Dear Ms. Amazing Agent,
When Juhan and his twin sister Chosi are stolen from their planet
of psychics by slavers, their only comfort is the fact that they’re together.
But even that small bit of sanity is taken when they are separated at auction.
Juhan is bought by political scion Sadi Renult, a girl
willing to lie to the entire galaxy in a desperate bid to win Juhan’s people’s
freedom. Caught in her glittering world of intrigue and politics, Juhan swears
to find his sister. But as that vow and Sadi's scheme takes them across
galaxies, he begins to realize that his young owner is more than an arrogant
rich girl. And he has to consider the cost of his promise--especially when
people they both care for begin to die.
Meanwhile, Chosi is sold into blood sport. With her psychic ability,
she earns a precarious position of value within the gladiator school, training
the draken--wild creatures of smoke and fire--for the arena. In the midst of
that hell, she forges a friendship with the slave Jemes and the draken she
cares for. But when her defiance results in Jemes’ brutal killing in the arena,
Chosi contemplates suicide as an escape from her chains. Yet, she can't forget
the brother who promised to find her and even as she welcomes death and risk,
she clings to that promise.
When Juhan demonstrates just how far he’ll go to rescue his sister,
Chosi begins to reconsider what she is willing to do to help herself.
BEYOND CHAINS AND STARS is a young adult sci-fi complete at
90,000 words that should appeal to fans of Glow and Sisters Red. I am an active
member of YaLitchat and a founder of the blog Writerly Rejects. Thank you for
your consideration.
Sincerely,
N.N.A.
BEYOND CHAINS AND STARS
Creatures of the sky are not meant to be submerged, and
yet--here I am.
I fight the urge to gulp for breath, forcing myself to relax
and let the amphibious gel filter oxygen from the water. An eel darts past, and
I shy away. As it vanishes into the water, I look around--I’m alone. Which
means Juhan’tr is about to go back on my dare that brought us here.
Get your skinny a** in
here,- I demand on a psychic thread, my mind to his, twisting to look
through the water to the surface.
I feel the wicked edge of intent before he dives and I jerk
backwards, almost out of his grasp. His long hands close around my ankle and I
thrash, irritation swamping me. I open my mouth to inhale and shout at him.
It breaks the amphibious gel seal that lets me breathe, and
water floods into my mouth and I choke.
Close your mouth, you
idiot,- my brother orders, you’re not
a fish.- I glare at him and he smirks, This
was your idea.-
He mellows the harsh words by twisting to grasp my hand. It
is familiar enough to settle me and I glance around again. The water, tinted a
soft orange by the Eltei roots, tickles as it disturbs my fur.
I glance at my brother and see the look of awe in his eyes.
All around us, swarms of kenkark swim by, silently sucking at the water. Deeper?- Juhan nudges and I smile,
nodding.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
An Agent's Inbox #9
Dear Agent,
AtWarwick
Hall Academy
Sophia Cross is a new student at Warwick Hall. Her father has taken up a teaching position at the school and they’re looking for a fresh start after a car crash left her mother dead and Sophia in a month-long coma. She doesn’t know where she was as she hovered between life and death, but she can still sense the darkness.
When Sophia moves into Cassie’s house, the girls learn to communicate via Magnetic Poetry. Cassie and Sophia will have to work together if they are to unravel the mystery behind Cassie’s death and the menacing presence that haunts them both. The answers are hidden somewhere within Warwick Hall, where everyone is a potential suspect and trusting the wrong person could get you killed.
WARWICK
I have just won an online contest and received a full MS request from Heather Howland at Entangled. I also recently parted ways amicably from my agent and am looking for new representation for WARWICK HALL, which has not been shopped.
I am presently a Visiting Assistant Professor at theUniversity of Hong Kong University of Cambridge
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to the opportunity to share the entire manuscript with you.
Sincerely,
K.P.
WARWICK HALL
It was a beautiful day to be dead.
Cassie lay in a bed of leaves on the riverside. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud. She couldn’t feel it, but she imagined it to be warm.
She found herself waking up here more and more often. Cassie had been waiting almost two years for her body to be found. She didn’t know if this was Hell, but it sure wasn’t Heaven.
She shook the foliage out of her hair--to a passerby it would look like a sudden, isolated gust of wind. Cassie could never actually move anything when she wanted to, of course, but sometimes her energy brushed against the Living world.
She meandered back toward Warwick Hall, the prep school where her father had been the chaplain. She spied a doe taking a drink from the river, cool and sweet. The animal tensed as if it knew that she was there. The deer locked eyes with her and startled, loping off like it had seen, well, a ghost.
Cassie threw her hands in the air in frustration. The only sentient creatures that could see her were afraid of her. They sensed she shouldn’t be there, that she’d stayed too long at the party.
But she had no idea how to “move on” or “go into the light,” or whatever it was restless spirits were supposed to do. She couldn’t even have any fun haunting anyone because she didn’t know how to make the Living hear or see her.
At
Sophia Cross is a new student at Warwick Hall. Her father has taken up a teaching position at the school and they’re looking for a fresh start after a car crash left her mother dead and Sophia in a month-long coma. She doesn’t know where she was as she hovered between life and death, but she can still sense the darkness.
When Sophia moves into Cassie’s house, the girls learn to communicate via Magnetic Poetry. Cassie and Sophia will have to work together if they are to unravel the mystery behind Cassie’s death and the menacing presence that haunts them both. The answers are hidden somewhere within Warwick Hall, where everyone is a potential suspect and trusting the wrong person could get you killed.
I have just won an online contest and received a full MS request from Heather Howland at Entangled. I also recently parted ways amicably from my agent and am looking for new representation for WARWICK HALL, which has not been shopped.
I am presently a Visiting Assistant Professor at the
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to the opportunity to share the entire manuscript with you.
Sincerely,
K.P.
WARWICK HALL
It was a beautiful day to be dead.
Cassie lay in a bed of leaves on the riverside. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud. She couldn’t feel it, but she imagined it to be warm.
She found herself waking up here more and more often. Cassie had been waiting almost two years for her body to be found. She didn’t know if this was Hell, but it sure wasn’t Heaven.
She shook the foliage out of her hair--to a passerby it would look like a sudden, isolated gust of wind. Cassie could never actually move anything when she wanted to, of course, but sometimes her energy brushed against the Living world.
She meandered back toward Warwick Hall, the prep school where her father had been the chaplain. She spied a doe taking a drink from the river, cool and sweet. The animal tensed as if it knew that she was there. The deer locked eyes with her and startled, loping off like it had seen, well, a ghost.
Cassie threw her hands in the air in frustration. The only sentient creatures that could see her were afraid of her. They sensed she shouldn’t be there, that she’d stayed too long at the party.
But she had no idea how to “move on” or “go into the light,” or whatever it was restless spirits were supposed to do. She couldn’t even have any fun haunting anyone because she didn’t know how to make the Living hear or see her.
An Agent's Inbox #8
Dear Inboxing Agent,
When she looks in the mirror, 17-year-old Stacy can talk to her 29-year-old self. She calls her future self “Older Me”.
Older Me has a lot to say. She's supported Stacy through her parents’ divorce, schoolyard bullying and a broken heart. But Stacy is about to find out Older Me has lied.
Older Me exists in an alternate dimension. She already lived the years Stacy is experiencing. But she claimed she couldn't remember them. When the truth is revealed, Older Me insists she’s hidden her past to keep Stacy from making the same mistakes. But she lived the life Stacy wishes for: Popularity, success and most of all, Mark.
Stacy can’t believe the bullying, derision and loneliness she’s experienced is a better alternative. She’s ready to do whatever it takes to find Older Me's version of life for herself--even if herself is the person she’ll hurt most.
LISTEN TO ME is a YA contemporary with a dash of magical realism, complete at 89,000 words. The premise was inspired by the www.dearteenme.com website in which adult authors write letters to their teen selves.
I'm a long-time member of a writers critique group which includes both published and repped authors. My former agent changed vocations last year, so I am back on the submission trail. LISTEN TO ME is a new work which my former agent has not reviewed.
As per your submission guidelines I have included the first 250 words of the manuscript below.
Thank you for your time.
A.L.S.
LISTEN TO ME
As he sinks into the chair, he looks just like a doctor should: greying hair, a well-trimmed beard with badger-stripes framing his lips, and wire-rimmed glasses his wife must have chosen. They're too tasteful for the polyester shirt and pants.
"How are you today, Stacy?" he says, too loud for the muted tones of the room--all earthy browns and soft corners. He's made his office look like a living room, complete with coffee table squatting between us and lamps on the varnished surfaces. Too bad the door has a combination lock. Kind of kills the good-time vibe.
He's waiting for an answer. I start to shrug, then freeze until the razors of pain ease. My stitches are all out now, but the hard, pink lines spiderwebbing across most of my upper body are a pitiful excuse for healing. Underneath I am still many layers of mangled nerve endings and fractured flesh.
Doctor hears me catch my breath and his eyes snap to mine. All that beguiling disinterest is an act. He is measuring me.
"Pain?" he says, softly this time.
"Yes. But it's not bad. I just moved wrong."
It burns and crackles under my skin until I want to scream. But I won't tell him that. For him I will be untouched. Ready to face the world. Sane.
I will get out of here today.
When she looks in the mirror, 17-year-old Stacy can talk to her 29-year-old self. She calls her future self “Older Me”.
Older Me has a lot to say. She's supported Stacy through her parents’ divorce, schoolyard bullying and a broken heart. But Stacy is about to find out Older Me has lied.
Older Me exists in an alternate dimension. She already lived the years Stacy is experiencing. But she claimed she couldn't remember them. When the truth is revealed, Older Me insists she’s hidden her past to keep Stacy from making the same mistakes. But she lived the life Stacy wishes for: Popularity, success and most of all, Mark.
Stacy can’t believe the bullying, derision and loneliness she’s experienced is a better alternative. She’s ready to do whatever it takes to find Older Me's version of life for herself--even if herself is the person she’ll hurt most.
LISTEN TO ME is a YA contemporary with a dash of magical realism, complete at 89,000 words. The premise was inspired by the www.dearteenme.com website in which adult authors write letters to their teen selves.
I'm a long-time member of a writers critique group which includes both published and repped authors. My former agent changed vocations last year, so I am back on the submission trail. LISTEN TO ME is a new work which my former agent has not reviewed.
As per your submission guidelines I have included the first 250 words of the manuscript below.
Thank you for your time.
A.L.S.
LISTEN TO ME
As he sinks into the chair, he looks just like a doctor should: greying hair, a well-trimmed beard with badger-stripes framing his lips, and wire-rimmed glasses his wife must have chosen. They're too tasteful for the polyester shirt and pants.
"How are you today, Stacy?" he says, too loud for the muted tones of the room--all earthy browns and soft corners. He's made his office look like a living room, complete with coffee table squatting between us and lamps on the varnished surfaces. Too bad the door has a combination lock. Kind of kills the good-time vibe.
He's waiting for an answer. I start to shrug, then freeze until the razors of pain ease. My stitches are all out now, but the hard, pink lines spiderwebbing across most of my upper body are a pitiful excuse for healing. Underneath I am still many layers of mangled nerve endings and fractured flesh.
Doctor hears me catch my breath and his eyes snap to mine. All that beguiling disinterest is an act. He is measuring me.
"Pain?" he says, softly this time.
"Yes. But it's not bad. I just moved wrong."
It burns and crackles under my skin until I want to scream. But I won't tell him that. For him I will be untouched. Ready to face the world. Sane.
I will get out of here today.
An Agent's Inbox #7
Dear Agent,
Assistant Curator, Claire Raffen, is anxious to meet her idol, rock-star artist, Sinjin Reid. She’s desperate to pick up his masterpiece to hang in her exhibit, Victorious Steam. If she doesn't acquire the sculpture, she can kiss her job at theLafferty
Museum Lake Michigan , there is no sculpture.
Sinjin Reid hid his metal sculpture, Coal or Steam, after his greedy ex-wife desired it, more than him. He holes up in his studio with his battered ego, until Claire interrupts his brooding and tries to steal the piece of art. After he catches her, Sinjin bribes her. With Claire, he’ll be able to get rid of the bloody thing and make sure it doesn’t get near his ex or any museum.
They abscond with the exhibit and move it to Sinjin’s gallery. Their sketchy alliance deepens. Claire and Sinjin rediscover trust and find love. But before the debut opening, a Steampunk send-off for Coal or Steam, the ploy goes awry. A museum toady makes off with the sculpture. And Claire is kidnapped…at knifepoint.
Sincerely,
T.Q.
ARTY SMARTY
Claire fiddled with the knobs in the museum’s old VW bus. No air conditioning. Instead, she found an eight-track tape player and a cigarette lighter. Neither were a help on this unexpected Indian summer day.
Since she drove out of the university parking lot,Milwaukee
She swerved onto theLake Bluff County
N toward her destination, the voice on
her phone’s GPS announced ten miles to Reid's residence on the shores of Lake Michigan
The prospect of meeting the rock star of modern art, Sinjin Reid, reduced Claire to a giddy groupie. He was a mixed-media artist, not a pop idol. But his wall sculpture, Coal or Steam, was off the charts.
Her phone rang with the Funeral March. She batted her silver chandelier earring out of the way with her headset and slipped it on.
“Hello,Lawrence
“Ms. Raffen, have you retrieved Mr. Reid’s Steampunk, ah, sculpture. I mean the donation, yet?”
Claire heard him snort his phlegm back up into his sinus cavities. She grimaced. “I’m almost at his studio to pick it up. Victorious Steam will open on Thursday night as scheduled. There won’t be any delays.”
“If you’re unable to procure that mass of metal for your new-age dog and pony show, I’ll have to take over the exhibit.”
Assistant Curator, Claire Raffen, is anxious to meet her idol, rock-star artist, Sinjin Reid. She’s desperate to pick up his masterpiece to hang in her exhibit, Victorious Steam. If she doesn't acquire the sculpture, she can kiss her job at the
Sinjin Reid hid his metal sculpture, Coal or Steam, after his greedy ex-wife desired it, more than him. He holes up in his studio with his battered ego, until Claire interrupts his brooding and tries to steal the piece of art. After he catches her, Sinjin bribes her. With Claire, he’ll be able to get rid of the bloody thing and make sure it doesn’t get near his ex or any museum.
They abscond with the exhibit and move it to Sinjin’s gallery. Their sketchy alliance deepens. Claire and Sinjin rediscover trust and find love. But before the debut opening, a Steampunk send-off for Coal or Steam, the ploy goes awry. A museum toady makes off with the sculpture. And Claire is kidnapped…at knifepoint.
Sincerely,
T.Q.
ARTY SMARTY
Claire fiddled with the knobs in the museum’s old VW bus. No air conditioning. Instead, she found an eight-track tape player and a cigarette lighter. Neither were a help on this unexpected Indian summer day.
Since she drove out of the university parking lot,
She swerved onto the
The prospect of meeting the rock star of modern art, Sinjin Reid, reduced Claire to a giddy groupie. He was a mixed-media artist, not a pop idol. But his wall sculpture, Coal or Steam, was off the charts.
Her phone rang with the Funeral March. She batted her silver chandelier earring out of the way with her headset and slipped it on.
“Hello,
“Ms. Raffen, have you retrieved Mr. Reid’s Steampunk, ah, sculpture. I mean the donation, yet?”
Claire heard him snort his phlegm back up into his sinus cavities. She grimaced. “I’m almost at his studio to pick it up. Victorious Steam will open on Thursday night as scheduled. There won’t be any delays.”
“If you’re unable to procure that mass of metal for your new-age dog and pony show, I’ll have to take over the exhibit.”
An Agent's Inbox #6
Dear Agent,
I am seeking representation for my 85,000 Adult Urban Fantasy novel, AFFAIRS OF THE DEAD.
Necromancer Selene Vanream helps ghosts settle their affairs so they can fade to the afterlife. However, after her often illegal methods of helping her clients lands her in trouble (she helped a virginal ghost get laid for example), she’s downgraded to tracking ghosts who hide out, since ghosts that linger too long become murderous beasties. And here Selene thought having an affair with the boss would get her out of trouble, not into it.
While tracking, Selene finds Ethan, a ghost who claims he was ousted from his body and someone else jumped in. Selene suspects reanimation; a power only a minority of necromancers have, including Selene. Reanimation entails bringing a corpse back to life using the soul from a living body, but that doesn’t add up to how Ethan became a ghost. What’s worse, partnered with Micah, a one night stand who turned hostile after, Selene investigates murders where the evidence pinpoints Ethan’s stolen body as the culprit.
When Selene accidentally binds herself to Ethan, she begins to understand the scope of reanimation, and gains power that could put Ethan back into his body. Selene has more than one reason to help Ethan though, because being ghost bound incurs the Rot, which will gradually decay her body due to constant exposure to ghost energy. Throw in a shifting relationship with Micah and a suddenly possessive boss, and Selene will learn just how much trouble you can get into when you don’t follow the rules.
AFFAIRS OF THE DEAD can stand alone but has series potential. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
A.E.
AFFAIRS OF THE DEAD
I was in a strip club trying to help a ghost get laid, which was challenging, but not impossible. It was just extremely taxing on the necromancer extraordinaire (me) who had to channel energy into the ghost to make her corporeal enough to entice one of the stripper boys. Technically what I was doing was illegal, but it was my job to help ghosts settle their affairs so they could move on to eternally ever after, and Julia’s unfinished business was that she’d died a virgin. I’d made it as easy as I could for her by starting at a strip club; if she couldn’t get some here I wasn’t sure how much lower I could scrape the barrel.
Julia’s prolonged virginity was an enigma to me, even though she claimed she’d been waiting for her soul mate. I just didn’t understand why waiting for her soul mate meant she couldn’t hit up a bar, get drunk, and have a fun, regret filled weekend that included the walk of shame. At least she’d have been in better shape once soul mate came around.
“What do you think about him?” I asked, pointing to one of the oiled up men who were gyrating for the benefit of all the screaming women. He had blond hair and green eyes, and was well muscled but not overly so. Julia looked at him then quickly looked away. I took that as a sign of approval.
“I think this was a bad idea,” she stammered.
I am seeking representation for my 85,000 Adult Urban Fantasy novel, AFFAIRS OF THE DEAD.
Necromancer Selene Vanream helps ghosts settle their affairs so they can fade to the afterlife. However, after her often illegal methods of helping her clients lands her in trouble (she helped a virginal ghost get laid for example), she’s downgraded to tracking ghosts who hide out, since ghosts that linger too long become murderous beasties. And here Selene thought having an affair with the boss would get her out of trouble, not into it.
While tracking, Selene finds Ethan, a ghost who claims he was ousted from his body and someone else jumped in. Selene suspects reanimation; a power only a minority of necromancers have, including Selene. Reanimation entails bringing a corpse back to life using the soul from a living body, but that doesn’t add up to how Ethan became a ghost. What’s worse, partnered with Micah, a one night stand who turned hostile after, Selene investigates murders where the evidence pinpoints Ethan’s stolen body as the culprit.
When Selene accidentally binds herself to Ethan, she begins to understand the scope of reanimation, and gains power that could put Ethan back into his body. Selene has more than one reason to help Ethan though, because being ghost bound incurs the Rot, which will gradually decay her body due to constant exposure to ghost energy. Throw in a shifting relationship with Micah and a suddenly possessive boss, and Selene will learn just how much trouble you can get into when you don’t follow the rules.
AFFAIRS OF THE DEAD can stand alone but has series potential. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
A.E.
AFFAIRS OF THE DEAD
I was in a strip club trying to help a ghost get laid, which was challenging, but not impossible. It was just extremely taxing on the necromancer extraordinaire (me) who had to channel energy into the ghost to make her corporeal enough to entice one of the stripper boys. Technically what I was doing was illegal, but it was my job to help ghosts settle their affairs so they could move on to eternally ever after, and Julia’s unfinished business was that she’d died a virgin. I’d made it as easy as I could for her by starting at a strip club; if she couldn’t get some here I wasn’t sure how much lower I could scrape the barrel.
Julia’s prolonged virginity was an enigma to me, even though she claimed she’d been waiting for her soul mate. I just didn’t understand why waiting for her soul mate meant she couldn’t hit up a bar, get drunk, and have a fun, regret filled weekend that included the walk of shame. At least she’d have been in better shape once soul mate came around.
“What do you think about him?” I asked, pointing to one of the oiled up men who were gyrating for the benefit of all the screaming women. He had blond hair and green eyes, and was well muscled but not overly so. Julia looked at him then quickly looked away. I took that as a sign of approval.
“I think this was a bad idea,” she stammered.
An Agent's Inbox #5
Dear Agent,
I am seeking representation for LIFE AFTER LILIES, a women’s fiction manuscript complete at 70,000 words.
Dee Adams never gave second chances much thought…until she became a time-traveling dead woman.
Before she landed on cancer’s hit list,Dee
was a commitment-challenged artist who wished her designs lived on gallery
walls rather than cereal boxes. Also, she wished her best friends didn’t have
to carry on without her, that her ex hadn’t moved on (with someone better),
that she’d done more with her nearly 40 years, and that the (d***) cancer had
picked someone else.
But forDee , death is only
the beginning. Forced into a play by play of her former life, she quickly
learns things are not always as they seem. As she travels between her past and
the present she’s no longer a part of, the life she knew begins to unravel:
there are dark secrets buried inside her lifelong friendships; she’s shocked by
her parents’ betrayal with her one true love; she never should have trusted
that medicine woman’s prediction; and she can only blame herself for life's
bitter disappointments. With regrets building, friendships failing, and no way to
fix any of it from her posthumous perch, she’s left to wonder: Is it ever too late for second chances?
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
K.B.
LIFE AFTER LILIES
Lilies. I wasn’t sure I could forgive my mother for this.
I can’t believe she ordered the d*** lilies.
The most unoriginal funeral flower and they were everywhere: on my coffin, in bouquets at each pew and in a giant wreath that encircled a practically life-sized photo of me with a closed-mouth smile. I didn’t remember the photo being taken and as I peered more closely, I had to admit it looked nothing like me. Aside from the crow’s feet that had appeared the day I turned thirty-five. Was that only five years ago? How depressing this was how I would be remembered: two-dimensional and toothless, immortalized in a lily life preserver.
As best as I could figure, I’d been dead about four days. Breast cancer. I’d been disappointed the grim reaper wasn’t arriving thanks to something more exotic, or at least harder to pronounce. Like lieyosarcoma or malignant meningioma. And I was so over the token ribbons plastered on everything from workout socks to concrete trucks. Pastel pink had no business in battle.
I had no clue where I’d been for the last four days, or what came next. But it didn’t matter. I knew my funeral was merely a stopover. I was as dead as those lilies would be by tomorrow, once the oasis dried up.
The flowers’ sickly sweet smell was getting to me, making it hard to think about anything else. Could I ever use a nap, I thought. Being dead was exhausting.
I am seeking representation for LIFE AFTER LILIES, a women’s fiction manuscript complete at 70,000 words.
Dee Adams never gave second chances much thought…until she became a time-traveling dead woman.
Before she landed on cancer’s hit list,
But for
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
K.B.
LIFE AFTER LILIES
Lilies. I wasn’t sure I could forgive my mother for this.
I can’t believe she ordered the d*** lilies.
The most unoriginal funeral flower and they were everywhere: on my coffin, in bouquets at each pew and in a giant wreath that encircled a practically life-sized photo of me with a closed-mouth smile. I didn’t remember the photo being taken and as I peered more closely, I had to admit it looked nothing like me. Aside from the crow’s feet that had appeared the day I turned thirty-five. Was that only five years ago? How depressing this was how I would be remembered: two-dimensional and toothless, immortalized in a lily life preserver.
As best as I could figure, I’d been dead about four days. Breast cancer. I’d been disappointed the grim reaper wasn’t arriving thanks to something more exotic, or at least harder to pronounce. Like lieyosarcoma or malignant meningioma. And I was so over the token ribbons plastered on everything from workout socks to concrete trucks. Pastel pink had no business in battle.
I had no clue where I’d been for the last four days, or what came next. But it didn’t matter. I knew my funeral was merely a stopover. I was as dead as those lilies would be by tomorrow, once the oasis dried up.
The flowers’ sickly sweet smell was getting to me, making it hard to think about anything else. Could I ever use a nap, I thought. Being dead was exhausting.
An Agent's Inbox #4
Dear Agent,
Lanterne excels at three things: arithmetic, arranging
furniture, and manslaughter.
With the ability to spawn teeth from her skin at will, she’s
an impenetrable wall for would-be assassins. Illegally hired to protect one of
the few noble houses remaining in Armaze, Lanterne prowls the city to prevent
others like herself from killing her employer in a bloody battle for the king’s
seat.
In the beginning, Lanterne is complacent standing by while
her city falls apart. But when she discovers the sudden murder of the one
person she trusts, Lanterne realizes her greatest enemy may not be assassins
lurking in the dark, but a reigning priest who will stop at nothing to convert
a “heathen” people--even if it means awakening a centuries-old plague to drive
them to his gods.
CITY OF TEETH Brigham Young
University and currently work as a
technical writer and editor in Salt
Lake City , Utah
Thank you so much for your time. I look forward to hearing
from you.
Sincerely,
C.N.H.
CITY OF TEETH
Lanterne paused at the end of the hallway, eyes flickering
between the fallen guard and the Scion who had murdered him--a young man with
narrow shoulders and a third arm protruding from his chest, the hand of which
gripped a bloody dagger. Tamus’s kerosene lamp glinted against the floor, not
three inches from his lifeless hand.
The Scion smiled and sucked his third arm back into his
exposed chest, passing the dagger to his right hand as he did so. Oddly early
for an assassination--Lanterne had only been on patrol half an hour before
hearing Tamus’s shout. She didn’t recognize the Scion before her, even as he
stepped over the guard’s body and into the light. He was new.
He was stupid.
Lanterne reached for the kama
on her back--small crescent scythes with jagged blades--and the Scion charged,
spawning a new arm under each of his own. Lanterne ran to meet him, shoulder
sliding against the left wall. He tried to grab her with the left spawned arm
as he slashed with his natural right. She ducked, blocked the blade with the
handle of a kama . Where were his other knives?
No arm-spawning Scion would bring only one weapon.
And she was right; he reached for a sword at his left side;
a poor choice, in these closed quarters. A poor choice, to start a fight
wielding only one dagger. The breeders had gotten stupid with their training.
An Agent's Inbox #3
Dear Agent,
Pete's life isn't great, but he gets along. It's not like he's the only person in the world to have an alcoholic for a mother and a dad who's AWOL. So what if he releases the pressure with a joint or a stolen car every now and then? He doesn't keep the cars. He's not hurting anyone.
Sonny's life isn't great, but it's better than most. There are worse things than moving away from your friends or being ignored by your workaholic mother. But knowing this doesn't make it easier when your mother interrupts your conversation to take a phone call. When that happens, the cute guy flirting from the expensive car is a welcomed distraction. At least until he loses control of the car and smashes it right into her.
Pete and Sonny may wake in different hospitals, but they wake with something in common. Both have received blood tainted with the power to manipulate space, to be wherever they want in an instant. The people with whom the power originated are being hunted through worlds, leaving more dead behind them every time they flee. Pete and Sonny could help. Or they could keep themselves to themselves and stay alive.
But the more time they spend exploring their newfound abilities, the more attention they draw and the more their options disappear. It isn't long before they realize that to keep from being prey, they must become the hunters.
ONE HUNDRED KNOWN WORLDS is a completed, 83,000 word young adult contemporary fantasy. I am a member of SCBWI, attend a weekly writers' group, and blog regularly. I'd be happy to send additional materials upon request.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
D.M.
ONE HUNDRED KNOWN WORLDS
The way Pete saw it, he was doing the guy a favor. You didn’t leave a Maserati Quattroporte parked on Patterson, with the doors unlocked no less, without wanting it gone. Simple as that. Parking a Maserati in this part of Southie was just another way of saying, “Hey man, I could really use the insurance money right now. Help a guy out.”
Pete was nothing if not helpful.
How to liberate a car was the only useful skill his father had seen fit to pass on before he'd become no more than a name on the bottom of sporadic child support checks. Pete had paid attention. It took a few minutes--he was rusty on his big game skills--but he worked it out. It didn’t hurt that the windows were tinted all to hell and back, either. He ducked below the dash to work, so no one was going to see him unless they opened the door.
When the engine purred to life, so did he, electric excitement coursing from the gas pedal right up through his body. He felt like a king as he eased into the midday traffic. King of what, he didn't know, but it didn't matter for now. For now all that mattered was how the pulse of the Maserati became his own, and how he didn't have to think about anything but the feel of the road beneath him. Time to celebrate.
He fished a smoke from his stash and lit up.
Pete's life isn't great, but he gets along. It's not like he's the only person in the world to have an alcoholic for a mother and a dad who's AWOL. So what if he releases the pressure with a joint or a stolen car every now and then? He doesn't keep the cars. He's not hurting anyone.
Sonny's life isn't great, but it's better than most. There are worse things than moving away from your friends or being ignored by your workaholic mother. But knowing this doesn't make it easier when your mother interrupts your conversation to take a phone call. When that happens, the cute guy flirting from the expensive car is a welcomed distraction. At least until he loses control of the car and smashes it right into her.
Pete and Sonny may wake in different hospitals, but they wake with something in common. Both have received blood tainted with the power to manipulate space, to be wherever they want in an instant. The people with whom the power originated are being hunted through worlds, leaving more dead behind them every time they flee. Pete and Sonny could help. Or they could keep themselves to themselves and stay alive.
But the more time they spend exploring their newfound abilities, the more attention they draw and the more their options disappear. It isn't long before they realize that to keep from being prey, they must become the hunters.
ONE HUNDRED KNOWN WORLDS is a completed, 83,000 word young adult contemporary fantasy. I am a member of SCBWI, attend a weekly writers' group, and blog regularly. I'd be happy to send additional materials upon request.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
D.M.
ONE HUNDRED KNOWN WORLDS
The way Pete saw it, he was doing the guy a favor. You didn’t leave a Maserati Quattroporte parked on Patterson, with the doors unlocked no less, without wanting it gone. Simple as that. Parking a Maserati in this part of Southie was just another way of saying, “Hey man, I could really use the insurance money right now. Help a guy out.”
Pete was nothing if not helpful.
How to liberate a car was the only useful skill his father had seen fit to pass on before he'd become no more than a name on the bottom of sporadic child support checks. Pete had paid attention. It took a few minutes--he was rusty on his big game skills--but he worked it out. It didn’t hurt that the windows were tinted all to hell and back, either. He ducked below the dash to work, so no one was going to see him unless they opened the door.
When the engine purred to life, so did he, electric excitement coursing from the gas pedal right up through his body. He felt like a king as he eased into the midday traffic. King of what, he didn't know, but it didn't matter for now. For now all that mattered was how the pulse of the Maserati became his own, and how he didn't have to think about anything but the feel of the road beneath him. Time to celebrate.
He fished a smoke from his stash and lit up.
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