An Agent's Inbox #5

Dear Ms. Gref:

I’ve read you’re seeking fantasy novels with mythological twists. I believe Twist of Fate may interest you.

 

Twenty-two-year-old Pandia is in so much trouble she’s shaking in her Jimmy Choo’s. After the goddess-born NYC socialite travels through time and meets Julius Caesar, she convinces him to abandon politics for gardening. Pandia’s father, Zeus, summons her to twenty-first century Olympus and chews her out for messing with a notorious human’s destiny. To teach her a lesson, he strips her power and sentences her to a stint of mortality in Italy.

 

Pandia refuses to let her punishment get her down. She’ll do her time, leave mortals’ destinies untouched, and be home before the next sale at Saks Fifth Avenue. But instead of modern-day Italy, Zeus sends her to ancient Pompeii. Pandia’s mistaken for a prostitute and hauled before a local official. When she can’t pay her tax, and refuses to give the official a free sample in trade, she’s sent to work in Pompeii’s Gladiator School. There she’s assigned to Caladus, a gladiator whose steamy kisses make her reconsider her vow to remain uninvolved.

 

To escape Pompeii, Pandia must prove she respects mortals’ pre-ordained fates. But she’s falling for Caladus, and her time’s running out: Mt. Vesuvius is rumbling.

 

TWIST OF FATE, complete at 81,000 words, is an adult historical fantasy, a mix of Clueless, Diana Gabaldon’s OUTLANDER, and Gladiator, but with a happier ending, because I always thought the gladiator was cheated. I’m an RN/Clinical Documentation Specialist, which means I decipher physician handwriting and twist it into medical codes. I spin tales for my husband and children in central Maine.

 

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

M.M.

TWIST OF FATE

Standing outside the Great Hall, I yanked down my red crop top with trembling fingers and wondered what I’d done to piss my father off this time. Was it Marco? Or fish-lipped Julius? It couldn’t be about Christopher, because it wasn’t exactly my fault Chris turned those ships around and returned to Spain.

 

Four guards in military uniforms flanked the entrance, guns strapped to their hips. One opened the door and nodded for me to enter.

 

I swallowed the wad of fear lodged in my throat and swept into the Hall.

 

My father, Zeus, sat with my stepmother in gilded Ikea chairs at the end of the room, matching scowls on their tanned faces. Hera’s eyes met mine across the expanse. A smirk lifted her lips and she spoke as she nudged Dad’s arm, although the distance was too great to catch her words. Dad grimaced and loosened the collar of his Armani shirt.

 

Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows along the walls, spilling a profusion of rainbows across the marble tiles. As I walked through the aisle leading to the receiving area, the click-click-click of my heels echoed in the stillness surrounding me. Normally, gods dressed in designer clothing packed the alcoves between the pillars, gossiping as they waited to speak with my father.

The fact that it was just me, Dad, and Hera meant I starred in a command performance. My steps faltered. With considerable will, I resisted the urge to flee to my apartment in Manhattan.

An Agent's Inbox #4

To Emily Gref:

THE FREEZER is a science fiction novel with a literary perspective similar to works by Ray Bradbury or Ursula K. LeGuin. It’s about 71,000 words.

Thane Ryder would move mountains to keep his daughter happy during her final days, but six-year-old Mandy wants more.

A rogue planet is on a collision course with Earth. A few thousand people can evacuate on ships destined for a new world. Thane’s wife Dawn piloted one of the first ships. Thane and Mandy were supposed to follow her.

But the Evacuation Authority disqualifies Mandy, dooming her to die with everyone else. Thane gives up his place on a ship to stay with her.

But Mandy isn’t content waiting to die--she wants to be with her mother again. Nothing short of that will make her happy, so Thane plays along with her plans and builds a spaceship from their old chest freezer.

Then Thane's former boss, Daniel, asks for help finishing up a real spaceship and offers them both a ride. Mandy doesn't want to take it. Daniel’s ship is bound for Mars, not the planet Mommy went to. Mandy claims Mommy told her to use the freezer spaceship instead.

Thane's goal to keep his daughter happy conflicts with his obvious wish to keep her alive. It's a no-brainer which should take precedence--until Thane also hears Dawn's voice.

As evidence grows that the voice may be real and Daniel’s promise a lie, Thane is torn. He can take either a rational step to the hellish red planet, or a leap of faith to a reunion with his wife.

I have a degree in English and work as a technical writer for a robotics firm. I’ve never seen the end of the world, but I have experience raising little girls.

Regards,
B.S.


THE FREEZER

Mandy sat in the middle of the living room with a balloon in her mouth, her small round face turning red as she tried to blow it up. It sputtered away. She gave me a look that resonated with my thoughts and threatened to shatter my composure. I turned away.

It was Mandy’s sixth birthday. Two years since Dawn left, two years of single-parenthood, and two years of swallowing tears. When Dawn flew away, Mandy was four. She’d be sixteen before I saw my wife again, touched her face, felt her breath. Someday…

For now, she was gone, piloting a ship named Hope, the Esperanza--alive out there, but dead to me.

Mandy had helped me clean the house that morning. We vacuumed, washed windows and dishes, did a real good job. We emptied it of dust and dirt, of fingerprints and smells. Now it was full of emptiness, vast and draining.

“Daddy,” Mandy called behind me. “I need help.”

She thrust the spitty balloon toward me and blinked tearful brown eyes. If ever a girl could wrap me around her finger, it was my Amanda. She got that from her mom.

I gathered and banished the grief from my face and hurried over to her, avoiding her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t see my feelings.

“It helps if you stretch it out a bit first.” I wiped the end of the balloon.

Mandy nodded, watching me.

“I’ll get it started for you.” I put a little breath into it, enough to get past the first part, the hardest part. “Now you finish it up.”

An Agent's Inbox #3

Dear Ms. Gref,

Eleven-year-old Mike loves all things science and science fiction. He’s determined to become an astronaut--assuming he can escape fifth grade with all the body parts required by NASA. While hiding from the school bully, he meets an alien who offers a chance to gain a little pre-job scientific experience by testing candies dispensed from a metal tube. Mike knows better than to trust someone offering candy to kids until he hears the possible side-effects.

Temporary bully-stomping, superhero side-effects.

He’s ordered not to tell anyone, but how could he hide something as cool as first contact from his best friend? Good thing he spilled the Jellybeans because he needs help surviving an hour as a fish--complete with gills, webbed fingers, and flipper feet. Thumbs down to high diving off a cliff to find oxygen in a frigid lake.

Other results are fantastic--like flying, super-hearing and invisibility. When fake federal agents invade town, Mike forgets all about bullies. The Men-in-Black are really rogue Interstellar Enforcers searching for anyone who knows aliens exist. Mike must save himself and his friends or end up in permanent stasis field at the bottom of a mine.

MIGHTY MIKE AND THE INTERGALACTIC CANDY DISPENSER is an MG sci-fi/adventure complete at 46,000 words. It should appeal to those who enjoy the quirky humor of Nathan Bransford’s Jacob Wonderbar series. And Mike would so totally jump into the Tardis!

I live in Colorado, ignore my physics degree, and train endurance horses while imagining worlds without gravity and unplanned dismounts.

Thank you for your time. My first 250 are below.

Sincerely,

M.M.

MIGHTY MIKE AND THE INTERGALACTIC CANDY DISPENSER

According to The List of Chumps to be Pounded After School, today was hang-Mike-like-a-piñata-Thursday. The List belonged to Brutus, the biggest kid in sixth grade, and failing to call the bully by his self-chosen nickname broke Chump Rule #1. Mike blew that the first day of fifth grade. On the second day, he sat in Brutus’ favorite swing and his name had topped The List ever since.

Mike sat on the community park bleachers and glanced from his math book to the soccer field. Still clear.

Crack!

Just Little League batting practice on the diamond behind him. Mike gritted his teeth and hoped no one saw his panic. He would not hide in his house like a friendless dork. His plan to escape Brutus’ fists had to work. It might even save him from Dad’s assumption that Mike would join a summer debate club on the path to becoming a brilliant lawyer. Ugh, how many ways can you say boooring?

No, Mike’s plans did not involve law school. Step one: attend the Space Camp Academy section two years early. Step two: become the first teenage astronaut--

“C’mon Mike, we need another player.” Carlos stood with his hands spread wide and a grin smeared across his face.

Demonstrating his sorry soccer skills was not Mike’s favorite after-school activity, but he never turned down his best--and only--friend. Besides, doing homework on the bleachers just encouraged the dork title. He did another Brutus check, then ran downfield. Way downfield.

An Agent's Inbox #2

Dear Ms. Gref:

Fiorella Merafin is a young girl caught up in a world war. When her parents are deployed, she is sent to a magical boarding school to get her safely away from the front lines. After the war takes a turn for the worse and her school ends up in harm's way, she must go from protected to protector to keep her family and friends safe.

Where the Witches and the Brontosaurs Roam is a middle grade fantasy novel of 77,000 words. I'm querying after reading your Middle Grade Ninja interview from April 2013 in which you mentioned an interest in places that haven't been explored before.

Sincerely,

E.S.

WHERE THE WITHCES AND THE BRONTOSAURS ROAM

The carcasaurus had several notable features: gargantuan clawed flippers, a short neck, and a crocodile-style mouth large enough to swallow young children whole. All of which Fiorella Merafin was discovering first hand and from an unpleasantly close distance.

She had bad luck that way.

The carcasaurus burst through the glass tunnel with such ease that it seemed to magically appear among its intended prey, leaving them stunned and desperately hoping that it was all in fact a magic trick. One thing alone saved the merpeople nearby, there were just too many of them for the seasaurian to decide which to devour first. Should it take the tall ones? Would the skinny ones be too boney? Perhaps the round ones would be a better choice?

It needed time to think and that gave Fiorella time to run away. The sea flooded into the tunnel through the breach the carcasaurus had made, swallowing Fiorella. The carcasaurus pounced, hoping to do the same.

The other mermaids and mermen scattered in every direction, like mice fleeing a cat with knife-sized teeth. As soon as the sea touched them, they pressed their legs together, magically transforming their lower body into a dolphin-style tail, which propelled them through the water faster than the bulky carcasaurus could hope to go.

But Fiorella was only part mermaid. She had the gills, but not the legs. Most of the time that lack was not a hindrance. Unfortunately, being chased by a man-eating carnivore was not most of the time.

An Agent's Inbox #1

Dear Ms. Gref,

The last thing seventeen-year-old Cyanne expects, seated on a long flight next to her reclusive former best friend James, is to fall for him all over again--just as the plane begins to fall from the sky. As it dives toward the Pacific, James gives her a sip of a strange elixir and swears her to secrecy. He tells her he loves her, kisses her deeply, and then vanishes from her arms.

Cyanne is plucked from the Pacific, the only survivor of the crash. She is desperate to understand what happened to her and whether or not James really vanished. But she’s not the only one. An ancient society has walked the Earth in secret and their use of the elixir is tied to the very existence of man. They think she has it, and they want it back. When it becomes clear James is alive and has the elixir, Cyanne realizes he’s in danger. To unravel the mystery of her survival and the tormenting feelings she has for James, she must outwit her pursuers and find him before they do.  Because the secret that saved Cyanne in the crash has the power to kill her, James--and everyone on Earth.

CYANNE’S SECRET is YA light sci-fantasy with strong romantic elements. It is complete at 78,000 words and works as a stand-alone with series potential. I am querying you because I find your agency's focus on social media appealing and because I would like to work with a newer agent interested in collaborative efforts.

During my twelve years with the Ansel Adams Publishing Trust, I worked with Little, Brown on the publication of numerous books and maintain contacts there.  I recently received runner-up in the 2014 SF Writer Conference’s Victoria Hudson Emerging Writer Prize and have stories published in Family Therapy Magazine and the Mill Valley Literary Review. I am a member of SCBWI and Left Coast Writers.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

M.S.

CYANNE'S SECRET

He’s not supposed to be here.

I stood in the boarding area of San Francisco’s international terminal, feeling the buzz of classmates around me waiting to board the plane to Peru for our senior trip. A toddler squealed by the windows, running from her harried mother across the mottled carpet. I inhaled sharply. Next to her, a boy with broad shoulders stood with hands stuffed in his pockets, gazing out at the airplanes in the rainy night.

James.

James Steward was taller than most boys, so he was easy to pick out of a crowd. But he was the last person I expected to see here. I’d helped to organize this trip and James was not on the roster.

The toddler, still scuttling around, crashed into James’ knees. He smiled and put a hand out to steady her. He caught my gaze and I glanced down, past my sneakers to the stained carpet beneath. Anywhere but his direction.

White Converse. What was I thinking? They’d get so dirty on this trip.

I sucked on a lock of hair, its familiar smooth feel on my tongue as I studied my feet. Mom hated when I chewed my hair. But it was a useful habit--it calmed me and covered the sprawling tarantula of a scar on my chin and neck. As if that wasn’t enough to wow a crowd, I also sported a hobbled left leg to accessorize the scar.

Just what every girl wanted to round out her look.

Now Accepting Entries

UPDATE: And we're full! (Actually, we were full less than two minutes after the entry window opened.) I've also responded to every e-mail I received as of 1:25 p.m. EST, so if you didn't get my reply, please check your spam folder. The entries will go up on Wednesday morning!

I'm now accepting entries for February's round of "An Agent's Inbox"! Here's a quick refresher:

The Rules

1. To enter, your manuscript must meet two conditions: First, it must be COMPLETE, POLISHED, AND READY TO QUERY, and second, it must be in one of the genres The Agent represents (which are listed at the bottom of this post).

2. IF YOU PARTICIPATED IN THE NOVEMBER 2013 ROUND OF “AN AGENT’S INBOX,” please DO NOT participate in this one UNLESS YOUR HAVE A NEW MANUSCRIPT that meets the criteria listed above. I have a pretty good memory, and I will disqualify previous entries. If the entry slots don’t fill up by Tuesday, February 18, I may allow previous participants to enter, but honestly, I don’t expect them to last that long.

3. All entries must include A QUERY and THE FIRST 250 WORDS of your manuscript. You must paste these items IN THE BODY OF YOUR E-MAIL; otherwise, I'll disqualify it.

4. THE ENTRY WINDOW OPENS AT 1:00 P.M. EST (OR 10:00 A.M. PST). Once the entry window opens, I'll accept the first 20 entries. I won't accept any entries sent before the entry window opens or after the first 20 slots fill up.

5. If your entry makes it in, I'll send you a confirmation e-mail with a post number. If your entry doesn't make it in, I'll still send you an e-mail, but it won't have a post number.

6. If your entry makes it in, YOU MUST COMMENT ON AT LEAST 3 OTHER ENTRIES.

The Prizes The Agent, Emily Gref* of Lowenstein Associates, will select both the winners and the prizes. The Agent might pick 20 winners, or she might only pick one. The Agent might offer full requests, or she might only ask to see another page. It all depends on how good the entries are.

Please keep in mind that THIS CONTEST ISN'T FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. I've encouraged The Agent to treat the entries exactly as she would a normal batch of queries. Essentially, The Agent will be answering the question, "How much of the entry did you read, and if you didn't read it all, why did you stop?" I think this process will be instructive for all of us, but if you enter, you need to be prepared to hear exactly what The Agent thinks of your query and first page.

The Genres

MG fiction (all genres)
YA fiction (all genres)
Adult Fantasy
Adult Science Fiction
Literary Women's Fiction

To enter, please send an e-mail with YOUR QUERY and THE FIRST 250 WORDS of your manuscript to kvandolzer(at)gmail(dot)com. And please, please, please remember to PASTE THESE ITEMS IN THE BODY OF THE E-MAIL.

*I know this probably goes without saying, but if you’re thinking about entering, you should probably treat this round a little differently than you would if you didn’t already know The Agent’s identity. Feel free to do a little research and include personalization in your queries. Also, if you've already queried Ms. Gref, PLEASE DON'T ENTER UNLESS YOU HAVE A NEW MANUSCRIPT THAT MEETS THE CRITERIA LISTED ABOVE. Since I don't have access to Ms. Gref's inbox, I can't really police this, but you--and she--are going to get a lot more out of this contest if you enter something The Agent hasn’t seen before.

"An Agent's Inbox" Contest Alert

THIS IS NOT A CALL FOR ENTRIES! I'M JUST GIVING YOU A HEADS-UP. THE CONTEST OPENS NEXT MONDAY, FEBRUARY 17.

“An Agent's Inbox” is exactly what it sounds like--next week, I'm turning the blog into an agent's inbox, a public one. We'll get to see 20 queries along with their first pages, and we'll get to hear what a bona fide agent thinks of each one.

The queries and first pages will be yours, of course. I'll accept your entries this Monday, February 17, and then I'll post them next Wednesday, February 19. The entrants and anyone else who wishes to review them may comment until the following Monday or Tuesday, February 24 or 25, when I'll announce the winners.

Those winners will be chosen by The Agent, and this month, The Agent is Emily Gref* of Lowenstein Associates!

The Rules

1. To enter, your manuscript must meet two conditions: First, it must be COMPLETE, POLISHED, AND READY TO QUERY, and second, it must be in one of the genres The Agent represents (which are listed at the bottom of this post).

2. IF YOU PARTICIPATED IN THE NOVEMBER 2013 ROUND OF “AN AGENT’S INBOX,” please DO NOT participate in this one UNLESS YOUR HAVE A NEW MANUSCRIPT that meets the criteria listed above. I have a pretty good memory, and I will disqualify previous entries. If the entry slots don’t fill up by Tuesday, February 18, I may allow previous participants to enter, but honestly, I don’t expect them to last that long.

3. All entries must include A QUERY and THE FIRST 250 WORDS of your manuscript. You must paste these items IN THE BODY OF YOUR E-MAIL; otherwise, I'll disqualify it.

4. THE ENTRY WINDOW OPENS AT 1:00 P.M. EST (OR 10:00 A.M. PST). Once the entry window opens, I'll accept the first 20 entries. I won't accept any entries sent before the entry window opens or after the first 20 slots fill up.

5. If your entry makes it in, I'll send you a confirmation e-mail with a post number. If your entry doesn't make it in, I'll still send you an e-mail, but it won't have a post number.

6. If your entry makes it in, YOU MUST COMMENT ON AT LEAST 3 OTHER ENTRIES.

The Prizes The Agent will select both the winners and the prizes. The Agent might pick 20 winners, or she might only pick one. The Agent might offer full requests, or she might only ask to see another page. It all depends on how good the entries are.

Please keep in mind that THIS CONTEST ISN'T FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. I've encouraged The Agent to treat the entries exactly as she would a normal batch of queries. Essentially, The Agent will be answering the question, "How much of the entry did you read, and if you didn't read it all, why did you stop?" I think this process will be instructive for all of us, but if you enter, you need to be prepared to hear exactly what The Agent thinks of your query and first page.

So get those queries and first pages polished up, then meet us back here on Monday, February 17, at 1:00 p.m. EST! At that time, you may send your entries to kvandolzer(at)gmail(dot)com. Looking forward to it!

The Genres

MG fiction (all genres)
YA fiction (all genres)
Adult Fantasy
Adult Science Fiction
Literary Women's Fiction

And of course, if you have any questions, feel free to leave them in the comments below!

*I know this probably goes without saying, but if you’re thinking about entering, you should probably treat this round a little differently than you would if you didn’t already know The Agent’s identity. Feel free to do a little research and include personalization in your queries. Also, if you've already queried Ms. Gref, PLEASE DON'T ENTER UNLESS YOU HAVE A NEW MANUSCRIPT THAT MEETS THE CRITERIA LISTED ABOVE. Since I don't have access to Ms. Gref's inbox, I can't really police this, but you--and she--are going to get a lot more out of this contest if you enter something The Agent hasn’t seen before.

Another Small Piece of a Love Story

When I blogged last summer about the last day I had with Honey Bear before he left on his mission, several readers mentioned that they wanted to hear the rest of the story. It's a LONG story, one that I could easily turn into a novel or two, but in honor of Valentine's Day, here's another tiny piece.

As I mentioned in the comments of that post, Honey Bear and I had virtually no direct contact for the two years he was gone. We did write letters back and forth (actual, handwritten letters, since they didn't let missionaries e-mail back then), but we didn't set eyes on each other or even talk on the phone. (Full disclosure: We did see each other once when he came home for hernia surgery, but that's another post.) I was down at BYU for the second half of his mission, but the summer he came home, I was back up at my parents' house, which is just a few miles from his.

He'd told me which day he'd be flying home, so I knew when to start worrying about when he was going to call. (If you haven't already guessed, I'm a champion worrier.) I didn't expect a call that day, since I knew his family would be anxious to catch up, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for a call the day after that day. But then that day came and went, as did the day after that. I told myself it was nothing, but a part of me didn't believe it.

That summer was a dry one, and I distinctly remember that the mountain was on fire. At night, it looked like lava was dripping down the mountain like frosting on a cake. One night, Mom and I decided to take a drive up Highway 89 to get a better look. Now, Honey Bear's house was just a few miles up this highway, but I tried not to think about that.

Mom and I oohed and aahed at the fire, but really, I think we were both keeping an eye out for the turnoff to Honey Bear's house. When we reached Crestwood, Mom deliberately slowed down. She looked at me, I looked at her, and by unspoken agreement, we made the turn. His house was tucked back in the corner of his neighborhood, so we had to make several more turns--first onto Manchester, then onto Oxford--to make it to his house. When we finally reached Sherwood (whoever designed this neighborhood clearly had a thing for English place names), Mom eased around the corner, both hands gripping the steering wheel.

His house was at the far end of the street, in the sac part of the cul-de-sac. We only made it a few houses before I grabbed the armrest. "No, I changed my mind. I don't want to, I don't want to!"

We must have been on the same wavelength, because Mom whipped around and sped away before I even finished saying it.

The next day, I called him.