the girls are already asleep. Unable to awaken them, Mike discovers Teagan’s journal and the fact that three years earlier she found her sibling in the study--lying in a coma. The writing also reveals Teagan believes her sister’s trapped in a subconscious, where Grandma’s not so dumb dummies come alive. Now Mike must decide, call 911 and risk losing the future Mrs Michel Grabczyński forever, or light a candle to rescue the twin sleeping beauties. Oh, and maybe Rachel too.

THE CANDLE DARK WICKED is a 85,000-word young adult fantasy. I was the founder and president of Strategy First, a worldwide publisher of entertainment software for twenty years. Our franchise titles, Disciples, a fantasy, and Jagged Alliance, an adventure role-playing release, sold over one million copies worldwide respectively and were geared to a young adult audience.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

D.M.

THE CANDLE DARK WICKED

The girl Mike promised himself to one day marry, cared about pitching first, being a girl second, maybe that explained why Teagan’s boobs remained straight A’s, just like her marks in high school. She claimed they allowed her to whip a softball fast.

Almost as fast as the punch Mike received for kissing her after she tossed a shutout today. He winced, rubbing his shoulder. Darn bruise hurt more than his pride. The reason she fouled his romantic play. Simple as 1-2-3. One year, two months and three days. Their age difference. Too bad his parents didn’t drink that bottle of wine two years earlier.

Inside Mike’s chest a hamster pounded on a treadmill, while he waited on her porch to see the future Mrs Michel Grabczyński in a dress. Her hair combed and not hidden under a cap. She decked out to visit her twin sister, AKA Sleeping Beauty in the hospital, knowing somehow it made her happy.

Well, she didn’t make Mike happy because she stepped off the bus with her dress tucked into jogging pants. The baseball cap, along with her girlfriend, Rachel, whose nickname for him, MGM--middle-grade-Mike, completed the disappointment.

He placed his backpack on the railing, pretending to admire the home’s decorative trim. “Why we messing with voodoo dolls?”

Teagan sighed. “I promised my sister and they’re not voodoo dolls.”

Mike shoved his pack. Thump. Rachel jumped as it missed her foot.

“Good, because I forgot to defrost my chicken.”

An Agent's Inbox #20

Dear agent,

Eleven-year-old Rose wakes up in hospital. She’s had another seizure, but that doesn’t explain why she can see pain, growth, love and hate, as beings.

With the sight of Emet, Rose is surrounded by creatures and monsters. She is in the middle of an age-old war between Adonai and Molech, love and hate. The people on earth have to choose who they want to rule their lives, but Molech will break ancient law to steal your right to decide.

Rose’s best friend Pete is cursed by Molech, tricked by a new age cult, Seudology. He is robbed of his choice, tortured by Molech’s minions and imprisoned with his fate. Desperate to save him and change his destiny, Rose agrees to infiltrate the cult.

The Seudologist’s surveying practice is a cover up. The EOM machine is extracting people’s souls and creating the undead around her, as she sees them for the slaves they’ve become. It’s too late, being able to see monsters won’t stop her from walking into a trap. Seudologists have been watching since the beginning, and she might just lose herself and Pete, forever.

THE LIGHT OF EMET is a 47,000-word MG fantasy novel. This book will appeal to those who loved the magical realism in Horowitz’ Raven’s Gate and the vibrant fantasy of Diane Wynne Jones’ novels. I have had my flash fiction published with the Pygmy Giant and in the book Sixty Six Sentence Stories. I currently work for the University of Bristol as a Communications Officer writing content for their Alumni department.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Best wishes,
F.M.


THE LIGHT OF EMET

The red plastic chair dug into her palms as she gripped the chair beneath her. She told herself that if anything were to happen today then she must remember that she sensed it. Nothing usually did, and Rose would feel a twinge of regret that she didn’t have some secret, psychic ability. But today was different. Today was heavy.

It was the last day of school, and the chairs were lined up in rows like a cinema. Mrs Callow sat at her metal desk studying the back of a DVD case; her forehead gathered together like ripples in a pond.

“Rose, I’m a bit worried about letting you watch this film. I think it’ll be better to set you up with something gelse,” she said, and started to walk to the back of the room.

Rose’s insides felt as if they were going around in a blender. She stood up and followed Mrs Callow, her eyes looking down at the floor.

“Spazzer,” said a girl.

The class giggled. Rose kept her eyes on the floor.

“Spazmoid!” A boy shouted, disguised in a cough.

More giggling followed. She hurried to the back of the class, where Mrs. Callow waited for her with the door held open. Rose stared at her, but Mrs Callow smiled back with glazed and unfocused eyes. Rose made it to the back row where Dan, the class clown, sat on the end. She clenched her teeth.

“Don’t forget your crazy medication,” said Dan. He rolled his eyes back into his head, to show the whites of his eyes and jolted himself in his chair.

An Agent's Inbox #19

Dear Agent:

Mysty’s only wish for her sixteenth birthday is to date Eric; instead, she accidentally turns him into a frog. She knew birthdays were supposed to be magical but this wasn't what she expected. Kissing Eric would be a logical solution, if she were living in a fairy tale, but this is real life. The creepy woodshop teacher appears before she can figure out what to do and temporarily fixes Eric, leaving him mostly human.

Mysty learns she is descended from a banished princess and a long line of villains from the Enchanted Forest. The woodshop teacher was sent from there to determine if she is good or evil. Good princesses get Happily Ever After. Evil Princesses get locked in rat infested towers. If Mysty can’t undo her spell, Eric will turn into a frog forever and she’ll be deemed evil. Worse, she’ll never get to date him. Mysty would love to kiss away Eric’s amphibious problem, but she can’t risk her kiss turning him back into a frog. She’ll have to find another girl--who he hopefully won’t like too much--to kiss Eric and break the spell.

SO YOU DON’T WANT TO BE AN EVIL SORCERESS is a 77,000 word YA fantasy.

Thank you for taking the time to do this contest.

J.S.


SO YOU DON’T WANT TO BE AN EVIL SORCERESS

Mysty tied her damp hair into a ponytail as she ran down the stairs. The school bus would arrive in ten minutes. She turned the corner and crashed into the black knight. The drawstring to her sweatpants caught on the mace, upsetting her balance and slamming her shoulder into the wall.

“Mysty, is that you?” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Who moved the stupid knight?”

Mom came out of the kitchen, followed by the stench of burnt toast, hair perfect. She wiped her hands on her apron before helping Mysty shove the heavy armor back against the wall. “He’s wishing you a happy birthday.”

Mysty didn’t look in the reflective surface as she pushed the armor. She didn’t want to see the new zits pulsating on her face. “It’s an old pile of tin, Mom. It isn’t capable of wishing. It slid on the uneven floor.” She was tempted to kick it, but she didn’t. “We should move it before someone gets hurt.”

Mom propped the mace next to the armor. “Where would we put it?”

“The basement, out of sight, eBay...”

“We aren’t selling the black knight.”

“My friends don’t have knights. They have potted plants.” Mysty rubbed her sore shoulder and went in the kitchen. She ducked to avoid a bundle of smelly herbs hanging from the ceiling and sat next to her brother. A charred piece of what might have once been toast waited for her on a plate. “I don't have time for breakfast.”

An Agent's Inbox #18

Dear “The Agent”,

Riding the Dam is an almost all true humorous coming-of-age story told mainly from the point of view of ten-year-old Allan. The setting is San Angelo, Texas in the late 1940s where stories of Comanche Indian raids still permeate boys’ recess tales and a perfect day is spent riding on your best friend’s handlebars while looking for the next big adventure. It’s a much simpler time where the biggest fear is getting squealed on by Fatsy Patsy, riding a bucking horse, and losing the best storyteller in San Angelo contest.

While this is the first novel I have written, I have twenty publications in peer-reviewed academic journals. I have published in journals such as Professional School Counseling Journal, Journal of Individual Psychology, Journal of Primary Prevention, Journal of Mental Health Counseling, and the magazine, ASCA School Counselor. I also write a blog, momslifeponderings.wordpress.com. I taught for thirteen years at Georgia State University in the College of Education where I trained school counselors and I have been a high school math and psychology teacher. Currently, I am a school counselor with the largest school system in the Southeast. The boy in Riding the Dam is my father.

I know you are extremely busy and I thank you for reading this query and the first 250 words of my novel. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,
D.E.


RIDING THE DAM

I grew up in San Angelo, Texas in the late 1940s, early 50s. Back then San Angelo, the county seat for Tom Green County, had a population of 50,000. San Angelo is located in West Texas at the convergence of the North Concho River, the Middle Concho River, and the South Concho River, which together form, believe it or not, the Concho River. San Angelo is the home of Fort Concho. Fort Concho was built in 1867 and was the home of the 10th Calvary. The Calvary’s job was to protect the stage and mail line, escort cattle drives, and protect the townsfolk from Indian attack--primarily Comanche.

Fort Concho closed in 1889 when the railroad arrived in town. It was thought that with the railroad came civilization and no need for the Calvary. Too bad that civilized living didn’t come sooner for old Mr. Mann. He was one of our neighbors and he had a huge scar on his right arm. He said it was from a Comanche arrow when he was a boy. My friend and I tried to get him to tell us how it happened, but he never would talk much about it. I guess he thought the less he said, the more mysterious it would seem. He was right. The Fort still stands today--only now it’s a museum.

San Angelo, and most of West Texas, is hot and dry about nine months out of the year.

An Agent's Inbox #17

Dear Agent,

Please consider representing FIXING SHELBY, a YA contemporary novel that is complete at 52,000 words.

For seventeen-year-old Shelby, change seems like more of a hassle than being unhappy. So, even though her friends of seven years turned into The Terrible Trio somewhere along the way, she sticks by them.

However, when she’s invited to join a running club, she decides to escape her safe, yet miserable circle of friends. After only a short time, she’s thankful to have conversations that revolve around more than the weekend party and how drab her clothing is. She finds herself with girls who seem to like her regardless of what she wears, how much make-up she doesn’t wear, or what her hair looks like.

Almost as soon as she starts to feel comfortable with her new life, The Terrible Trio takes pictures of the running club--minus Shelby--showering after practice, posts them on the Internet, and makes it look like Shelby did it. Suspended and facing legal trouble, Shelby is more of an outcast than ever. Her new boyfriend ditches her and her new friends hate her. Happiness seems more fragile and irreparable than she imagined.

She needs to clear her name and save the first real friendships she’s ever had. However, through the loyalty of Dane, the annoying boy whose locker neighbors hers, and an out-of-the-blue bond with her overly critical mother, Shelby discovers the only happiness that lasts is the kind she finds within herself.

Thank you for your time and consideration. Below are the first 250 words, as per your request.

Sincerely,
C.H.


FIXING SHELBY

“Seriously, Shelby Honey, you could put on a little more make-up. You look pale.” Mom held the steering wheel with one hand and grabbed her purse with the other. She plopped the large leather bag on my lap. “I know I have several shades of blush in there. Help yourself.”

I glared at the purse for a moment before setting it at my feet. I’d rather be home cleaning the toilet bowl with my toothbrush or ripping out my fingernails than primping in the car on the way to a basketball game. “You didn’t have to drive me, Mom. You’ll be late.”

She glanced at the clock. “It’s only two minutes out of my way. Besides, it was nice of Ashleigh to call and invite you.”

I rolled my eyes. Yes, how nice of Ashleigh to call me at the last minute.

“You should be a little more grateful.”

Whatever. Ashleigh knew I wouldn’t want to go. She should have realized my mom would jump at the chance for me to be social. Of course, that would have required Ash to put more than one thought together at a time. A little too complicated for my “best” friend.

“I don’t know why you gave her such a hard time about going.”

I sighed and tapped my fingers on the door handle. “I don’t know, either, Mom.”

“You’ll have a blast, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” I counted the houses that passed outside my window. Mom had gushed over Ashleigh for years.

An Agent's Inbox #16

Dear Agent Inbox,

Zach’s bruises are so common they don’t faze him anymore, or so he pretends. His black and blue marks and his mom's permanent black eyes are courtesy of his loving stepfather, Dave, who his mom decided to marry after Zach's real dad died. The rage begins to build up inside Zach until he finally can't hide it any longer. He explodes on anyone who sets him off, no matter who they are.

Dr. Greenberg is the doctor who wants to help Zach find the answer even if it means she has to pry the information out of him, one word at a time. Zach knows if he talks, Dave will beat the h*** out of his mom and then him. H***, it's hard enough for Zach to just function like a normal 18-year-old boy managing life, school, his job at the music store and his not-sure-we-are-boyfriend-and-girlfriend relationship.

It's now or never. Knowing he has Intermittent Explosive Disorder means Zach needs to open up to someone, and that someone happens to be Dr. Greenberg's assistant--his new roommate. Zach hopes she's the one that's going to help him gain control and try for a normal life.

ZACH'S FIGHT is my young adult contemporary novel complete at 60,000 words. I am a member of SCBWI and RWA. Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely,

J.D.


ZACH’S FIGHT

“Son, take a step back. I don’t want to hurt you.” I barely heard his command over the sirens coming down the street.

Son of a b****, I thought I had this under control. What the h*** tripped me this time? I’d started too many fights recently. I was screwed. Sweat dripped into the scratch just below my eye, and I winced in pain.

“Don’t make me ask you again. If you don’t step away from the boy, I will do what is necessary.” The cop’s rough voice wasn’t as threatening as the words were meant to be.

I sighed and took a step back then looked down at my feet to see who I’d gone for this time. I tried to search my thoughts for the reason this guy won the lottery as my most recent target. Nope, nothing.

The crowd around me was a chorus of hushes, gasps, and cries. When I glanced up, I found myself staring at the net with the basketball on the ground below it, reminding me I was still at school. Oh I’m out for sure now. Great. I ran my hand down my face and felt the scratches on my knuckles where the skin split open.

“What happened?” I asked. The officer behind me chose that moment to take a step forward. The air around me shifted and my personal space shrank.

“Well, I’d hoped you could tell me.” A hand dropped to my shoulder. “Why are you standing over this boy with bloodied knuckles?”

An Agent's Inbox #15

Dear Secret Agent:

Born in a city buried underground, twelve-year-old Ethan Williams can sum up his life in one word: trapped. He dreams of the surface, where light comes from the sun, adventures are more daring than sneaking into a rated R movie at the SubEx, and his dad isn’t just a faded picture in his mom’s wallet.

Escape seems impossible, since boulders barricade the original entrance to the city and unending darkness blocks the other. Then Ethan discovers that the billionaire who founded the city staged the “earthquake” that trapped everyone. He did it to test the city’s sustainability but died before he could end the experiment. It’s all there in the journals Ethan found, along with a map and instructions to the surface through the Deep Caves.

Ethan, his older sister, and their best friend venture into the tunnels, sure anything is better than staying trapped. That’s before they meet a colony of vicious bats or realize they may not be following the right path. Instead of the surface, they stumble into a city whose people want to stay hidden, a city where flogging and dark pits await those who could expose its secrets. One wrong move and they’ll be trapped in a place much worse than the Underground City.

THE MODERN CAVEBOY’S GUIDE TO SURVIVING BATS, BULLIES AND BILLIONAIRES, a middle grade adventure, is complete at 43,000 words. While the story’s initial setting will appeal to fans of THE CITY OF EMBER, the majority of the action takes place in the caves and beyond.

Thank you for considering!

Sincerely,

M.M.

THE MODERN CAVEBOY’S GUIDE TO SURVIVING BATS, BULLIES AND BILLIONAIRES

Ethan wanted to kill someone. Not just anyone--Winston Stanford III. Lynching sounded like a good way to do it. According to Ally, that’s how the town wanted to do away with Winston before people talked them out of it. Instead a heart attack got Winston before Ethan could even walk, much less tie a noose. But Ethan wouldn’t have let anyone talk him out of bringing Winston to justice. Because that’s what it would be--justice, not murder.

Ethan couldn’t sit still another second. He pushed off the bare mattress in Winston’s abandoned bedroom, ignoring Ally and Gwen’s grumbles when they tumbled together. He paced the floor, kicking up dust that had been untouched for years. The specks remained suspended in mid-air, almost glowing as they reflected light filtering through the window from the energy rocks. Like the dust, Ethan’s whole world had been stirred up, and he didn’t know where he would settle.

Trapped. A rock-hard truth Ethan accepted as an inevitable fact of life in the Underground City. Nature made escape impossible--first by the boulders that blocked the entrance tunnel and then by the impenetrable darkness of the Deep Caves.

Until today, Ethan thought Winston’s role in their hopeless situation was limited to a lack of foresight in monitoring seismic activity and the single-minded paranoia that ensured no one on the surface knew his subterranean town existed. Now he knew the real truth.

An earthquake didn’t trap them. Winston Stanford did. On purpose.

An Agent's Inbox #14

Dear Agent,

Sometimes you have to freeze everyone out…to avoid getting burned.

Frosty--a young adult novel, complete at 54,000 words, told by seventeen year old Sydney as she starts the last semester of her senior year with a new foster family, Jim, Lana and Brooke Clayton.

“My dad ditched us when I was little. My mom was a crack smoking whore and now I’m living with Brooke Clayton.” Sydney’s introduction in health class got a lot of laughs--even from the teacher, and they all thought she was joking.

She wasn’t.

Seven foster families in seven years. It’s not like they were entirely her fault, well maybe a few. But when you’re ripped from the arms of your loving crack-addicted mother, because she was selling her body to support her habit...what do you expect?

Maybe her intro was an error in judgment. Just one more in a long line of mistakes, but she didn’t think Brooke would tell everyone the truth. This was all her social worker’s fault. The one that placed Sydney with the Claytons, who only took her in to make themselves look good.

Rich people suck. School sucks. Life sucks.

Sydney just wanted to get through that last semester of school. For the over privileged snobby kids to leave her alone. To keep her secrets safe. The only thing was…she didn’t know they had secrets of their own.

I have included the first 250 words as requested in the submission guidelines. Please let me know if you are interested in seeing my manuscript. Thank you so much for your consideration.

S.R.


FROSTY

Insolent. Sassy. Contemptuous. Ungracious. Cold.

Of all the words I’d been called, cold suited me best. I was always cold, inside and out. But could you blame me?

I stood outside and waited for my new foster father to pick me up.

Number seven.

That was the seventh foster family I’d lived with since I was ten, when they’d decided my mom couldn’t take care of me. Not that I wouldn’t agree. Even at seven I knew being high on crack wasn’t a good thing.

Mom didn’t know though. Or maybe if she knew, she just couldn’t stop.

But maybe this will be my lucky number. My seventh foster family in seven years and now I was seventeen. That had to mean something. Right?

Wasn’t always my fault, the reason I’d had so many families. I had the worst social workers. They rarely found the right fit. I swear, sometimes they threw a bunch of names in a hat and sent me to the first one they pulled. I was furious when they took me from Mom--No, ripped me from her arms. Literally. So I took my anger out on my foster families.

I hated my mom for what she did to me…to herself. But for everything she put me through, I still loved her. Now some might argue that staying high on crack and inviting disgusting men into our home to have sex might mean she didn’t love me; but underneath that haze of crack, I knew she did.