tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58732565327727081602024-03-18T20:30:06.826-07:00What She Wroteshe writes about the creating and reading of booksRachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.comBlogger179125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-79283271137107928042018-04-12T11:00:00.001-07:002018-04-12T11:00:58.077-07:00Winter Poetry Sampler 2017-2018<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzchY5WLMIUN1V2FOUIwNFB8new25uL8QfecZ74gLy7QfGPDdsqX0MVZ5Dep01M4ydnbuTCWLoraTSnHvm6-JDTnpncF9uzW-UupBYZCMQ_1cB7rXvyruF1hBo_owNBM8AakyW8o-a9WS/s1600/frozen-lake-news-feature.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzchY5WLMIUN1V2FOUIwNFB8new25uL8QfecZ74gLy7QfGPDdsqX0MVZ5Dep01M4ydnbuTCWLoraTSnHvm6-JDTnpncF9uzW-UupBYZCMQ_1cB7rXvyruF1hBo_owNBM8AakyW8o-a9WS/s640/frozen-lake-news-feature.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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These poems were written between November 2017 and April 2018.<br />
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<b>snowing equinox </b><br />
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maybe the sky</div>
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is depressed </div>
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i’ll encourage you, firmament, </div>
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to kiss my skin again</div>
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and weep no more in icy sorry </div>
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they may not understand </div>
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but i do</div>
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<b>frankenstein (poems of an autobiographical nature viii)</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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i am tired of </div>
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the frankenstein </div>
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of ideal me</div>
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patched up in my anxious mind </div>
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can’t accept</div>
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i’m just not this frankenstein</div>
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of better words and prettier form of sweeter lips and popularity </div>
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knock knock </div>
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remember who you wanna be</div>
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well you’re not</div>
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someone shoot this monster or set its ship a sail and let me sleep in peace as </div>
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myself</div>
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<b>new aesthetics</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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screw pittsburgh’s osmosis into my creative soul </div>
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i now admire dead leaves’ curls</div>
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and smoke stained brick</div>
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people-scarred land and drug-scarred people </div>
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truck-crunched beer cans, confetti on the cracked highways</div>
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so many sad boys here</div>
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we laugh in philadelphia</div>
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our grass is greener </div>
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they bleed brains and gold </div>
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pollution and wanderers </div>
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makes sense</div>
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not all steel is magnetic </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>poems for they i know (part v)</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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antithesis to my creative gods </div>
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clouds to sunshine and old coffee</div>
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wearing your baggage under your eyes </div>
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writing your soul in between all cows eat grass </div>
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and erratic punctuation </div>
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and kind silence as we pulled apart daisies </div>
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not counting lovers but minutes to escape each other’s airspace </div>
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this old empty skyline sags parallel to your shoulders </div>
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two different kinds of alone </div>
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but your magnetic insignificance so unreadable </div>
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everyone knows you</div>
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but near no one knows you </div>
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“i don’t want to be here” </div>
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“haha that makes two of us” </div>
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“as in, this planet.”</div>
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“also makes two of us.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>poems for they i know part vi </b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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heart cries a river and eyes hold the sky,</div>
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voice fills the mind and words steel my shoulders </div>
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sing me a storm song, lovely. </div>
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they broke your clouds but your rains, they loved me. </div>
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the world doesn’t end beyond the horizon. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>haiku xii - beautiful </b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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when a boy told me</div>
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i was beautiful i for-</div>
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got i ever was </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>opened ears</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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silence?</div>
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why hardly.</div>
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the world is also a psalter.</div>
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<br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helveticaneue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><b>summerset </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helveticaneue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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gonna watch this summerset in the golds and greens</div>
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of pennsylvania;</div>
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gonna leave this field of dustbowl dreams </div>
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and neon signs of yesteryears;</div>
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bury myself in dead men’s memories </div>
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and wrap myself in your arms.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><strike>r o b i n s </strike></b></div>
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<b><strike><br /></strike></b></div>
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joyous fury as spring rages in </div>
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i sit in the rain and they frame me</div>
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ring around a reasoner </div>
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<br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></div>
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can’t conjure a renewed love and drive for what i do</div>
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i only dream of bills anymore</div>
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and so with wrecked headphones and a lack of resolution</div>
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i wander through song’s successful shots at three minute self expression</div>
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<br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></div>
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someone push me off my beaten path and i’ll find the words again </div>
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<b><strike><br /></strike></b></div>
</div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-36978105125643037922017-12-14T09:04:00.002-08:002017-12-14T09:08:48.385-08:00Summer/Fall Poetry Sampler 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBheeVdjLd0OgURZaHrH3B7PyUQw2QmvmD6iDIDZuwC4x41bo8x4QJAD6IuxlIT8Q17sul-q3Hs54QsaQJv3yxuUzCH6Knb2KVFPX92NvbwiHeJTVtXBnshSjON3z8mmSB6jGYiI27evRq/s1600/DSC_4298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBheeVdjLd0OgURZaHrH3B7PyUQw2QmvmD6iDIDZuwC4x41bo8x4QJAD6IuxlIT8Q17sul-q3Hs54QsaQJv3yxuUzCH6Knb2KVFPX92NvbwiHeJTVtXBnshSjON3z8mmSB6jGYiI27evRq/s640/DSC_4298.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
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These were all penned between July and December of 2017. I wrote a lot less and as a result what I did write was more raw.<br />
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*Note on dear former best friend: if you are reading it, it does not refer to you and was written during a social anxiety attack*<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colorado</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">i wore your old hoodie,</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">covered in fingerprints of memories</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">of stolen laughs in old libraries,</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and i cut through miles and pines and storms </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">into a stretched out sky </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the color of your smiling eyes</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and flavored with chilled infinity.</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">i stand in peaks touched by sight alone</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">and silent they hold vigil </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">on the centuries, but i</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">just quietly wish you were here. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Counterculture</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">the past bites my view of the future </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">{ paper cuts on my retinas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">smog on my skyline</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">chains on my wrists</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">rocks in my nets }</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">america says, live dreaming till you wake up dead </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">or save sleep for the grave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i say, give another heart a reason to beat</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and keep walking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">all roads go somewhere. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>mistakes</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">cement this resolution in the highway of my soul,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">won’t look over my shoulder at the red lights i blew </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and the closed exits into goals i won’t hook nor attract,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">won’t check my rearview mirror for the dead dreams</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i amused my mind with on wide awake nights.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">they still look closer than they appear </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">but i know that’s just the vhs of memory </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">distorted by dust, static, and a handful of the solar flares</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i call a tendency toward self-deprecation by means </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">of a sickening neon cocktail;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">overconfidence with a splash of doubt over rocks </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">of cold reality: stars don’t get you wishes, just neck cramps </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">from staring too long. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">instead, i’m mapping out the stars in our eyes,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> pulling the top back for mouthfuls of interstate wind </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and i’ll measure my life by heart rate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">you always send it on a run anyways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>american love</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">he’s ohio cornfields and kentucky mountain blue,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">all quiet starlit forests and the loud atlantic too,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">with legs to scale the mountains, and hands to catch the sky,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">with eyes for appalachia and the tall girl by his side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">she’s pennsylvania chocolate, oklahoma sunset gold, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">with a taste for colorado, the nonstop and the bold, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">with a mind to race the clocks and untangle thoughts of man,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and a smile she unbottles for her sweet ohioan. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">they untie this knot of rivers to the city of steel bright,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">to dance above their sorrows, to get lost in the night,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and every autumn sure as day she’ll find her way to him</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and every day as sure as fall he’ll twirl her on a whim. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>love cannot be a fire</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">love cannot be a fire, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">for fire feasts on fuel and dies </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">when nothing more can give. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">love must be a forest,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">ever growing, ever blossoming,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">ever standing strong </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">amidst the seasons changing</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>dear former best friend</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">dear former best friend</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i know the exact way to stroke your hair to make you fall asleep</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and the temperature of your tears</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i know your brazen soul too well</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">it nearly pushed me off a bridge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(ironically the color of your eyes and </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">the lake we last took a picture smiling)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">now if i saw your unsorry figure</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">your curves you so proudly carry</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">sometimes i think i’d break your nose</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">damage your face</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">give a permanent mark</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">like you permanently</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">damaged</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">my mind</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(and laughed) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and then maybe you'd understand what's happened to me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">no one'd look at you the same, either</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and while in reality i am the grace that walked on me and i will opt to never</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">try and chain myself to your approval again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i do not understand the honey-flavored poison under your hypocritical tongue</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">it wrings tears from my dry eyes on late nights</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">peace</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i know it now no thanks to you but rather thanks to your absence </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and your successor who takes my hand and shows me</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">you never were what i thought i loved </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">how it breaks me </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">break break break</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">how hard is it, i beg you, to say</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i was wrong</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>school</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> i get high on ancient thought</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>tourist</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i am a tourist in this life,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">just here for the food and experience,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">but i know i don’t belong here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">somebody tell me when the train for the next arrives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i think i’ve seen enough of this rain-gray place. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"><b>haiku vi</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">love, the only stars</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i will ever wish upon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">are those in your eyes </span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-87844354999753641602017-07-20T18:03:00.002-07:002017-07-20T19:08:03.733-07:00#PimpMyBio: Bethany Stevenson (YA, Comedic Fantasy)<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hello there!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mentors, past mentees, friends, CPs, PitchWars hopefuls, and writers:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My name is Bethany Stevenson and this is my #PimpMyBio:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfXAtx6WAS4BisHefiPNI_XXXxOcOEcsKY298fJpP2Pkkcq-8QIaVXu4ml2xNoTEXizwLa1XG73s5MdHE04Jdq4penwKCV7s-KOCAHkkrZETMyn4WpB3E2dMyBPAY0uwC5DTGux1fcoB8/s1600/19225323_1700940046877179_8019094208862935272_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfXAtx6WAS4BisHefiPNI_XXXxOcOEcsKY298fJpP2Pkkcq-8QIaVXu4ml2xNoTEXizwLa1XG73s5MdHE04Jdq4penwKCV7s-KOCAHkkrZETMyn4WpB3E2dMyBPAY0uwC5DTGux1fcoB8/s200/19225323_1700940046877179_8019094208862935272_n.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">BIO:</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hated books until I was nine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My sister handed me the Phantom Tollbooth and I read the whole thing in one sitting. Ever since, my imagination expanded outside the typical Narnia. (which I loved to play with my sister, despite never reading it on my own at that point) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Since then, I've fallen in love with Joel Ross, William Joyce, Shannon Messenger, Ransom Riggs, N.D. Wilson, Leo Tolstoy, Sabaa Tahir, Eoin Colfer, Orson Scott Card (All the Ender Books people, not just the first. I read every. single. one. Bean included) Wade Albert White, Markus Zusak, Michael Ende, and a whole lot more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Star Wars didn't help either. When I was almost ten everything was Jedi in my life, or ninjas, or secret agents. After that, I wanted to follow my sister's footsteps and finish writing a book. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Everything went downhill from there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm also an aspiring artist! (If you want to know more find me on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCrR8im16mXvLJzi0Shg36aA" target="_blank">youtube</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/bethanystevenson_art/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> </span><span style="font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif;">)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm a third year PitchWars hopeful, CP, and like you, an author. Don't let my twitter following deceive you; I've only been on about 10 months. Somehow, I've made a LOT of writer connections.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've been mentored during #NoQS (Nightmare on Query Street) for a YA Dark Fantasy and was one of those #TeenPit kids (who sadly didn't win a PW slot or as a runner up, but my mentor was literally worth the entire contest. If you're her future Mentee for PitchWars, I'm jealous.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm also the co-host to my sister's bloghop #YayYA, which some of the mentors in PitchWars have participated in before their book deals! Which is totally awesome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first round of YayYA was the first time I'd ever put my writing into the "real world. "I was overly nervous. But last year, after I submitted to PW, I HAD to join the community, so I set up a Twitter, and stalked the hashtag. I soon found readers, CPs, and eventually amazing friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've been a writer my whole life. (I know that's not very long if you know the entry age limit to TeenPit, but I finished my first 100 page novel at age 9 and have completed about 37 full first drafts since. They're not great, but I'm proud of each one)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But this time, I'm not submitting the YA Dark Fantasy I've been writing and revising and throwing into other contest slush piles for a year now. I originally planned to, but something new came along...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So I'm submitting something that is literally it's opposite. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A YA Comedic Fantasy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I love it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Let me introduce you to my new book baby: FIGHTING CLICHÉS...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">First, here's my first photoshop job, a wallpaper inspired by the book:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90PP-wvR2hDq6RyqwoZ718yENU1TNfLqVnfhh3YQ5U3WX1O5JGn-_5VqY0z04abgY_jRsfpENbmUnTgmzmFEI-pDLJ4b5z2ugvQRIihKGL3Lib0hk-mu-vusB6h7MEg2gFavHPDP8nPHd/s1600/Wallpaper+bw.png" imageanchor="1"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90PP-wvR2hDq6RyqwoZ718yENU1TNfLqVnfhh3YQ5U3WX1O5JGn-_5VqY0z04abgY_jRsfpENbmUnTgmzmFEI-pDLJ4b5z2ugvQRIihKGL3Lib0hk-mu-vusB6h7MEg2gFavHPDP8nPHd/s400/Wallpaper+bw.png" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">*stops staring* Okay, guess I better tell you what it features:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>In a world where adventures are published into novels and where being original is key to being noticed, is a quick-witted girl named Brianna. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Her parents are famous novel heroes; their adventures, mysteries, and quests have been filling library shelves in the world of Novella for years. And now that Brianna is 15, old enough for an adventure, it's her turn. </i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">She’s day dreamed of what her adventure might entail. Seafaring-griffon hunts or rescuing lost relics in deserts or anything </span>whimsical is<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> preferable. But she's declared a Chosen One and sent off with a typical mentor wizard, a glowing sword, and a ridiculously annoying comedic-sidekick to fulfill a prophecy by defeating a necromancer in a tower. </span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Brianna's dreams are <b>crushed</b>. </i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>No Great Author will want to write her into a story once her adventure is complete: cliché tropes don't sell. </i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "times new roman";">As things start to look like Brianna will be sent to work in a </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">one-shot-fluff fanfiction theater for the rest of her life, she decides to ruin her own story. By leaving the </span></span><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">elf parties, losing heir trials, and breaking the hearts of love interests</span>, she takes control of her own adventure, twisting things into the way she wanted them to be. </span></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>If she doesn’t complete the prophecy, the necromancer will kill her. Except, finishing the prophecy as proclaimed might ruin her chances to attract a future writer to publish her novel. </i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's some more my book features that I know you're gonna want:</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">If my book were a mash up of other stories/movies it would be: GALAXY QUEST meets MY LADY JANE, with the oddity of THE ADVENTURER'S GUIDE TO SUCCESSFUL ESCAPES and the humor of the YA BROODING HERO. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It also has references to: Harry Potter, The Hobbit, Star Wars, Star Trek, Cinder, An Ember in the Ashes, Princess Bride, Disney Villains, Lord of the Rings, Ms. Peregrine's, Hans Zimmer, and more... <span style="font-size: x-small;">I just forgot</span>. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">But you, as the reader, (and mentor, right? <3) get to find them <i>all</i>!! </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I came up with this idea, I literally researched every blog post on avoiding clichés and what to look out for in novels for tropes... and used. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On <i>purpose</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Boy, did Brianna get ticked about that.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Want to know even MORE?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It features:</span></div>
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<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Smart-witted girl MC who takes matters into her own hands without kicking everyone's butt all the time. Brianna doesn't need to be heartless or have blood on her hands to be tough. She'll blow a place up though if it really annoys her.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Genre mash-ups. (I mean, Lake Town meets Divergent, people.)</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ninja, elf princess bounty hunter, who loves fashion and friends.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Complex world. The World of Novella contains every genre possible to imagine. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Light-hearted Fantasy </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Voice. Brianna mixes snark and concern. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Twists on tropes, as noted.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Subtle retelling hints throughout. Like a castle transformation similar to Beauty and the Beast. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dragons and wolves and elves and princesses and mages... I mean, c'mon! </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Girl BFFs working together. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unique places and characters. Trust me, Try combining Twilight and Tinkerbell. When you've got a Gandalf type character arguing with an Olaf type character or a redheaded rebel ranger trying to apply into a rip off Hogwarts, it gets crazy. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Tight families</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Teamwork</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">anti-heroes</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">pop culture references</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Fourth Wall</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Author groups</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">An ending message for any struggling artistic person.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Brianna struggles with the passion to get out there in the novel world, but she's got to be noticed first, and she has to work hard. This book is almost like the life of an author trying to become published, except, from a character's POV to be in the book. And she's not going to give up on her journey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So let's go get them PitchWars people!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is me and my story...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> What's yours?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">*side note* this is NOT my blog. I'm borrowing my sister's because she's amazing. Thanks Rachel!!</span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-11740865042458548662017-07-06T07:02:00.000-07:002017-07-06T07:08:25.189-07:00Spring 2017 Poetry Sampler <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhIi2V1lLvJ36ZcsLjUCAB2A40qrvNeF2yF3lLAdawWHJkJsAQ0v4ZYAkKju37wxOC9jGr40ubGVhctKhXZimsdf3VJgZzT1j5hTJXoDHeTVJ2xpqP16QeIBT5zUx4nakiIQh1u1-PvPu/s1600/e6dcfdd5a5ad908cb08ac66a6c0a4a4a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjhIi2V1lLvJ36ZcsLjUCAB2A40qrvNeF2yF3lLAdawWHJkJsAQ0v4ZYAkKju37wxOC9jGr40ubGVhctKhXZimsdf3VJgZzT1j5hTJXoDHeTVJ2xpqP16QeIBT5zUx4nakiIQh1u1-PvPu/s1600/e6dcfdd5a5ad908cb08ac66a6c0a4a4a.jpg" /></a></div>
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Below you will find another set of poetry, mostly free verse. These were penned between March and June.<br />
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<b>haiku iii (couplet)</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">rise thou soaring chords</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i breathe in love to sing light </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and color’s touch </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;" /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">sing, wind shine and wide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i feel bright silence in flight</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">of mutual gaze </span></div>
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<b>andrei in the field </b><br />
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<i>(another short poem in my series of war and peace verses)</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">to face again one’s insignificance </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">in the only field where he failed everyone but himself</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">in a world where everyone fails him, including himself </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>social anxiety- poem of an autobiographical nature vi</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i am sorry that</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> i am sorry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">can’t peel this aluminum foil off my heart, my eyes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">sometimes i want to escape the sunrise in a black deep dive </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">hear the silence;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">not break another neck. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i weigh my presence on the scales of toleration,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">measure the hypotenuse of the light in their eyes,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">wear artificial confidence around my throat, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">whiten my smile with hope and fear. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">initiate, someone, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">for otherwise my anxiety will always initiate as i drag my heels behind </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">its giggling grip on the back of my neck on a wild goose chase </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">for validation it then destroys me with and poisons my sleep. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">initiate and tell me </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“i want to be here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">for i live in constant terror that anxiety’s mask over my eyes </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">will be the only me you ever know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<b>braces</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">they are</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">removing my braces tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">no more teeth corset.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">how many unspoken words will they find caught in those wires?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>disembark </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">seven forty four.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">handfuls of sleepy tulsans blink past glass and the landed plane</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">at the gathering gray swamp of storms huddling on the horizon,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and all is silence and country music spread thin</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">over linoleum.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">seven forty five.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">a door opens</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and tumbles out five dozen chattering californians.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">culture clashes in the doorframe as over and into </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">the midwestern quiet they flood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">the tulsans side eye hurried noise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">intruders.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">wake not the midwest until it so desires.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>aprilesque </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">spring sugars even the earthen corners in pinkened whispered laughter</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and lilts across mountainous oceans of newly wakened trees.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">it is aprilesque. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">gray diamond rain slicks the skies</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and the wind breathes down my throat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">let's unfold our minds in the darkness to a concerto of birdsong </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">under two carat stars and pearl strings of falling wishes</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">in the raw of new grass. i’ll plant blossoms on your heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">it is aprilesque</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and i living.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>miles</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">veins on my maps and roads on my wrists </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i can see my smile in his eyes </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">wind in my lungs and breath in the air </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">do you want to run away into tomorrow, today? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i’ll scatter dandelion fluff and wander the miles </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">allotted to me with your name in my heart </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>tourist </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i am a tourist in this life,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">just here for the food and experience,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">but i know i don’t belong here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">somebody tell me when the train for the next arrives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">for eternity, i do believe?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i think i’ve seen enough of this rain-gray place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>and then silence fell</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and then silence fell</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">floating floating down on lamplit rain </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">the cloudy sky blending with your eyes </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(that i couldn’t look at), </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">your jacket</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(that i looked at instead).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i still smell that night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>newcomerstown </b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">picture frame of small-town lights, travel-worn asphalt,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and a blush-stained sky, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">leaning on the rock of your shoulder i</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> cast my net and gather a jar of memories and fireflies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">we breathe in moonlit nostalgia and smile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">no wish wasted on a falling rock; </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">love is to dance and polish this planet in the rough </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">with starlight, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">{this ball of bones and coffined memories at quiet peace}</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and sew constellations out of the dreams</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">we whispered </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and blew over dandelions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">here in newcomerstown, somewhere, ohio, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">in sunsoftened grass, the moon third-wheeling, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">close your atlantic eyes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">listen to my hurricane heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">take my smile in your hands and </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">close the door on the waltzing world. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-67382711844857901232017-06-23T20:23:00.002-07:002017-07-03T19:48:16.421-07:002017 #YayYA EntriesHere are all the June 2017 #YayYA entries in one location! For a refresher on the rules, <a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" target="_blank">click here!</a> <br />
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Entries:<br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-1-yellow-girl.html" target="_blank">Entry #1 The Yellow Girl</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-2-palace-of-revenge.html" target="_blank">Entry #2 </a>The Palace of Revenge<br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-3-reign-of-thorns.html" target="_blank">Entry #3 Reign of Thorns</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-4-six-easy-steps-to.html" target="_blank">Entry #4 Six Easy Steps to Becoming an Oracle </a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-5-im-sorry-for-doing.html" target="_blank">Entry #5 I'm Sorry for Doing Nothing</a><br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-6-serenade-for-bright.html" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-6-serenade-for-bright.html" target="_blank">Entry #6 A Serenade for the Bright Night </a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-7-daughters-of-dragon.html" target="_blank">Entry #7 Daughters of the Dragon</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-8-shift.html" target="_blank">Entry #8 Shift</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entery-9-shadow-night.html" target="_blank">Entry #9 A Shadow of the Night</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-10-saving-grace.html" target="_blank">Entry #10 Saving Grace </a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-11-it-gives-lovely.html" target="_blank">Entry #11 It Gives a Lovely Night</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-12-dusk-before-dawn.html" target="_blank">Entry #12 Dusk Before Dawn</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-13-seductress.html" target="_blank">Entry #13 Seductress</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-14-fighting-cliches.html" target="_blank">Entry #14 Fighting Clichés</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-15-no-mans-land.html" target="_blank">Entry #15 No Man's Land</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-16-temporary-death-of.html" target="_blank">Entry #16 The Temporary Death of Millie Krup</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-17-one-way-ticket-to.html" target="_blank">Entry #17 One Way Ticket to Multiverse </a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-18-travelers-epic.html" target="_blank">Entry #18 Traveler's Epic</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-19-ascending.html" target="_blank">Entry #19 Ascending</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-20-duodecim.html" target="_blank">Entry #20 Duodecim </a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-21-life-you-stole.html" target="_blank">BONUS Entry #21 The Life You Stole</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-22-blood-of-runes.html" target="_blank">BONUS Entry #22 The Blood of Runes</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-23-witch-and.html" target="_blank">BONUS Entry #23 The Witch and the Demon</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-24-cant-go-back.html" target="_blank">BONUS Entry #24 Can't Go Back to Yesterday</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-25-within-and.html" target="_blank">BONUS Entry #25 Within and Without</a><br />
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<br />
Revised Entries:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-1-yellow-girl.html" target="_blank">Entry #1</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-3-reign-of-thorns.html" target="_blank">Entry #3</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-4-six-easy-steps-to.html" target="_blank">Entry #4</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-5-im-sorry-for-doing.html" target="_blank">Entry #5 </a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-7-daughters-of-dragon.html" target="_blank">Entry #7</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-11-it-gives-lovely.html" target="_blank">Entry #11 </a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-entry-20-duodecim.html" target="_blank">Entry #20</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-21-life-you-stole.html" target="_blank">Entry #21</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-22-blood-of-runes.html" target="_blank">Entry #22</a><br />
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<a href="http://whatrachelwrote.blogspot.com/2017/06/2017-yayya-bonus-entry-25-within-and.html" target="_blank">Entry #25</a>Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-70707648452770582302017-06-23T20:23:00.001-07:002017-07-03T19:41:53.016-07:002017 #YayYA BONUS Entry #25: Within and Without<div style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Name: Deborah Maroulis (@yaddathree)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Genre: Contemporary</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">WITHIN AND WITHOUT</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strike>35 Pitch: Sixteen year-old Wren ignores her feelings for the Greek farm hand and dates her long-time crush. But when he takes things too far, she must decide if the illusion of love is worth her health.</strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><strike>First 500:</strike></span></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px 0px 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hair twisted into a bun and ear buds in, I pushed play on my favorite song and shoved my phone into my pocket. I glanced at the borrowed suitcase taking up wha</span></span>t little floor room existed and braced myself for one last try. I gripped the closet handle and tugged. With my entire body weight, I pulled. But instead of the door sliding open, it broke free from the track, sending us reeling and my phone tumbling. Boxes of Home Shopping Network’s finest spilling after us. My collection of favorite band t-shirts and headphones tangled in between Fed-Ex and first class mail.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>I wiggled myself from the door, ignoring the floor’s strangled protest under my weight. With my foot, I slid the phone toward my outstretched hand and hoped the glass wasn’t shattered.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>As I turned the screen, I muttered the first prayer I could think of.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep</i>. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When my playlist stared back at me unharmed, I sighed in relief. The only mantra I could remember was now the patron prayer of cell phones.</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>I pushed myself from the floor only to crash into one of the million shelves lining my new room. Each one held some of Granny’s precious dolls that looked too much like my mom for comfort. Phone in hand, my arm shot up to defend against another whacking and sent one of Granny’s prized dolls careening toward the floor.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>I gasped, eyes wide. One hand propped me up and the other held my phone, the one connection to the outside world until school started. And I couldn’t hold it and save the Mini-Mom plummeting to instant death.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>Granny’s forced smile and disappointed eyes flashed before me. She would nod and tell me it was an accident. All the while picking up shards of its ceramic face like discarded tissues at a funeral.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>I’d been here all of five minutes, and creepy or not, these dolls meant the world to her. Mini-mom it was.</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>I tossed my phone toward the pile of boxes and shirts, hoping it’d land on its back. My hand closed around stiff fabric just in time to save Ms. Porcelain from her ultimate demise. Standing slowly, I placed her back on the shelf smoothing her hair and lace frock as best as I could, hoping she looked all right. I tried tucking the tag that bragged, “Made by Marie Osmond” under the stand, but then it stooped sideways.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>Seriously, who buys dolls designed by a weight-loss spokesperson, anyway?</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>I backed away slowly to avoid another disaster and looked for my phone. This time, when I reached for it, tiny bumps pricked my fingertips. I closed my eyes and hung my head. Once my mom saw my cracked screen, I would be laid to sleep. No prayer needed.</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike>I stacked the boxes back in the closet Tetris-style. Somehow there were three left-overs, not to mention all my stuff I was supposed to be unpacking and making comfortable.</strike></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;"><strike><br /></strike></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sixteen-year-old
Wren believes her bulimia helped attract her long-time crush. But when he pushes
her into a physical relationship she’s not ready for, she must decide if the
illusion of love is worth her health.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Hair twisted into a bun and ear buds in, I
pushed play on Death Cab for Cutie and shoved my phone into my pocket, ready to
take on the closet door one more time. Gripping the handle, I tugged. With my
entire body weight, I pulled. But instead of the door sliding open, it broke
free from the track, sending me reeling and my phone tumbling. Boxes of Home
Shopping Network’s finest spilling after, and my collection of band t-shirts
and headphones tangled in between Fed-Ex and first class mail. My borrowed
suitcase taking up the rest of what little floor room existed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I wiggled myself from under the door,
attempting to ignore the pinch of my jeans in all the wrong places. With my
foot, I slid the phone toward my outstretched hand and hoped the glass hadn’t
shattered. It was the one connection I had to the outside world until school
started.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">As I flipped the phone over to check the
screen’s lifespan, I muttered the first prayer I could think of. <i>Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep</i>. When my playlist stared back at me unharmed,
I sighed in relief. The only mantra I could remember was now the patron prayer
of cell phones.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I pushed myself from the floor only to
crash into one of the million shelves lining my new room, each one holding
Granny’s precious dolls that looked too much like my mom for comfort. My arm
shot up to defend against another whacking and sent one of Granny’s prized
dolls careening toward the floor. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I gasped, eyes wide. One hand propped me
up and the other held my phone. And I couldn’t hold it and save the Mini-Mom
plummeting to instant death. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Tossing my phone toward the pile of boxes
and shirts, I prayed it’d land on its back. My hand closed around stiff fabric
just in time to save Ms. Porcelain from her ultimate demise. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Granny’s forced smile and disappointed
eyes had flashed before me like one of those near death experiences all over
late night TV. She would’ve nodded and told me it was an accident, all the
while picking up shards of its ceramic face like discarded tissues at a
funeral. I’d been here all of five minutes, and creepy or not, these dolls
meant the world to her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I placed the Mini-Mom back on the shelf
smoothing her hair and lace frock as best as I could, hoping she looked all
right. I tried tucking the tag that bragged, “Made by Marie Osmond” under the
stand, only making it slump sideways. Exhaling a snort, I shook my head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Seriously, who buys dolls designed by a
weight-loss spokesperson?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I backed away, parkouring the closet
fallout to avoid another disaster and looked for my phone. This time, when I
reached for it, tiny fissures threatened my fingertips as I slid my hand over
the screen. I closed my eyes and hung my head. Once my mom saw the cracks, I’d
be laid to sleep. No prayer needed.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; line-height: 32px;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I
stacked the boxes back in the closet Tetris-style. Somehow there were three
left-overs, not to mention all my stuff I was supposed to be unpacking to make
myself comfortable, as Granny insisted.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-6329931463168614532017-06-23T20:22:00.002-07:002017-06-23T20:22:34.899-07:002017 #YayYA BONUS Entry #24: Can't Go Back to Yesterday<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Maria Stout </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Genre: YA Fantasy</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Title: Can't Go Back To Yesterday</span></span></div>
<div style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">35-word pitch: Goonies meets National Treasure when a teen and a librarian join forces with a sarcastic gremlin to decipher the clues and solve the mystery of the disappearance of his clan.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">First 500 Words: <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Adjusting her wig, Laney ran through her checklist knowing she had to look perfect. Makeup: precise. Hair: on. Outfit: dirty. On this October evening the details needed to be just right. She headed down the dusty hallway towards the noise. Turning the corner and crossing the threshold she smiled at the sight of the horde in the room crowded with mismatched furniture and a bank of lockers.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;">These are my people.</span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Pausing in the doorway, she looked at all of the ugly, disgusting faces, each one more hideous than the previous. Some faces were disfigured and bloody; others were covered with scales or fur and didn’t look human. And then there were their eyes; oddly colored irises - yellow, red, completely white - with irregularly shaped pupils. There was an unmistakable energy in the room. Again, Laney smiled because this felt like the right place for her. Five months ago she wouldn’t have imagined feeling connected to anything in this town, but things have a way of changing and in this case all it took was one ‘yes.’ An<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Alice In Wonderland</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>quote floated into her mind.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;">‘Every adventure requires a first step.’ Hhmph. This is fun, but I think I’m gonna need to get out of this town before I really find adventure.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">As she scanned the room, someone near the bank of lockers caught her attention. He was moving around, so it was hard for her to get a good look at him<i>.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;">Who’s that?</span></i><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>I don’t remember that face before.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Just then a man stepped into the center of the group. At seven feet 300 pounds, he loomed over everyone else. The loose curls of his greasy, shoulder length hair hung in his face. Gashes across his forehead and cheek dripped red into his goatee. He wore a butcher’s apron that looked like it had been sewn together from pieces of skin.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“We’re all here for the same reason. Are you ready?!” His deep, gruff voice called out.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“Yeah!” The group responded loudly.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“Whose house is this?”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“OURS!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“Whose?”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“OURS!”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">He thundered as loud as he could. “I SAID, WHOSE HOUSE IS THIS?!”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">“THIS IS OUR HOUSE!” They shouted getting more and more hyped up.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">A petite woman in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt joined the imposing man in the center of the group. Her short bobbed hair was dark with purple streaks through it. A wide grin had spread across her face as she addressed the group.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">She laughed gesturing for them to quiet down. “Okay, my monsters. It’s going to be a great night. We already have people lining up outside. Opening night last night was good, but I want<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_48897973" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tonight</span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>to be great! People come here to be scared and I don’t want you to stop until you’ve gotten ‘em good. Last night we had a lady peed her pants. Not that I like the mess, but let’s aim to do it again. Use your best scares and give them a good time.”</span></span></span></div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-87402460598862714102017-06-23T20:22:00.000-07:002017-06-23T20:22:00.271-07:002017 #YayYA BONUS Entry #23: The Witch and the Demon<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Name: Katherine Toran (@bookgirl_kt)</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Genre: Fantasy</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Title: The Witch and the Demon</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">35-word pitch:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Fleeing a witch hunt, Aspie Ebba surrenders her heart to a dying demon, becoming embroiled in a deathmatch to stop a demonic invasion. Whacking him with a severed head accidentally starts an equally violent courtship.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">First 500 words:</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Ebba ran into the moonless night. Her soaked dress clung to her skin, wind and water competing to freeze her into a corpse. Tree roots clawed at her feet and fatigue crept up from her shaking limbs to numb her brain. If she fell, she likely wouldn’t get up again. Keep moving. Get as far away from the witchfinder as possible—may he be reincarnated as a diarrheic drunk’s chamber pot.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">In the darkness, directions blurred. She focused on climbing up the mountain, away from her village. Faster, faster, faster. Her lungs took on the weight of iron.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Her knee finally gave out—right when another root caught her ill-fitting clog. Her ankle bent sideways with a crack. She hit the dirt.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Waves of agony crashed over her. Mustn’t stop moving. Despite her straining muscles, her body refused to rise. She wanted to scream or cry. Instead, Ebba took a deep breath. To focus her mind, she pinched her face, right on top of the scabs from the witchfinder’s pins. The itching behind her eyes from too long without sleep, the burning of her throat, and the blistering sores on her hand—she pushed it all away. First, get up.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Her right hand oozed pus from the burns on her palm, so she used her left one to pull herself into a sitting position. The merest touch to her swollen joint was torture. Through the pain, the rational part of her noted this felt worse than a sprain.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Her breath came faster as panic clawed at her self-control. No, no, this couldn’t happen now. If she’d broken her ankle, she wouldn’t be able to run, and then…then…</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">It occurred to Ebba that she had no idea what to do next. She’d never had a plan past getting out of her cell.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The silence of the forest unnerved her. At the very least, there should have been insects chirping. But this was a magic-cursed place. She’d fled here because no god-fearing villager would venture into the forest. Ever since the wolves had first descended, only those too poor to leave remained in the region. Ebba shivered. She told herself most wolves avoided humans, and the red-eyed wolves really only came once every few years.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Alone in the darkness, with wolves theoretically a hand span away, this argument became less convincing. She didn’t want to die the same way her mother had. Perhaps she could still turn back.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Ebba glanced over her shoulder, uncertain which direction “back” would be. A great wall, ten times her height, blocked out any trace of light from her village. Only holes worn by trees, weather, and thieves had allowed her to slip through. Once, the wall’s upkeep had been part of every villager’s religious duty to the Supreme God Anabiel. But it had been a thousand years since the last demonic invasion.</span></span></span>Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-15187406453048483692017-06-23T20:20:00.004-07:002017-07-03T19:43:03.895-07:002017 #YayYA BONUS Entry #22: The Blood of Runes<div style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Name: Danielle Simonelli (</span><span style="color: black;">@dmsimone99)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Genre: Historical Fantasy</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Title: The Blood of Runes</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike><span style="color: black;">Pitch: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a;">In 9th century Scotland, a 16-year-old Viking girl must rescue her brother from a vengeful Norse witch by stealing an enchanted raven banner and using ancient blood magic.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a;"><strike>First 500 words:</strike></span></span></span></div>
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<strike><br /></strike></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike>Pippa rolled the dice and winked.</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike>She played a scheming game of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>tafl</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>and moved a pawn three spaces across the checkered board. The winner would claim the knife with scrollwork snaking around its handle and a curious rune decorating its blade. Her brother, Jamie, would love to add it to his collection. He always sought weapons with character.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike> The man sitting across from her looked like he belonged in a band of ruffians, with faded scars puckering his nose. He leaned over the game board and rolled the dice. Six marks. Sailors trying to earn some quick coin exchanged bets and told him to move this piece or that. They shouted drunken suggestions at Pippa too, but she already had a strategy to capture the King-piece. The ruffian moved a white pawn by six squares and muttered something in Norse. His sharp gaze met hers with a look that said “that’ll show<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>you</i>!”</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike>“Tricky move,” Pippa said. She bowed her head to hide her impish smile. Jamie had taught her how to master<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>tafl</i>, which her opponent foolishly agreed to play. The ruffian originally suggested a test of riddles, but the last time Pippa attempted a riddle contest she lost a silver bracelet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike> She scanned the crowd, making sure Jamie wasn't around. She hoped he wouldn't think to look for her in the mead hall, because she wanted to surprise him with the weapon.</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike>Her father would have been furious at her for gambling. Furious, but proud when she won the knife. Longing for his smile made her chest ache, so Pippa lifted a cup of frothy ale. The faint scent of aged oak conjured images of summertime mischief with her brother, when they had snuck a taste of ale from the brewer’s barrels. She drank it with a single swallow and banged the emptied cup next to the game board. Everyone cheered as she reached for a nearby flagon and refilled her cup. Pippa could enjoy two drinks, maybe three, without muddling her senses.</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike>She tapped her foot to the warbled rhythm of a panpipe, relishing her imminent win. With her turn came a squall of suggestions from the crowd, yet one spectator remained aloof. The figure stood near the fire, fussing with voluminous robes until they lay just right. By the look of his unscathed leather boots and the flashing gold rings on his fingers, he wasn’t a farmer or seafarer. She wished he’d stop staring. A heavy hood framed his face, but his eyes glimmered as he watched the game…and her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike>She turned back to the board and rolled the dice. Seven marks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The ruffian’s an idiot,</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>she thought,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>but he needs to think he has a chance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>Otherwise, he might end the game. Pippa started to reach for a red pawn, hesitated, made a show of sighing and tugging on her bottom lip, and then reached for another. She moved it seven squares, diagonally.</strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike>The ruffian cracked his fat knuckles. “I need a break.”</strike></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><strike><br /></strike></span>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pitch:</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In
ninth century Scotland, a sixteen-year-old Viking girl, Pippa, vows to
rescue her brother from a vengeful Norse witch. She must embrace ancient
blood magic to find him before the witch captures Pippa herself.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">First 500:</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pippa rolled the dice and winked.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She slid a <em>tafl</em>
pawn three spaces across the checkered board, eyeing the prize knife.
Scrollwork snaked around its handle and a curious rune decorated its
blade. Her brother, Jamie, would love to add it to his collection. He
always sought weapons with character. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
The ruffian sitting across from her scratched the faded scars puckering
his nose. He leaned over the game board and rolled the dice. Six marks.
Sailors trying to earn some quick coin exchanged bets and told him to
move this piece or that. They shouted drunken suggestions at Pippa too,
but she already had a strategy to capture the King-piece. Her opponent
moved a white pawn by six squares and muttered something in Norse. His
sharp gaze met hers with a look that said “That’ll show <em>you</em>!”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Tricky move,” Pippa said. She bowed her head to hide an impish smile. Jamie had taught her how to master <em>tafl</em>,
which her opponent foolishly agreed to play. He originally suggested a
test of riddles, but the last time Pippa attempted a riddle contest she
lost a silver bracelet. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> She scanned the mead hall, making sure Jamie wasn't around, because she wanted to surprise him with the weapon.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Her
father would have been furious at her for gambling. Furious, but proud
when she won the knife. Longing for his smile made her chest ache, so
Pippa lifted a cup of frothy ale. The faint scent of aged oak conjured
images of summertime mischief with her brother, when they had snuck a
taste of ale from the brewer’s barrels. She drank it with a single
swallow and banged the emptied cup next to the game board. Everyone
cheered as she reached for a nearby flagon and refilled her cup. Pippa
could enjoy two drinks, maybe three, without muddling her senses.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
tapped her foot to the warbled rhythm of a panpipe, relishing her
imminent win. With her turn came a squall of suggestions from the crowd,
yet one spectator remained aloof. The figure stood near the fire,
fussing with voluminous robes until they lay just right. By the look of
his unscathed leather boots and the flashing gold rings on his fingers,
he wasn’t a farmer or seafarer. She squirmed under his stare. A heavy
hood framed his face, but his eyes glimmered as he watched the game…and
her. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
turned back to the board and rolled the dice. Seven marks. The ruffian
was an idiot, but he needs to think he has a chance. Otherwise, he might
end the game. Pippa started to reach for a red pawn, hesitated, made a
show of sighing and tugging on her bottom lip, and then reached for
another. She moved it seven squares, diagonally.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
ruffian cracked his fat knuckles. “I need a break.” His voice sounded
harsh, like the jagged edges of raw, unforged steel scraping against
stone. A raider, no doubt. He clearly didn’t expect to lose to a
sixteen-year-old girl.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-33170954476746545782017-06-23T20:19:00.004-07:002017-07-03T19:34:35.993-07:002017 #YayYA BONUS Entry #21: The Life You Stole<div style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; word-spacing: 0px;">Name: Maria Mainero @mariaannawitt</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; word-spacing: 0px;">Genre: Contemporary Supernatural</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; word-spacing: 0px;">Title: The Life You Stole</span></span></span><br />
<div style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<div>
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<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /><strike>Pitch: Kelsey must stop a comic book artist's revenge on her boyfriend when he develops bodyswapping powers from his stories.</strike></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; word-spacing: 0px;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; word-spacing: 0px;"><strike>500:</strike></span></span></span></div>
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<strike><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 0.27px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span></span>
</strike><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike>The first weekend of the summer before senior year, and my boyfriend of two weeks might break up with me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No biggie. In eight solid years of experience with Dave, as a friend, he’s never let me down.</strike></span></span></div>
<div class="m_4029207809111009608gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><strike><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></strike></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike>As a boyfriend?</strike></span></span></div>
<div class="m_4029207809111009608gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><strike><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></strike></span></div>
<div class="m_4029207809111009608gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike>Maybe I let him down.</strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> “He’ll be here,” Darcie promised as I scanned the parking lot for Dave’s truck. In front of us, the long concrete breakwall stretched out into Caseville Harbor, where Lake Huron rippled with tiny waves, blue and glassy, under the rosy setting sun.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> At the end of the walk, a pile of large boulders in the water, and voices. “It’s just Kelsey and Darcie.” I ducked through the railing and stepped over lapping water to the first rock. <i>Just Kelsey.</i> Not someone they wanted to see. Like Dave.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike>On the large center rock Queen Bree and her clone Cate perched like pink and blonde flamingoes in a flock of jocks and other seagulls. “Hi all!” I forced confidence into my voice, and squeezed in on a rock with Darcie. One of the guys tilted a beer can in our direction. “Thanks,” I said, as Darcie held up her hand to decline. This was a mistake. What if Dave <i>did</i> let me down? The icy aluminum in my palm made me shiver.</strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><strike><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></strike></span></div>
<div class="m_4029207809111009608gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> “Too early for shorts in Michigan,” Darcie commented.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
<div class="m_4029207809111009608gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> “They’re not shorts, they’re capris,” I pointed out, scrunching up my self-pedicured toenails in<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> <i>Parlez-Bleu Francais</i> <i>.</i></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> “You’re explaining fashion to someone who wears black jeans and flannel to the beach,” Bree remarked, to laughs from her loyal subjects.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> “Oh, we were supposed to wear pink?” Darcie asked, looking Bree and Cate up and down. “The day I do, kill me. Slit my throat, drench me in my own blood and bury me in a garbage bag. A black one.”</strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike>The girls exchanged an eye-roll, but Darcie didn’t care. I sipped my beer slowly, the way Dave taught me at my first high school party. “Just drink a sip or two,” he told me. “Hold it for a while, then put it down somewhere. You can do that all night long, and never get wasted.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> No matter how many beers I abandoned, he always claimed I was buzzed when I tried to flirt with him. Always said he’d never take advantage of me. I always pretended to be grateful for that. Welcome to the friend zone. Our friendship was too important to screw up with a relationship. Yeah, he really said that. But for one wonderful week, I thought I proved him wrong. Then I proved him right.</strike></span></span></div>
<div class="m_4029207809111009608gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> “Just talk to him,” Darcie kept telling me on the drive up to Caseville. That’s what I dreaded. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I knew what he’d say. This was a mistake, let’s just stay friends. I knew what would happen, the awkward conversations, the gradual distancing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
<div class="m_4029207809111009608gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike> I knew what I’d feel. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was feeling it already, waking up from unsettling dreams where Dave refused to listen to me or take my side. But Darcie was right about one thing. I couldn’t avoid him any longer.</strike></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #14171a; font-family: "Times","serif"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">New 35 word pitch:</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #14171a; font-family: "Times","serif"; letter-spacing: 0.2pt;">A classmate crippled by
Kelsey’s boyfriend in a car accident draws powers from his comic book art, and
swaps bodies with her. She must stop his revenge against her boyfriend, or live
his life forever.</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Revised 500:</div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It was the summer before
senior year, and my boyfriend of two weeks might break up with me. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">No biggie. In eight solid years
of experience with Dave, as my friend, he’d never let me down.</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> As my boyfriend?</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Maybe I let him down.</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> I scanned the parking lot for
Dave’s truck. “He’ll be here,” Darcie assured me. In front of us, the concrete
break wall stretched out into Caseville Harbor, where Lake Huron rippled with
tiny waves, blue and glassy, under the rosy sunset. We headed to the far end,
toward the pile of large boulders in the water, and the sound of voices. <br />
</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s just Kelsey and
Darcie.”</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Queen Bree and her clone Cate
were perched on the center rock like pink and blonde flamingoes in a flock of
jocks and other seagulls. I ducked through the railing and stepped over the
lapping water to the rocks. <i>Just Kelsey</i>.
Not someone they wanted to see. Like Dave. </span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">
“Hi all!” I forced confidence into my voice, and squeezed onto a rock to sit
with Darcie. One of the guys tilted a beer can in our direction. “Thanks,” I
said, as Darcie held up her hand to decline. The icy aluminum in my palm made
me shiver. This was a mistake. What if Dave</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> <i>did</i> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">let me
down? </span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “Too soon for shorts in Michigan,” Darcie said.
</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “They’re capris.” I scrunched
up my self-pedicured toenails in</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> <i>Parlez-Bleu Francais</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Bree snickered. “You’re
explaining fashion to someone who wears black jeans and flannel to the beach?”</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “Were we supposed to wear pink?” Darcie looked
Bree and Cate up and down. “If I ever do, kill me. Slit my throat, drench me in
my own blood and bury me in a garbage bag. A black one.”</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> The girls rolled their eyes
but Darcie didn’t flinch. I sipped my beer the way Dave had taught me at my
first high school party. “Just drink a sip or two,” he told me. “Hold it for a
while, then put it down somewhere. You can do that all night long, and never
get wasted.” </span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> No matter how many beers I
abandoned, he always claimed I was buzzed when I tried to flirt with him.
Always said he’d never take advantage of me. I always pretended to be grateful
for that. Welcome to the friend zone. Our friendship was too important to screw
up with a relationship. Yeah, he really said that. But for one wonderful week,
I thought I proved him wrong. Then I proved him right.</span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “Just talk to him,” Darcie
kept telling me on the drive up to Caseville. That’s what I dreaded. I knew what he’d say. This was a mistake,
let’s just stay friends. I knew what would happen, the awkward conversations,
the gradual distancing. </span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div>
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I knew what I’d feel. I was feeling it already, waking up from disturbing
dreams where Dave refused to listen to me or take my side. But Darcie was right
about one thing. I couldn’t avoid him any longer. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="m_-795189275319189073gmail-MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-65198828487476767652017-06-23T20:18:00.001-07:002017-07-03T19:37:42.651-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #20: Duodecim<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26001" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>Name: Mads Bertasio (@madsbertasio)</strike></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26005" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>Genre: Diverse YA Science fiction</strike></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26009" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>Title: Duodecim</strike></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26013" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>35 Word Pitch: When Blake finds out he’s prophesied to defeat immortal, genocidal Elites, he must decide if it’s better to run away and leave his friends to face certain death, or risk becoming the Elite’s ultimate weapon.</strike></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26017" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26018"><strike>First 500 Words:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26020" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26021"><strike>Blake crept across the creaking floorboards. Mother would’ve hated to see what her house had become since she and Father disappeared. Good--after all, the house wasn’t all that they had abandoned when they went and vanished two years ago.</strike></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26023" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26024">Now, he was poised for this final act of defiance</span><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26025">.</span></strike></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26028" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26029"><strike>After more attempts than he could count, he finally stood in front of the place they'd forbidden him his entire childhood. He hoped to find answers behind those doors, but even if the police had cleared it out, he wanted to see. He wanted to stand in the room and strike a last blow against his parents' neglect.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26032" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26033" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26034"><strike>After all of this time, he still felt the leaden knot of anxiety for breaking the rules. As he drew closer, the air was charged with electricity, and thick with humidity he hadn’t noticed before now. He was like a little kid again, getting caught playing tricks on the maid.</strike></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26037" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26038" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26039"><strike>Holding his breath as his stomach twisted, he reached out to touch the doorknob, jerking back as static shock jolted through his hand. “What the--,” he started, biting his lips and running his fingers through his hair. No, he was too close to give up again.</strike></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26042" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26043" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26044"><strike>Blake reached out with both hands, holding the knobs of the double doors, glad not to be shocked this time. He could do this. Three…two...one—</strike></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26047" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26048" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26049"><strike>“Why am I always catchin’ you in places you shouldn’t be?” drawled a voice behind him.</strike></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26052" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26053" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><strike><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26054">Blake froze as his heart stuttered, shoulders tense where his shirt stuck to them. “Darn it, </span><i id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26055"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26056">every</span></i><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26057"> time…” he whispered, head tipping forward against the cool wood for a beat. Clearing his throat, he pushed back and turned, hiding his frustration with an open stance and outspread arms. “Charlie! Funny running into you here. Strangest thing. I was on a walk, and I got lost.”</span></strike></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26060" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26061" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26062"><strike>“C’mon, Blake,” the police officer huffed, though the corner of his lip curled up a little bit. “Time to get you home. You know you’re not supposed to be here. Trespassing and all that.”</strike></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26065" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26066" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26067"><strike>“Yeah, yeah.” Blake sighed, glancing at the door one more time before following Charlie back downstairs and into the cool night air that pebbled his skin. The puddles from that day’s rainwere shimmering as they illuminated London’s cobbled streets. Truth be told, he hated the nighttime. It wasn’t as though he was afraid of the dark. But it was lonely at night; just him alone with his thoughts—his mind running down rabbit trails that he didn’t want to reach the end of.</strike></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26070" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26071" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26072"><strike>“Y’know, Charlie, you pretend to be all tough, but I know you love our little walks.” Blake offered a cheeky smile and a wink. At least he wasn’t alone right now. He could put off being angry with himself for not opening the doors until he went to bed.</strike></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26075" style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 10pt 0in 12pt; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26076" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span id="m_-3798192706537928084yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1498221561818_26077"><strike>The officer raised an eyebrow and offered a stern look. </strike></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span></span></span>
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3342" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3343" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Name: Mads Bertasio (@madsbertasio)</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3344" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3345" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Genre: Diverse YA Fantasy</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3346" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3347" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Title: Duodecim</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3349" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3350" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">35 Word Pitch: </span><span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3351" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Blake finds out he’s prophesied to fight immortal, genocidal Elites. His premonitions foresee him becoming their puppet and ultimate weapon for a second genocide, but running and hiding spells certain death for his newfound friends.</span></div>
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<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3354" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First 500: </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3355" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3356" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3357" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Blake crept across the creaking floorboards. His mother would’ve hated to see what her perfect home had become since she and his father disappeared. Good--after all, the house wasn’t all that they had abandoned. He flicked a finger out, pushing a vase from its pedestal, not looking back as it shattered. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3360" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3361" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was poised for this final act of defiance. After more attempts than he could count over the two years they’d been gone, he finally stood in front of the place they'd forbidden him his entire childhood. He hoped to find answers behind those doors, but even if the police cleared it out, he wanted to see; wanted to stand in the room and strike a last blow against their neglect.</span></div>
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<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3363" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3364" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3365" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After all of this time, the leaden knot still sat in his gut at breaking the rules. He drew closer; the air charged with electricity. He was like a little kid getting caught playing tricks on the maid. This was a close as he’d gotten. Whether it be Charlie catching him, or his own nerves, he never made it all the way to the doors of his parents’ quarters before. After this, he could move on from that part of his life--put it behind him once and for all. People would still whisper to each other when he passed, eyes drawn with pity, but at least he could move on. Maybe nothing important was in there, but it's where they were taken from, and the only part of this old mansion he never explored. There would be nothing new to discover after this, and that </span><span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3366" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">had</span><span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3367" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to be for the best. They were gone and he needed to move on. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3368" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3369" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3370" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Holding his breath, he reached out to touch the doorknob, jerking back as a shock jolted through his hand. It hurt more than simple static, like a warning. Maybe he should stop here--be proud he made it this far and come back next week, but… Blake punched at the door. No, he was too close to give up again. Blake reached out with both hands, tapping the knobs to test that he wouldn’t get shocked again before taking hold. He could do this. Three…two...one—</span></div>
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<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3372" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3373"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3374" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="m_2075909992569953070yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1499086067935_3375" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A creak sounded behind Blake, setting his teeth on edge. Logic told him it was just Charlie. The officer had been busting Blake for breaking into the old Clive mansion since the very first time he tried, but it wasn’t like him to be so quiet, and he certainly wasn’t built for stealth. Maybe it was the creeping foreboding in the place making him mistake every creak and groan for someone following him. Or, he was looking for a reason to back out. He could just look behind him and prove there was nothing to worry about—that there weren’t eyes staring hard into the back of his head like a looming threat—but, somehow, not knowing seemed safer. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to the cool wooden doors. Just turn and push.</span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-80685198695672689102017-06-23T20:15:00.003-07:002017-06-26T15:26:28.906-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #19: Ascending<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Calibri, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0px 0.0001pt 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Name: Ashlyn (@AshlynWriting)</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Genre: Science Fiction</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Title: Lambda Ascending</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">35-word Pitch:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">At Epsilon Labs, heroes aren't born—they're made. Fifteen-year-old David is Crown City</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’s most popular hero and Epsilon Labs’ finest artificial human, whether he wants to be or not.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> First 500 words:</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Nice kitty.” The tree scratches against my skin, but it won’t hurt me. Almost nothing does. “Come here, Mister Sprinkles.” Mister Sprinkles hisses, his eyes practically glowing in the dark. He bats a paw at me. </span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">I grit my teeth, and growl at the dumb animal.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Look, I think we know each other pretty well by now Mister S.” The mangy cat hisses again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">This is humiliating. A normal teenage boy clinging to a branch is bad enough, but<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>me?</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Okay fine,” I say with a huff, “Mister Sprinkles it is. I just thought we were past all that and nicknames would be fine. Look, we know each other well enough that you don't have to be frightened of me.” I glance at Mrs. Benson down below. It doesn’t look like she’s listening to us, well me. “I don't want to be here anymore than you do.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Is everything okay up there, Sigma?”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">My eye twitches at the name.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Don't worry, everything is under control,” I call, then turn back to my so-called mission. “Okay, Mister Sprinkles, this is your last chance. The easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Of course, the dumb cat chooses the hard way. He always does. The branch is thick enough to support my weight as I crawl closer toward him, but it still wobbles with each movement. Flying ticks off the stupid thing off even more. With every scoot comes another hiss. Why Mrs. Benson cares so much about such a mean cat, I</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’ll never know. My job would certainly be easier if I cared whether or not the cat made it indoors for the night.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Just as I</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’m about to wrap my hands around him, Mister Sprinkles’ paw lashes out at me. His claws rake across my ungloved hand. He doesn’t break my skin. He doesn’t hurt me. It feels uncomfortable and weird, like when your leg is half asleep.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Super skin is way better than regular skin. Not that I know the difference.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">I yank him from the branch he</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’s clinging to, and leap the ten feet down to Mrs. Benson with her little monster wriggling in my grip. “Here you go.” I shove Mister Sprinkles into her arms, and launch myself into the sky. I may have to be here, but I don’t have to stick around.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Yeah right. I</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’m supposed to. It’s what the customer would want. Crown City’s tax dollars’ at work.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Maybe I should take the longer route home so I can avoid pictures of Epsilon Corporation</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’s billboards that star my face. Or worse, the new Sigma movie poster. Geez, those things are so embarrassing.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Unfortunately, there</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’s a new Epsilon one on my route. Awesome. In it, I’m holding some new computer thing. I can’t fight my grimace. I look so lame. I think they airbrushed my skin, because it does<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">not</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>shine like that. They didn</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">’t retouch my goggles much. My red suit looks like plastic, and the sigma insignia could be glowing.</span></div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-42116720180154546552017-06-23T20:15:00.001-07:002017-06-23T20:15:14.057-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #18: Traveler's Epic Rachel Stevenson @whatshewrote<br />
<br />
title: Traveler's Epic<br />
<br />
Genre: YA Fantasy <br />
<br />
Pitch: EYE OF MINDS meets PRINCESS BRIDE: Two bickering brothers leap into a plague-ridden Renaissance world, hoping to save it before its creators... their dad and his friends ... destroy it.<br />
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<br />
First 500:<br />
<br />
Vosh swirled his milk in his tea as he hopped on one foot down the squawking stairs. He squinted at the dust hovering in the sun’s glare through the multi-colored front windows. <br />
“Stop bouncing around!” Mum ordered from upstairs. Loudly. She had to yell to be heard over Tarson banging around on his stupid drums. Couldn’t an intellectual get any quiet? <br />
“I stubbed my toe.” Vosh landed with a thud on the floor and his tea jumped to slap his chin. Something was moving in the front yard. <br />
“Ah, see that’s more excusable.” <br />
“No, it isn’t!” Tarson shouted, and hit something noisy. <br />
Vosh’s whole family lived with exclamation points defining their entire lifestyle. Normally, such awful din signaled a sense of stability in his house. But this was no time for racket. Not when the world was ending and Vosh might gain himself an actual criminal record. Worst of all, about ninety percent of him was certain Tarson stalked him to the Department the other night about a week ago. He swallowed tea, tossed both his coat over his shoulders and the glass on the counter in one move, and opened the door. <br />
“I’m going out, Mum!” he called. <br />
“All right! Be back for dinner.” <br />
Vosh sighed as he slammed the door. The impact sent all the bells and chimes on their porch into a jingling frenzy. He slid a hat over his hair and twisted his lips as he turned around. “I don’t know if I’ll come back at all, Mum.” <br />
He stopped short. Blue eyes met his, set in a small figure surrounded by at least fifty tons of pink glow glitter dumped all over the lawn he just mowed yesterday. <br />
FESTIVAL, TARSON? the glitter asked. <br />
“Oh, hello, Vosh,” the girl said. She hugged herself. “Don’t tell Tarson, please. I haven’t finished yet.” <br />
She pointed at a stack of unlit sparkler candles. Once Dalec lit a ton underneath their advanced mathematics professor’s desk and ended class prematurely in a chaotic cloud of smoke and purple sparkles. The memory was almost as amusing as the visual of Tarson dressed up for a formal, but Vosh didn’t have time to be amused.<br />
No one did. <br />
“Have fun,” he said. He pushed past her, hopped over the glitter-letters and dashed headlong into the street. <br />
The universitas’ spire poked out of the horizon in front of the city’s dark skyline. Already people clogged the entryway, some holding signs and waving flags. Vosh jiggled his contacter out of his coat pocket as his feet slapped the road. <br />
“Any update?” he asked it. <br />
Pause. <br />
“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered as he skidded to a stop in front of the shoving crowd. He elbowed his way toward the entrance, where three irritated guards in bright yellow stood waving staffs at protestors’ legs.<br />
“The ON are immoral! Vote them out!” shouted a sign holder. <br />
Vosh bent his head and edged to the guards, student identification sheet curled in his fist, when a woman grabbed his shoulder and shook it. Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-62098151774744245142017-06-23T20:14:00.001-07:002017-06-27T08:10:26.794-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #17: One-Way Ticket to the Multiverse <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Name: Katherine Hillis (@kehillis)</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Genre: Science-fiction</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Title: One-Way Ticket to the Multiverse</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">35-word pitch: When an alien pulls Alex Turner through a wormhole to an alternate version of Earth, she goes from helping her family pay bills to navigating the enthralling and treacherous worlds of a multiverse-spanning empire.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">First 500 words: </span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: #f8f7f6; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Alex Turner lowered the blinds on the dark windows, keeping her eyes averted from the glass. Despite the precaution, something caught her eye, motion in the front yard. <i>It’s definitely not a serial killer,</i> she thought, <i>I mean, what are the chances—?</i></span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“You’re so paranoid,” Sara closed the front door behind them and tossed her overnight bag on the couch.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“I always think I’ll see someone out there.” Still, Sara had a point. Alex’s house was too far out in the country for anyone to creep on them. But knowing someone could look through the windows and observe them unseen—</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“The young’uns asleep?” Sara attempted to step lightly through the house, but the old floorboards gave her away.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Yeah.” It was nearly eleven. Molly and Oliver still had a bedtime of nine. “Mom’s at work ‘til morning.”</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Third shift again?”</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Pays more.” Alex followed Sara into the kitchen. Her stomach ached from being ignored since lunch. She and Sara had both worked shifts at Taco Bell, but after two weeks making cheap tacos, Alex couldn’t stomach the food.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Sara, however, would eat just about anything and was always hungry. She grabbed some chips off the counter while Alex opened the fridge in search of more substantial fare.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">“Ugh.” Alex stared at the gallon of milk, which had turned and separated into thin yellow liquid and white chunks. No gush of cool air met her skin. Great. “The fridge is doing the thing again.”</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Outside, Pancake started barking, which set Watermelon off, too. The Turner’s had the most excitable mutts in creation. They’d probably seen a squirrel. Alex’s hand was on the back doorknob when their barks stopped.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">A note of fear echoed through her chest. The first thing a murderer would do would be silence the dogs—</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">No serial killers in Oakville, North Carolina. We don’t even have a Wal-Mart.</span></i><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Despite her hunger, Alex went to bed without eating. She took the couch and gave Sara her bed. The gesture wasn’t entirely altruistic—Molly would snore from the top bunk all night.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">In the dark living room, the house made strange noises. Alex was used to the way the wood sighed around her own bedroom, but sleeping in another part of the house was like wearing a pair of shoes a half size off. Almost normal, but different enough to irritate.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Alex closed her eyes and tried to ignore the lumpy cushions and the draft coming through the cracks under the front door. The quiet grew heavy, amplifying every tiny sound—</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Something had been outside, moving. She’d seen in through the window. And the dogs hadn’t just up and decided to quit barking on their own, at the same time.</span><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The gun safe was in Mom and Dad’s room, too far away to be of any help. She could probably open it and get a rifle without waking Dad, but sleeping armed was a great way to earn a Darwin award.</span></span></span>Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-51213651848892336812017-06-23T20:13:00.001-07:002017-06-23T20:13:27.294-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #16: The Temporary Death of Millie Krup<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Name: Angie McCullagh</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">(@AngieMcWriter)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Genre: Contemporary</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Title: THE TEMPORARY DEATH OF MILLIE KRUP</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">35 word pitch: Portland teen Millie Krup dies from bacterial meningits. But only briefly. When she awakens and recovers, her priorities have flipped. She must choose between following her wanderlust dreams or helping her dad get sober.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">First 500 words:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Millie</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">I’m sick. Like, doped out on cold medicine sick. Sucking on lozenges until my tongue is puckered and purple sick. Exhaustion hanging off me like old scarves sick. But I’m not deathly ill. At least I don’t think I am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">I trudge through the halls of Portland’s dingy Cannon High School, a hulking building with turrets and cornices. It could be a movie set for a 1920s insane asylum.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">I wish I were in bed watching the Travel Channel and sipping ginger ale from one of the bendy straws my mom gives me when I feel exceedingly blah.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Soon. I have to make it through one more period before I can catch the Portland TriMet, go home, and crawl under my fraying quilt. The relief of being able to close my eyes and sleep feels so far into the future I almost cry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">On the north stairwell, between the second and third floors, a waterfall of kids are rushing past when I see Leah Silverman and Jace Wells.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Oh God. Not now. Please not now</i>. I want to weave back down to the ground floor and run out to the parking lot, sucking in cool March air.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">But it’s too late. I’m surrounded by bodies, unable to escape.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Our trajectories collide on the landing. Leah looks like she swallowed a jellyfish, brow furrowed and lips twisted. Jace bumps his aviator sunglasses over his eyes and hitches up one side of his mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">“<i>Hola</i>, Millie,” Leah flips her satiny hair in a way initially meant to grab boys’ attention but which has now become habit. “I heard you’re<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>muy enfermo</i>.” Very sick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">I mumble, “<i>Sí</i>.” Leah and I are language geeks. Specifically, we have both taken Spanish since sixth grade and pepper our interactions (which have dwindled to almost<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>nada</i>) with<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Español.</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I even wear a t-shirt that day under one of my usual oversized cardigans that says<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Como Se Llama?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>next to a drawing of an actual Llama.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">She obviously feels as awkward as I do, her gaze darting to the high arched windows and at the kids streaming past. “So how’d you do on the test?” she refers to a Spanish exam we took that morning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">My pulse throbs in my neck and wrists. I wish I could take a deep breath without coughing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">It’s hard to believe last week Jace, the school’s lacrosse goalie and my two-year crush, was catching my eye across the cafeteria, sometimes offering a full nod or slow cat-like blink. Making me think I had a chance with him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">“I’m sure she killed it,” he says out of the side of his mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; line-height: 25.6px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Doubtful,” I shake my head, wishing I could dislodge the thousand tons of sand in there. I say nothing about how desperately I want to have killed it. I need to keep my grade up to be eligible for the summer Barcelona trip I’ve been saving money for all year.</span></span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-79472358336707438442017-06-23T20:12:00.001-07:002017-06-26T20:57:44.186-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #15: No Man's Land<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Name: Emily Thiede</span> (@ethiedee)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Genre: YA SpecFic</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Title: No Man's Land</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">35 word pitch: A century after a pandemic killed off every man on earth, Aurelia's struggling in the all-female utopia. The prisoner trapped in the basement of her mother's top secret research laboratory isn't helping.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">First 500 Words:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Floating six-hundred feet above the surface of the earth, Aurelia Skylar imagined she could wrap a wisp of cloud around her fingers if she just reached out her hand. She didn’t, of course. The rooftop had been vacant when she arrived an hour before, but someone might be watching by now. And try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the glare of early morning sun on the transparent ceiling. The sky appeared reachable, but it wasn’t.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">However, the heated pool was warm enough that as long as she held very still, she could almost forget she was in the water at all. And with her eyes half-closed, her coppery eyelashes filtered out the glare and made the ceiling fade away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Voices broke through her reverie and she rolled to her stomach, using long strokes to pull herself towards the horizon of the infinity pool. She draped her arms over the side to gaze down at the vista below, letting the water run down her fingertips. Below, the stripes of civilization extended from the base of Tower Eleven. Her home. Her entire world. Colorful gardens, followed by miles of farmland, then the forest rolling up and over the blue tinted mountains.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The voices grew louder. Three girls she knew from school stripped off their clothes on the far side of the pool and and pulled chaise lounges together, laughing and talking. The May air still held a hint of chill, but it had been an unusually long winter and apparently Aurelia wasn’t the only one overeager for sunlight. They spotted Aurelia and waved. She waved back but made no move to swim closer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The metal band around her wrist twitched. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ten minutes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">She slowly swam towards the side where her school uniform sat folded next to her backpack, and hauled herself out of the water. Keeping her eyes down, she stripped off her swimsuit and yanked on her school uniform, the fabric clinging to her damp legs. Her classmates continued chattering away, seeming more comfortable entirely nude than she had ever felt fully dressed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">As she crouched to grab her shoes, she groaned. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Eight minutes. Not enough time to run home, but the bright aqua colored sneakers she grabbed that morning were most definitely not uniform compliant. She pulled them on anyway. Maybe if she got lucky no one would notice and she could stay out of trouble. For once.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Five minutes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The temperature seemed to plummet as Aurelia made her way towards the chair in the center of the small white room she privately called “the Tank.” She settled herself with a shiver, shifting her sit bones against the firm surface. Designed to fit any female body shape, the cold plastic still managed to press against her in all the wrong places.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">“If you were sent here any more often we’d to have to name the place after you,” Dr. Charlemain said with a chuckle from her seat in front of the monitors. </span></span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-50456244327820987912017-06-23T20:11:00.001-07:002017-06-23T20:11:01.524-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #14: Fighting Clichés<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Bethany Stevenson (@bethanypeep)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Genre: MG Fantasy Comedy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Title: Fighting Clichés</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Pitch: </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">Brianna wants to star in a Great Author’s novel, but when a cliche adventure comes her way, and she has to ruin the story and survive a war against a necromancer to achieve her dream</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">500:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Brianna did not live in a hole in the ground, nor in a massive palace, thank goodness. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">She lived in a cottage by the ocean, overlooking white cliffs. Her home bordered the desert, ocean, and forest, putting her in the center of her own world. That gave her a special place to be found by adventurers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="m_8608826887692392804gmail-Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>If someone were to come to her, looking for a journeyer, voyager, adventurer, or hero, they’d come for a specific reason, needing a main character. Thankfully, cliche story holders went to those holes in the ground and palaces, where hopeful teens thought they’d stick out, living as griffons or ogres while wearing too many costumes and too much makeup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="m_8608826887692392804gmail-Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>Ever since her fifteenth birthday, Brianna imagined the sounds of living through a war or smells of wild valleys where unicorns trod. Now that she was eligible to be the main character of a young adult novel, she anticipated something mysterious to take place in her life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="m_8608826887692392804gmail-Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>As she fed the family camels, she watched her boots for stray photographs of peculiar people in the dust. Nothing met her boots except some twigs and camel manure, as usual, but she kept on hoping. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Of course, she couldn’t dream too much, otherwise she’d be stuck in dating wars for some prince or chasing prophecies, both of which were cliche. And the Great Authors of Novella never wanted to put cliche stories in their collections of their world’s history. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="m_8608826887692392804gmail-Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>On one particular morning, as Brianna wondered what it would be like to live in a secret society, a strange fellow with a feathered face and yellow boots arrived on their porch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="m_8608826887692392804gmail-Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>Brianna stopped between the camel-yard and cottage, staring at the creature. Her mother rushed from the house, wringing her hands in her apron and leaving the door open to let out scents of taffy being made in the kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Inside, Brianna’s excitement boiled. She bit her lip, to hold back her hope. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">No non-human creatures came to Adventuras Island in the world of Novella, unless they wanted to find someone to take on an adventure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Camels huffed in the back of her ears, nervous. The wind even changed directions.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Yes, this has to be my time. My turn to become a hero. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Dear, sir!” Brianna’s mother called, addressing the feathered-visitor by her usual term for everyone. “Are you lost? Do you need shelter?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Brianna made her way over to the short creature and her mother. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Her mother’s fingers danced at her side, as if she played an invisible piano… as if she thought this hero-seeker was for her. Brianna couldn’t hold back her scowl.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>No, mom. This needs to be mine. You’ve already had five adventures.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="m_8608826887692392804gmail-Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>The feather-faced visitor bowed, tucking both his arms to his chest and revealing some rather curly purple nails that matched his plumaged complexion. “My Lady of the Laughing Forbidden Cliffs, Áirneath, whose eyes are golden and face is like glowing emeralds…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="m_8608826887692392804gmail-Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>“Hold it!” Brianna cut in.</span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-60557073348375178062017-06-23T20:10:00.001-07:002017-06-23T20:10:17.235-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #13: Seductress<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Name: Jessica Grace Kelley (@JessicaGraceLit)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: medium;">Genre: YA Fantasy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: medium;">Title: Seductress</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: medium;">35-word Pitch: In an alternate universe where perfumes are drugs, a young socialite travels to Parise to take vengeance on the Count of Grosmith, the man who forced her mother into a life as a courtesan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: medium;">First 500 Words:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I stare down at my white knuckles, the same color as the creamy envelope they clutch. This letter holds the last bit of guidance my mother ever gave me. Once this move is made, the rest of her vengeance will be up to me. A vengeance I spent years preparing for.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> My whole life has led to this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Focus, Em." Darcane's voice pulls me back to the carriage. "Remember why we’re here. This is the first step to taking back what’s yours.” </span> <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Darcane sits in the seat across from me. He’s hidden by shadows, except for the outline of his tailored jacket and auburn hair, but I know he’s staring me down, criticizing every inch of me in the best and worst ways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Don’t you mean what was hers?” I slip mother's letter back into my clutch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You’re the heir to her fortune. Now it belongs to you.” Darcane’s words curl around the truth, bitterness dripping from that last syllable. When mother made me her beneficiary instead of her favored employee, as she promised, it was a blow to his pride. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">His fury is too good not celebrate with a grin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Darcane shifts forward, the glare from the window highlighting his unfortunately gorgeous grey stare. It digs into me, mapping my weakness, and his jaw dances as he presses his molars down on unspoken words. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> "Don't be so quick to laugh, " he says. “You inherited everything, including the debts she never paid and the enemies she made. We both know how long that list was.”</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Long enough to drive us from London. </span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I fall back into the cushioned seat. That coal-coated city never offered me much kindness, but it would’ve been nice to have a say in my address. Instead, Darcane and I fled as soon as he forged new identity papers. I don’t miss wondering if I’d be gutted by some Black Tips’ lackey or offed by some desperate soul indebted to my mother, but the choice to stay is one more check mark on the list of things stolen from me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">A Skyrail engine sounds its horn from above. I slip a finger beneath the window curtain to peek at the street outside, craning my neck for a glimpse of their infamous speeding cars. All I see are the ornate store fronts Parise is so famous for. It's beautiful. I understand why mother loved it. She was happy here, once. Before the Count betrayed her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I wonder if the Count knows how black he turned her soul.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The curtain slips from my fingers. We aren’t here to sightsee. We’re to ruin the Count of Grosmith by stealing his business’ secrets and wringing his heart. Today is the first move. I need to persuade the Count's head Perfumist to make me a potion off the books. That isn’t a simple task. Darcane has a job to do too, and I’m nervous about his ability to pull it off. I don’t like being dependent on other people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Especially him.</span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-90202344225276320562017-06-23T20:09:00.003-07:002017-06-24T09:04:00.865-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #12: Dusk Before DawnRosie Brown<br />
@rosiesrambles<br />
YA Fantasy<br />
DUSK BEFORE DAWN<br />
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Pitch: In a world based on North and West African folklore, the crown princess of a desert nation must quell a mutiny against her comatose mother’s throne while avoiding the refugee tasked to kill her. </div>
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First 500:<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">Malik wasn’t ready to see the sun again.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">After two weeks of near complete darkness, the sudden brightness of the afternoon sun stung his eyes. Splotches of purple and green danced across his vision as Hassan barked, “Everybody out!”</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">Malik had no idea how the smuggler expected them to follow this order. He and the other refugees were packed so closely together within the confines of Hassan’s wagon that it made even breathing difficult. Moving was not an option.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">When nobody followed his orders, Hassan grabbed Malik by his shoulders, lifted the boy from the wagon bed, and tossed him onto the dusty ground. The metallic taste of blood and sand exploded in Malik’s mouth. He scrambled to his knees, clutching the strap of his worn leather satchel tightly to his chest.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">“Everybody get out,” Hassan yelled again.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">“Malik!”</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">Nadia jumped out of the wagon bed and ran to her brother’s side, grabbing onto his pant leg as he coughed. Their mother Rahila followed after her, shooting Hassan a glare as she dropped to her knees beside her son.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">“Are you okay?” Nadia asked, her dark eyes wide. Fighting the pain, Malik gave a small nod.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, I promise.”</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">Rahila’s eyes narrowed, her hands clenching into fists. Malik forced a smile on his face, anything to let her know he was fine. They had enough to worry about without adding his wellbeing to the mix.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">After double checking Malik was not injured, Rahila turned to the smuggler and demanded, “What is the meaning of this? Why have we stopped?”</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">Hassan spit a glob of phlegm onto the ground near Malik’s feet before replying, “Sentinel checkpoint.”</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">The knot of anxiety in Malik’s stomach tightened, and he glanced around as if one of the aforementioned warriors would come at them with a scimitar at any moment. If the Sentinels were to discover their motley group of refugees and the man who had smuggled them halfway across the desert, death would be most merciful option waiting for them.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">“But you said when we left Talafri that this route had no Sentinels on it!” cried Rahila.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">“Shut your mouth!” Hassan glanced over his shoulder, his hand hovering near the hilt of his dagger. He was by no means a small man, and in the short time Malik had known him, the smuggler had never shown uncertainty of any kind. The fear tinging Hassan’s words now only added to Malik’s own nerves.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">Hassan continued, “Are you trying to summon every Sentinel patrol between here and Mahashe?”</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">Rahila grumbled but did not reply, much to Malik’s relief. His mother may not have feared the curved dagger that hung at Hassan’s hip, but Malik did.</span><span><span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="color: black;">They had stopped beside a large stone outcropping a little ways away from the main road, and as Hassan maneuvered the camel-drawn wagon deeper into the shade, Malik dared to look around. The golden sands of the Odjubai desert stretched out in every direction.</span></span></span></div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-90704764656567079032017-06-23T20:09:00.001-07:002017-07-03T19:38:50.163-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #11: It Gives A Lovely Light<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Name: Averill Frankes</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="username u-dir" dir="ltr" style="direction: ltr !important; text-align: left !important; unicode-bidi: embed;">@<b class="u-linkComplex-target" style="font-weight: normal;">averillelisa</b></span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Genre: YA Contemporary</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Title: IT GIVES A LOVELY LIGHT</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>35-word pitch: University is a chance for Adeline to escape: from an abusive home, superficial friends, a suffocating small town. But when long-time crush Jake returns, Adeline realizes how much there really is to lose.</strike></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>First 500 words:</strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>The wind blows through my hair as I lean my head by the open window of my best friend’s car. I breathe in the fresh air of my newly free life. Today was our last day of high school, and now, Nikki is dropping me off at home before our big celebration<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_975852231" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tonight</span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>at The Exit.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>“I can’t believe we’re done. Like,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>done<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>done.” Nikki navigates the roads expertly while she rattles on. “We never have to go back there again.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>I smile at her excitement, but I hardly share it. High school got me out of the house every day, gave me excuses to just not be home. Now, I have the entire summer ahead of me, which is probably why I volunteered to do full-time hours at the grocery store. Nikki can’t believe I would do such a thing during our last summer before university, but, frankly, I can use the money. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy,” I say.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>“C’mon, Adeline,” Nikki says, briefly looking over from the road. “This is what we’ve been working for all these years. Freedom!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>I lean back against the head rest and look out the window at the lamp posts speeding past. Nikki has no idea what that word really means to me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>“Let me hear you say it, Adeline. FREEDOM!” She yells the word so loud, I cover my ears. She looks over at me expectantly while we idle at a read light.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>“FREEDOM!” I yell out, making the driver in the car next to us stare. I slink down in my seat while Nikki takes off at the green light.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>“That’s the spirit!” She navigates around a pothole. “This summer is going to be amazing. The whole gang will be together again!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>She’s referring, of course, to Jake. The only member of our inner circle who isn’t going to be there<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_975852232" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tonight</span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>since he’s a year ahead of us and he’s still at university taking extra credit courses. We haven’t seen each other since his last break over two months ago and haven’t talked in almost a week. It’s is so out of our ordinary daily conversations that I’ve started to believe he might have forgotten about us. Or, about me, anyway.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>“Yeah,” I say. “It’s going to be great.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>Nikki pulls up in front of my house and puts the car in park, shifting to look at me. “So, we’ll meet at my place in a few hours?”</strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>I nod, plastering on the persona I know Nikki wants to see. Happy Adeline, Cool Adeline, Completely Fake Adeline. “I’ll see you then.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></strike></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike>Nikki leans over the console and hugs me. I squeeze her back, then climb out of the car and wave her off. I take the walk to my front door and step into the house. I never know what awaits me across the threshold, but the cloud that descends upon me as I shut the door behind me is never a good sign. </strike></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strike><br /></strike></span></span>
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The pitch: </div>
<div>
Adeline has been lying to her friends about her abusive
home. University means escape, but by severing the strings keeping her in her
suffocating small town, she risks losing everyone else in the process.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
First 500 words:</div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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It’s
June, so I shouldn’t be shivering after ducking out of the club. But it’s too
hot inside, with all my classmates crowding around to say goodbye like we won’t
be seeing each other all summer. I wrap my arms around myself to fend off the
early summer chill while enjoying the light breeze. </div>
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“Adeline?”
a voice calls out. It’s Nikki. Head cheerleader, president of student council
and everything else, she was the most popular girl in school, and my best
friend. </div>
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“Over
here,” I call out, not quite ready to surrender my solitude. </div>
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Her
tiny frame rounds the corner, dressed in a yellow sundress that highlights her
straight, auburn hair. She shuffles over to me. “What are you doing out here?
It’s freezing!”</div>
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“I
just needed some air,” I say, plastering on the persona I know she wants to
see. Happy Adeline. Cool Adeline. Completely Fake Adeline. </div>
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She
falls onto the wall beside me. “I can’t believe we’re done. Like, <i>done </i>done.
We never have to go back there again.” </div>
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I
smile at her excitement, but I hardly share it. High school gave me an excuse
to be out of the house all the time and away from Charlie, my older brother,
ruling the house now that Dad’s gone and my mother, who never fails to find a
fault in me, if she even remembers I’m there. Now, I have the entire summer in
that house ahead of me.</div>
<span class="im">
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“Yeah,
it’s pretty crazy,” I say. </div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
“C’mon,
Adeline,” Nikki says, her green eyes staring up at me in the dim light of the
parking lot. “This is what we’ve been working for all these years. Freedom!” </div>
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I
lean my head back against the wall. “Freedom,” I repeat. Nikki has no idea what
that word really means to me. </div>
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“This
summer is going to be amazing. Soon the whole gang will be together again!”
Nikki continues.</div>
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She’s
referring, of course, to Jake. He’s the only member of our inner circle who
isn’t going to be here <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1126840870" tabindex="0">tonight</span> since he’s a year ahead of us and is still at
university taking extra credit courses. We haven’t seen each other since his
last break over two months ago and I’ve started to worry he might have
forgotten about us. Or, about me, anyway. </div>
<span class="im">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
“Yeah,”
I say. “It’s going to be great.”</div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
Nikki’s
phone buzzes and she checks it discretely, a wide smile spreading across her
face. She shoves it back in her purse and takes me by the shoulders so I face
her. </div>
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“What’s
going on, Nik?” I ask. </div>
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A
car turns into the parking lot and as I squint to see where I’ve seen it
before, Nikki turns me back around. She keeps her hands on my shoulders, and
her smile is even wider than it was before. “Just, stay here, okay?”</div>
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I
glance back but I can’t see anything. “What is it?”</div>
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A car door slams and Nikki spins me around quickly. "Surprise!" she whispers in my ear.<span style="font-family: Calibri,sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
</div>
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Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-87732396185081600992017-06-23T20:08:00.003-07:002017-06-23T20:08:33.441-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #10: Saving Grace <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Karis Rogerson</span><span style="font-size: small;"> (@KarisRogerson)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">YA Contemporary </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">SAVING GRACE</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">35-word pitch:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grace needs to be saved—from herself and the self-loathing that coats her. When a family tragedy sends her spiraling, it takes a new friend and a laugh-filled road trip to show her life’s potential.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">First 500:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’ve stumbled into this porta potty that smells of sewage death in the baking summer heat of Tennessee for one express purpose: to take pill after pill after pill. To wait for my sight to fade and the world to go black. To let my breathing slow, slow, slow, stop.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To die, in short. To erase all mention and memory of myself from this earth. To leave behind the pain and the gaping hole he left in my life.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Crouched in the smelly box, not really trying to avoid the puddles of surely urine and poop, I rifle through the duffel bag, past my phone, lit up with messages from Mason — my heart clenches at the thought of him — and my fingers close around one of Michael’s pill bottles.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This will do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I pull the bottle out and unscrew the cap, shake some pills into my hand.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">They are pink and peach and purple. They are chalky and shaped like dinosaurs. They’re a flashback to my childhood — to early mornings crunching on them and wrinkling my nose at their slightly bitter taste.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A laugh, disbelieving and loud, bursts from my lips. It fills and ricochets in the tiny porta potty space and the sound of it, the ridiculousness of it all, overcomes me and I laugh harder. I bend over and clutch my knees with white knuckles as hysterical laughter envelopes me, the reverberations of sound chasing away the darkness.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I can breathe again, I look at the bottle in my hand. The label tells me it’s a bottle of dinosaur vitamins.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s right.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Vitamins.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I came here to overdose and was going to kill myself with vitamins for kids, shaped like dinosaurs. Freaking heck.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The hilarity overtakes me again and I’m cracking up some more, sliding down so my butt hovers over the dirty floor and my back is wedged against the side of the box.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And when I’m done laughing, I feel…better. Lighter, as though somehow laughter is a brand of magic that releases all the sorrow and the hurt and suddenly, I think<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_975852230" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tomorrow</span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>will be better.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I mean, obviously there’s a reason the pill bottle I pulled out was full of vitamins and not real drugs.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe the universe is saying it’s not my time to die yet.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 12pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe it’s saying I do get a second chance.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">*</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Someone knocks on the door. “Hello?” a female voice calls, and I push myself to my feet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Just a second,” I respond. I stuff everything back in the duffel bag, run my fingers through my hair to try and make it semi-presentable, and turn to leave.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s time for Grace Hamrit’s life to start over.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I step out of the bathroom and am temporarily blinded by the amount of bedazzle on the shirt in front of me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Crap, you're sparkling!" I say, then clamp my mouth shut. </span></span></span></div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-74731960457420618582017-06-23T20:08:00.001-07:002017-06-23T20:08:03.626-07:002017 #YayYA Entery #9: Shadow the Night<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-style: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19.5px; margin: 0px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Name: </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">Aria Valentine (@ariavwrites)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">Genre: YA </span><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">Fantasy</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Title: </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">Shadow the Night</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">35-Word Pitch: </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">When 17-year-old Haylo’s investigation of her blind sister’s murder uncovers a plot to resurrect dark magic, she must overcome her guilt and solitude to fight for the truth and save her tropical kingdom.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">First 500 Words:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">The first raindrops struck my scalp like a torrent of wasp stings. I never could outrun the storms, but I always outran the jaguars.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">I just prayed my sister could, too.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">“Haylo!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">She called out my name too loud, too shrill, like a wounded antelope screeching. The bounding paws and resonant growling behind us only got louder in response.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">“It’s okay, Mara, just keep going!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">The rain fell heavier with every step we took, turning the soil underfoot into umber silt that threatened to pull us down like quicksand. Evading the jungle’s twisting vines and jutting rocks at high speed was always harder during in a downpour. Running barefoot didn’t help, but it was the only way Mara could navigate.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">My burning lungs clawed at the moist air, grasping for the strength to call out to her. “Remember … when your feet hit grass … turn left!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">Mara slowed her sprint to keep from slipping, and I had to shorten my own stride to keep her in my sights. I stayed so far behind her, I could almost feel the jaguar’s breath on the back of my legs.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">Big cat teeth sinking into the flesh of my calves—the image invaded my mind, seeping into my every thought like poison. <i>How quickly could it kill me?</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">My heart convulsed faster and faster, catching up to the beat of our hastened feet pounding the forest floor. With every exhalation, I lost another shred of stamina. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;"><i>We’re not going to make it</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">Then, like light at the end of a tunnel, sprigs of emerald pasture came into view. My jaw clenched as Mara approached the grass path. Even a fraction of hesitation and we’d be cat food.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">But right on clue, she deftly swerved left as her feet hit the greenery. I followed close behind, wishing I had enough breath for a sigh of relief. All that came out was ragged panting. The jaguar was still just dozens of yards behind us.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">I may have had more muscle on my thighs, but his heavy paws could propel him into the air with every step. That’s why outrunning jaguars was more a matter of outwitting. The predators never learned as quickly as the prey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">Without warning, the beastly feline let out a deep, rumbling roar behind us—a warning against me challenging his intelligence. My stomach lurched at the sound, and so did Mara’s legs.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">A vine caught her foot. The few seconds she took to steady herself brought her ever-closer to the jaguar.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">“Haylo … I can’t do it!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="line-height: 24px;">No, no, no</span></i><span style="line-height: 24px;">. The pain in her cry. I could<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>feel</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>it. She truly thought she was going to die here. And I couldn’t let that happen.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">“Omara Ivy!” I shouted, finding unexpected power in my lungs. “You are blind in sight, but not in perception. Your awareness, your judgement—they’re clearer than the light of day!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">Mara was blind, but she knew our tropical kingdom of Ventura even better than I did.</span></span></div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-42598479979240784232017-06-23T20:07:00.004-07:002017-06-23T20:07:33.854-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #8: Shift<div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Name: Keli Vice</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Twitter Handle: @kelivice</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Genre: YA/Paranormal Romance</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Title:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Shift</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">PITCH:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />An unfriended social outcast, Emily dreads senior year…until she becomes entangled in a strange romance with an intriguing new student, who turns out to be much more than he seems.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">500 WORDS:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">From where I</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’m parked up in the Junior Lot, I can see the big soccer ball I painted across the asphalt last month under my name: E-M-I-L-Y in tall black block letters. Megan helped me fill in the green grass at the bottom, then I helped her finish outlining her name—three-foot-tall letters that stretch diagonally across her parking space two over from mine. Lyla, still annoyed we’d woken her up before<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_67030790" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">noon</span></span>, sipped on the Starbuck’s Frappuccino we bribed her with and refused our help painting the big red and white pompoms that fill the top of her spot. I grimace at the words underneath:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Go Kennedy! I</i></span><i><span style="line-height: 24px;">Y#24</span></i><span style="line-height: 24px;">.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">The ache in the back of my throat grows, and I swallow, trying to push it down. It</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’s hard to believe only six weeks have passed since I spent that long summer day with my two best friends. The three of us had been talking about painting our senior parking spaces since the fifth grade, when Megan’s cousin painted his. San Carlan Elementary’s “</span><i><span style="line-height: 24px;">Three Musketeers</span></i><i><span style="line-height: 24px;">”</span></i><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>finally made it to senior year and, thanks in large part to Lyla Park</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’s unstoppable powers of persuasion, scored three sweet spaces in the coveted front row of the Senior Lot.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 24px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">But that was all before<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_67030791" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">July 4th</span></span>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Now, Megan</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’s gone. And Lyla….Well, it’s unlikely that Lyla will ever speak to me again without a sneer twisting up her perfect pouty lips. So much for childhood friendships.</span><span style="line-height: 24px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">The last thing I meant to do today was arrive early. I</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’ve been<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><i><span style="line-height: 24px;">dreading</span></i><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>today. But I couldn</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’t stand another minute of my mom pretending not to stare at me over her coffee mug, like I might break down and lose it at any moment. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 24px;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">With the windows up, the vanilla scent of the air freshener hanging from my rear-view mirror is overpowering. I flick the tacky green cardboard tree, watching it swing as I swallow back the lump forming in my throat. Dad surprised me this morning, cleaning out my car and filling up the tank before he left for work. I</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’d told my parents a watered-down version of what happened out at the lake, but they know there’s more to the story. The past few weeks have been filled with hushed conversations that cut off the minute I walk into the room.</span><span style="line-height: 24px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19.2px; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">The parking lot fills around me as the dashboard clock marches towards<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_67030792" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">8:00am</span></span>. I hope none of the juniors recognize my car; the mere fact that I</span><span style="line-height: 24px;">’m parked here confirms the rumors of my social exile. Not like most of them don’t already know. My fall down Kennedy High’s social ladder had been swift, irrevocable and well-publicized on Snapchat. I only saw the beginning of Lyla’s rant before I was blocked, one by one, by just about everyone on my friend list. Juniors included.</span><span style="line-height: 24px;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0.5in; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My heart squeezes into a fist as a familiar bright red BMW cruises into the senior lot below.</span></span><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-8547093678527099272017-06-23T20:04:00.004-07:002017-07-03T19:45:38.376-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #7: Daughters of the Dragon <div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Name: Elizabeth Chang-Gibson
@ewgibson</span></div>
<div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Genre: YA Fantasy</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">Title: DAUGHTERS OF THE DRAGON</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>35 word Pitch:</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<strike><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;">In a world where Chinese
fairytales are real, Sara, a sixteen-year-old artist, trades her brushes for a
sword to save her little sister from a sorceress hell-bent on eating souls to
feed her magical powers</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">.</span></strike></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><strike>First 500:</strike></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<strike><br /></strike>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><strike>Sara</strike></span></i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>"A
heavenly spirit rides on the back of the white crane, carrying secret messages
from the world where butterflies dream." ~ Apoism #28</strike></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<strike><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"> </span></strike></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>I’d waited five years for a message from my dead
mother. Now that I had it, I wished to God I could send it back.</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>Huddled under the covers, I rocked
my firefly lighter back and forth to the drone of the rain hitting the roof.
Once again, a nightmare had yanked me from my sleep. A nightly occurrence since
I lost my parents. After waking, I’d hunch over my book of dreams, and with the
stub of my charcoal stick, I’d gouge black shapes into the paper to banish the
demons. </strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>This time, when I opened my book,
I found something I hadn’t drawn. The blast of my lighter illuminated my
mother’s chop—her signature seal in Chinese characters—stamped on the bottom
left corner of my book.</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>Grandma Apo had cautioned that
our Chinese ancestors always returned in some form. Their souls redressed and
then booted out the door to live again. “Don’t step on the cockroach,” she
would warn me. “It could be your thieving great uncle, Feng.” But no amount of
forewarning could’ve prepared me for the sight of my mother’s calligraphy.</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>The chop bloomed as red as the
tide that turns the ocean the color of blood. Above it, six stacked horizontal
lines, dressed in the blackest of ink, stood like a legion of soldiers in
formation. Was this the written language of the dead? Simple lines and no words.
</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>In the distance, thunder rumbled
like a wounded animal. </strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>“Sara.” Jaz, my five-year-old
sister, cried out in her sleep.</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>I rolled over and cradled her in
my arms. “Shhhhh. We’re okay, monkey face.”</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>Her tiny body trembled and it
wouldn’t stop until the thunder disappeared. “I hate thunder. It makes
everything dark,” she said.</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">I lit the lantern sitting on the table next to
the bed. Then I finger combed her sweat-soaked bangs from her eyes. “Remember the
puppet master’s story about his shadow puppets, the sun, and the moon. Well,
this morning, the sun is late chasing his wife, the moon. He’s probably napping
under a blanket of clouds. As you should be.”</span></strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>She sat up and puffed herself up
as big she could. “I’m not a baby.” </strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>“That’s a relief. Now I can go
back to sleep while you light the kang stove with fresh dung cakes. Don’t
forget the congee this morning. And remember, I like green onions in my
porridge. Then you can help in the rice fields today. ” I lay back on the bed,
wishing she would do the same. She was in such a rush to grow up and I wanted
her little forever. More precisely, I wanted her ignorant of the monster inside
me.</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>“I have to tell you what I saw,”
she said with a tiny pout.</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>“You can tell me your dream
later. After you wake up.”</strike></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: small; margin: 0px;"><strike>“But…</strike></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">35
word Pitch:</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">In
an ancient China that never was, sixteen-year-old artist, Shala trades her
brushes for a sword to save her little sister from a sorceress hell-bent on
eating souls to feed her magical powers</span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;">.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;">First
500 Words:</span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">CHAPTER ONE</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">Shala</span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">"A heavenly spirit rides on the back of the white
crane, carrying secret messages from the world where butterflies dream." ~
Apoism #28</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">For five years,
I have waited for a message from my dead mother. Now that I had it, I wished to
all the gods I could send it back.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">Huddled
under the covers, I rocked my firefly lantern back and forth to the drone of
the rain hitting the roof. The motion agitated the fireflies and they reacted
by flashing a cold light inside the transparent silk container. Every night
since I lost my parents, a nightmare would yank me from a deep slumber. Bleary-eyed,
I’d hunch over my book of dreams, and with the stub of my charcoal stick, I’d gouge
black shapes into the paper to banish the demons. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">This
time, when I opened the book, I found something I hadn’t drawn. The blast from
my lantern illuminated mother’s chop—her signature seal in Chinese
characters—stamped on the bottom left corner of the page.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">Grandma
Apo had cautioned that our ancestors always returned in some form. Their souls
redressed in new skins and then booted out the ten courts of hell. “Don’t step
on the cockroach,” she would warn me. “It could be your thieving great uncle,
Feng.” But no amount of forewarning could’ve prepared me for the sight of my
mother’s calligraphy.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">The
chop bloomed as red as the algae that bleeds the ocean the color of blood.
Above it, six stacked horizontal lines, dressed in the blackest of ink, stood
like a legion of soldiers in formation. Was this the written language of the
dead? Simple lines and no words. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">In
the distance, thunder rumbled like a wounded animal. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">“Shala!”
Jaz, my five-year-old sister, cried out. When our parents died, she was barely a
month old. Since then, my sole concerned was protecting her.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">I
rolled over in our shared bed and cradled her in my arms. “Shhhhh. We’re okay,
monkey face.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">Her
tiny body trembled against me. “I hate thunder. It makes everything dark,” she
said.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">I
rocked the lantern and handed it to her. The glow from the light brightened her
face now full of smiles. Then I finger combed her sweat-soaked bangs from her
eyes. “Remember the puppet master’s story about his shadow puppets, the sun,
and the moon. Well, this morning, the sun is late chasing his wife, the moon.
He’s probably napping under a blanket of clouds. As you should be.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">She
sat up and puffed herself up as big she could. “I’m not a baby.” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">Covering
my mouth, I stifled a laugh. “That’s a relief.” I pinched her nose. “Now I can
go back to sleep while you light the kang stove and use fresh dung cakes. Don’t
forget the congee this morning. And remember, I like green onions in my rice
porridge. Then you can work the rice fields today. ” I lay back on the bed,
wishing she would do the same. She was in such a rush to grow up and I wanted
her little forever. More precisely, I wanted her ignorant of the monster inside
me.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">“I
have to tell you what I saw,” she said with a tiny pout.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">“You
can tell me your dream later. After you wake up.”</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-top: 16px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">“But…</span></span></div>
</div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5873256532772708160.post-40869877715808842982017-06-23T20:04:00.000-07:002017-06-23T20:04:03.551-07:002017 #YayYA Entry #6: A Serenade for the Bright Night <div dir="auto">
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">Name: Maria Hossain (@logophile_maria)</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">Genre: High Fantasy</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">Title: A Serenade For The Bright Night</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">35 word pitch:</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">A princess’s quest for revenge jeopardizes her subject’s lives. A day laborer’s feelings for a prisoner sabotage his mission to save his dying brother. Millennium apart, their lives will interweave when humanity’s greatest threat strikes.</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">First 500 word:</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">Chapter 01: Prime Princess</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">When
I was born, my mother wished me dead. An ‘apaya’, she called me,
according to my midwife. Meaning “born ill-fated” in our ancestors’
ancient language. A proverb goes, “Wherever an apaya turns, a house
burns.”</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Get up, you apaya!” </span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">The moment I hear it, I stiffen. Is it directed at me? I clutch Azibo’s hands in the impasse we’re hiding.</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Get up, apaya!” </span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">I
cower, my self-respect withering. With it surfaces my fear of getting
caught. Have we been discovered? The stench of bovine entrails, fish
scales, and human urine in the alley make me nauseated. The dry loaves I
ate for breakfast threaten to come out. Sweat soaks my threadbare shift
to my skin. </span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">“It’s not
you, love,” Azibo whispers. A kiss he places on my head. I sneak a
glance over my shoulder. On the street, a girl of about ten winters is
being lugged. Her shift too short, too tattered, too somber a view. Her
dark locks are tangled, bunched up in a man’s hands, the one dragging
her. Teeth gritted, he lifts her scrawny body and hands her to two
darkly clad men. </span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">My father’s men. </span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">My father, the king. </span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">Sickle
swords are strapped on their belts, with baldrics of daggers across
their chest. A sight that terrified and prompted us to hide in this
impasse, behind piles of broken trash crates. Though my father
begrudgingly spared Azibo and me after my low marriage, we still must
evade his men to avoid trouble.</span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">On
a mule few steps away from the guards is a sack. When the girl’s been
tied with bronze shackles and thrown over the mule, the man who was
dragging her lunges for it. A few tears on it reveal its content; flax
seed. From the look of it, it won’t last a fortnight, even for one
person. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">The girl
struggles. The clinging fetters bruise her. “Father…” she whimpers. Her
greedy father doesn’t pay her any attention. He’s busy with the sack. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">This
has been going on the Island ever since my father ascended the throne.
Parents selling off their children, husbands using wives as harlots, all
for a mouthful of food. Once cannibalism occurred in the slum outside
the border walls. Back then I wasn’t the slum’s resident. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">“That’s
enough, love. Please.” Azibo turns me away. Unlike the girl, my scruffy
shift reaches my knees. It used to be Azibo’s. I altered it to look
more feminine. After all, sewing, weaving and spinning are my only
talents, and means of livelihood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="auto">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I’m
fine.” My trembling voice gives away. If I wasn’t born as the Prime
Princess, rather impoverished like that poor girl, my father would’ve
sold me off too. Even though my father, king of the Meridian Island, was
the one who dubbed me with the title. In our state, the largest in the
Pantheon, the heir apparent are called Prime Prince. I used to be the
only Prime Princess in history.</span></div>
</div>
Rachel Stevensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00991463819733034833noreply@blogger.com11