TITLE: Crossroads
GENRE: Fantasy
She was dreaming; she knew that. The barren castle, the circular room, the bodies on the floor – all these things she had left behind days ago. But her mind replayed them each night, breaking her heart again and again until she was sure she had no heart left to break. She kept reminding herself it was a dream, except for one inescapable truth: Captain Hunter was dead.
Gar’s growl woke her from the nightmare and she found herself looking up into citrine eyes set against a dark face. Fearful, her mind sought that of her bear, seeing the scene through his eyes. He stood behind her, hackles raised at the black wolf whose pearly canines were mere inches from her nose. She felt the damp doggy breath on her face.
She slowly raised a hand to the dark fur, looking for connection. And she found it. But the lupine mind behind the yellow eyes was strangely familiar, stirring memories from before her transformation. Unsettled, she severed the connection and strangled the memories.
At the least, it means me no harm, she thought to Gar who huffed in agreement.
The bear sent her a vision, more like her dreams than his usual animal thoughts. A ghostly woman in armor had told him to wait for the next companion. Grandmother told you about the wolf?
A slick tongue shot out of the charcoal snout and stroked her chin, bringing her attention back to the golden eyes. Apparently the wolf was here for her.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
March 2012 Test Run #7
TITLE: LANDING MELODY
GENRE: YA urban fantasy
It was the red leather box that grabbed her attention.
Stella ran her finger across the top, faded from being next to the
only window in the attic. She touched the copper latch. It popped
open, and she pushed the lid up.
An objected nestled on silk cloth laid in the box. It was a flute. A
wooden flute.
The design appeared to be the same as a regular metal flute—other
than the fact that where it was supposed to be metal, there was
oak-like wood. Polished. Dark. It looked so smooth and inviting.
Leaning forward, Stella reached out and touched it—
“OWW!” Sparks jumped out from it, and she stumbled back, clutching
her wrist. Streams of pain shot up her arm.
She howled and curled to the floor. Her arm shook and buzzed as
though she'd stuck her finger in an outlet. She clenched her hand and
shrieked as another wave of pain pulsed through her veins.
Then she thumped to the floor and blacked out.
FORTY MINUTES EARLIER. . .
Anything would have been better than this.
Stella stood in the doorway of the Victorian home and reached for
her godfather's hand. Paris took it and squeezed.
“You all right?” His words dropped like pebbles in the silence.
Stella nodded.
It wasn't true.
“Just seems so big,” she whispered. How stupid that sounded. Why be
afraid of a house when she needed to worry about the reason she stood
in front of it?
The house sat buried among a cluster of Alabama oak trees, Spanish
moss dangling from the branches. It stood huge enough where Stella had
to tilt back her neck to look up. Windows dotted the whole building.
She kept looking to see if anyone stared down at them.
GENRE: YA urban fantasy
It was the red leather box that grabbed her attention.
Stella ran her finger across the top, faded from being next to the
only window in the attic. She touched the copper latch. It popped
open, and she pushed the lid up.
An objected nestled on silk cloth laid in the box. It was a flute. A
wooden flute.
The design appeared to be the same as a regular metal flute—other
than the fact that where it was supposed to be metal, there was
oak-like wood. Polished. Dark. It looked so smooth and inviting.
Leaning forward, Stella reached out and touched it—
“OWW!” Sparks jumped out from it, and she stumbled back, clutching
her wrist. Streams of pain shot up her arm.
She howled and curled to the floor. Her arm shook and buzzed as
though she'd stuck her finger in an outlet. She clenched her hand and
shrieked as another wave of pain pulsed through her veins.
Then she thumped to the floor and blacked out.
FORTY MINUTES EARLIER. . .
Anything would have been better than this.
Stella stood in the doorway of the Victorian home and reached for
her godfather's hand. Paris took it and squeezed.
“You all right?” His words dropped like pebbles in the silence.
Stella nodded.
It wasn't true.
“Just seems so big,” she whispered. How stupid that sounded. Why be
afraid of a house when she needed to worry about the reason she stood
in front of it?
The house sat buried among a cluster of Alabama oak trees, Spanish
moss dangling from the branches. It stood huge enough where Stella had
to tilt back her neck to look up. Windows dotted the whole building.
She kept looking to see if anyone stared down at them.
March 2012 Test Run #6
TITLE: Butterfly Girl
GENRE: Upper MG (magical realism)
What in the world? Madison rolled onto her side and shoved her hand against…
Ouch! What she was lying on was part of her! She sat up and whipped her nightgown over her head.
Wings! The spell worked!
She threw off the covers and ran to look in the mirror above her dresser. Leather-like wings jutted out from between her shoulder blades and hung almost flat against her back, golden brown, with shiny green dots and swirls along the edges.
Gently she unfurled them, first together, then one at a time. Each wing opened and closed in sections, folding together like a fan.
She pinched herself hard. No, not dreaming.
3 weeks Pre-Wings…
Madison drew a sharp breath and didn’t let it out for a long moment. The writing on the postcard made her heart race.
To Miss Madison Michaela McCoy-Lee. Each M oversized and curving high, like the hills of a roller coaster. Happy Birthday!!! I hope your 12th is the best year ever! Hugs and kisses… Love, Mimi. P.S. We’re performing in Oregon this year – I’ll come for a nice long visit.
Sure you will.
She flipped the postcard over. In big gold letters along the top of the card: Ringman Brothers' Traveling Circus, with a picture of her mother, Mimi, waiting to be shot out of a cannon. A wide swath of green covered each eyelid – stage make-up. Usually her mom didn’t wear much make-up. Or maybe she did, now.
Madison folded the postcard in half, then shoved it into her back pocket.
GENRE: Upper MG (magical realism)
What in the world? Madison rolled onto her side and shoved her hand against…
Ouch! What she was lying on was part of her! She sat up and whipped her nightgown over her head.
Wings! The spell worked!
She threw off the covers and ran to look in the mirror above her dresser. Leather-like wings jutted out from between her shoulder blades and hung almost flat against her back, golden brown, with shiny green dots and swirls along the edges.
Gently she unfurled them, first together, then one at a time. Each wing opened and closed in sections, folding together like a fan.
She pinched herself hard. No, not dreaming.
3 weeks Pre-Wings…
Madison drew a sharp breath and didn’t let it out for a long moment. The writing on the postcard made her heart race.
To Miss Madison Michaela McCoy-Lee. Each M oversized and curving high, like the hills of a roller coaster. Happy Birthday!!! I hope your 12th is the best year ever! Hugs and kisses… Love, Mimi. P.S. We’re performing in Oregon this year – I’ll come for a nice long visit.
Sure you will.
She flipped the postcard over. In big gold letters along the top of the card: Ringman Brothers' Traveling Circus, with a picture of her mother, Mimi, waiting to be shot out of a cannon. A wide swath of green covered each eyelid – stage make-up. Usually her mom didn’t wear much make-up. Or maybe she did, now.
Madison folded the postcard in half, then shoved it into her back pocket.
March 2012 Test Run #5
TITLE: Storyville
GENRE: Romance
New Orleans, Louisiana
Monday, October 6, 1902
“Are you a virgin, Estella?”
The girl’s eyes widened at the question and her thin hands, already clenched together in her lap, whitened at the knuckles. The child squirmed in her chair and her gaze skittered around the room, bouncing from the crown moldings to the barge board floors to the enormous gilt-edged mirror that topped the marble fireplace mantle. It finally landed on the view of the deserted street through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Estella’s thoughts were written like words across her young face; she was trying to decide upon the right answer.
The girl stared at Trula’s chin and said, “No, Miz Boudreaux, course not.” Then, her eyes slid away. She was lying.
At least, Trula hoped she was lying. Had she ever been so young? Estella was hardly older than a baby. Perhaps thirteen, more likely twelve. Saints only knew what hell her home had been if she believed a whore’s life would be better. Trula leaned forward and caught the girl’s pointed chin between her fingers. She turned the young face from side to side. The child had thick chestnut hair in need of a wash and wide-set brown eyes flecked with gold. If she had a bit of meat of her bones, she’d be pretty. Still, unless she stumbled across a madam willing to sell her virginity to the highest bidder, the best an undeveloped child could hope for was a crib on Robertson Street where she might earn a few dollars a day.
GENRE: Romance
New Orleans, Louisiana
Monday, October 6, 1902
“Are you a virgin, Estella?”
The girl’s eyes widened at the question and her thin hands, already clenched together in her lap, whitened at the knuckles. The child squirmed in her chair and her gaze skittered around the room, bouncing from the crown moldings to the barge board floors to the enormous gilt-edged mirror that topped the marble fireplace mantle. It finally landed on the view of the deserted street through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Estella’s thoughts were written like words across her young face; she was trying to decide upon the right answer.
The girl stared at Trula’s chin and said, “No, Miz Boudreaux, course not.” Then, her eyes slid away. She was lying.
At least, Trula hoped she was lying. Had she ever been so young? Estella was hardly older than a baby. Perhaps thirteen, more likely twelve. Saints only knew what hell her home had been if she believed a whore’s life would be better. Trula leaned forward and caught the girl’s pointed chin between her fingers. She turned the young face from side to side. The child had thick chestnut hair in need of a wash and wide-set brown eyes flecked with gold. If she had a bit of meat of her bones, she’d be pretty. Still, unless she stumbled across a madam willing to sell her virginity to the highest bidder, the best an undeveloped child could hope for was a crib on Robertson Street where she might earn a few dollars a day.
March 2012 Test Run #4
TITLE: Numbered
GENRE: YA Sci-Fi/Dystopian
The only thing moving is my heart beating and the blood pumping through my veins. I breathe without my chest rising or falling. Everything else sits as still as the dead; the mock grass, the fabricated shrubs, even the tree that I sit perched in, waiting.
Waiting. So much of my training has been waiting, patience. Sitting still for four, five, six hours at a time, training my muscles not to go numb, and my mind to stay alert. Sub-zero temperatures, over one hundred degrees, I’ve been through it all. Like now, for instance, waiting in this tree as I have been for two hours. It’s hot, at least over ninety, but I do not break a sweat. The smell of sweat could give away my location. I keep my breaths silent and shallow, regulating my body temperature. And I wait.
Movement flickers in my right peripheral, and I dart my eyes in that direction, keeping my head fixed straight ahead. There he is: my target. He moves silently from one tree and shrub to the other, almost imperceptibly. Had I not been waiting so long and become so familiarized with the environment, I might never have noticed him, and then I would have failed. Failure is impossible. Passing is mandatory. So much time and money has been put into my training, that if I fail, I would be putting the lives of my trainers at risk. And I would be letting down the Leaders.
GENRE: YA Sci-Fi/Dystopian
The only thing moving is my heart beating and the blood pumping through my veins. I breathe without my chest rising or falling. Everything else sits as still as the dead; the mock grass, the fabricated shrubs, even the tree that I sit perched in, waiting.
Waiting. So much of my training has been waiting, patience. Sitting still for four, five, six hours at a time, training my muscles not to go numb, and my mind to stay alert. Sub-zero temperatures, over one hundred degrees, I’ve been through it all. Like now, for instance, waiting in this tree as I have been for two hours. It’s hot, at least over ninety, but I do not break a sweat. The smell of sweat could give away my location. I keep my breaths silent and shallow, regulating my body temperature. And I wait.
Movement flickers in my right peripheral, and I dart my eyes in that direction, keeping my head fixed straight ahead. There he is: my target. He moves silently from one tree and shrub to the other, almost imperceptibly. Had I not been waiting so long and become so familiarized with the environment, I might never have noticed him, and then I would have failed. Failure is impossible. Passing is mandatory. So much time and money has been put into my training, that if I fail, I would be putting the lives of my trainers at risk. And I would be letting down the Leaders.
March 2012 Test Run #3
TITLE: Broken Wings
GENRE: Women's fiction
The only leg I knew how to stand on anymore was the rolled fifty-dollar bill up my nose. But that high doesn’t last very long and, before you know it, you’re not standing; you’re lying on a cold tile floor, wasted and depressed. How many times have I been here?
From deep inside my chest I felt myself crying out, reaching out through the darkness that held me prisoner. God, if you’re there, I don’t want to be this person anymore. Everything’s a mess. I can't find my way out. Please, you have to make it right because I can't do this anymore.
Truthfully, I didn’t want to live anymore, but killing myself was a worse sin than licking a dealer’s nasty just to earn a little buzz. I was already in Hell and the Catholic in me knew suicide was just a way to guarantee things wouldn’t get better. I still had one brain cell left telling me that wasn’t the way. But that one brain cell was fighting a losing battle. There was no answering voice in my head, no Divine spark. I listened to the hollow silence and fell into unconsciousness with vomit and tears drying on my face.
I felt a kick and swam back to consciousness, hearing David muttering the usual string of curses.
“Goddamn it, Rae. I hate tripping over you. Can't you pass out somewhere else?” He shoved me aside with his foot, giving me a clear view of the underside of the toilet bowl.
GENRE: Women's fiction
The only leg I knew how to stand on anymore was the rolled fifty-dollar bill up my nose. But that high doesn’t last very long and, before you know it, you’re not standing; you’re lying on a cold tile floor, wasted and depressed. How many times have I been here?
From deep inside my chest I felt myself crying out, reaching out through the darkness that held me prisoner. God, if you’re there, I don’t want to be this person anymore. Everything’s a mess. I can't find my way out. Please, you have to make it right because I can't do this anymore.
Truthfully, I didn’t want to live anymore, but killing myself was a worse sin than licking a dealer’s nasty just to earn a little buzz. I was already in Hell and the Catholic in me knew suicide was just a way to guarantee things wouldn’t get better. I still had one brain cell left telling me that wasn’t the way. But that one brain cell was fighting a losing battle. There was no answering voice in my head, no Divine spark. I listened to the hollow silence and fell into unconsciousness with vomit and tears drying on my face.
I felt a kick and swam back to consciousness, hearing David muttering the usual string of curses.
“Goddamn it, Rae. I hate tripping over you. Can't you pass out somewhere else?” He shoved me aside with his foot, giving me a clear view of the underside of the toilet bowl.
March 2012 Test Run #2
TITLE: DEATH WATCH
GENRE: Horror/Suspense
If the look of fury etched on her face wasn’t enough to tell him she was angry, the heavy stomp of her boots hitting the asphalt as she clomped away should do it. “Damn him,” Diana muttered under her breath as she stormed across the parking lot to the empty picnic bench.
She hadn’t wanted to take the damn motorcycle drive with Dave, and had only gone with him after he had yelled at her that all she ever did was write. Which was true, but then again she was a writer. Dave told her she needed to get out of the house and be with him more. To appease him and squelch an impending fight she donned her black brain bucket, with the pretty peace symbol sticker on the back then slid her ass onto the back of his Harley and off they went. Dave hadn’t told her that his friends would be joining them, especially Sully. That one friend annoyed the shit out of her and Dave knew it; probably why he didn’t say anything.
Sully was loud, obnoxious and thought he was every girls dream. More like nightmare, she thought. He was your stereotypical biker. The one all moms’ warned their little girls about. Greasy, long hair, leather clad, tattooed, dirty piece of shit that rode a low rider Harley Davidson. The one who would screw, tattoo and leave you by a roadside crying. Yep, that was Sully, “love em leave em”, Smithson and Dave’s best friend.
GENRE: Horror/Suspense
If the look of fury etched on her face wasn’t enough to tell him she was angry, the heavy stomp of her boots hitting the asphalt as she clomped away should do it. “Damn him,” Diana muttered under her breath as she stormed across the parking lot to the empty picnic bench.
She hadn’t wanted to take the damn motorcycle drive with Dave, and had only gone with him after he had yelled at her that all she ever did was write. Which was true, but then again she was a writer. Dave told her she needed to get out of the house and be with him more. To appease him and squelch an impending fight she donned her black brain bucket, with the pretty peace symbol sticker on the back then slid her ass onto the back of his Harley and off they went. Dave hadn’t told her that his friends would be joining them, especially Sully. That one friend annoyed the shit out of her and Dave knew it; probably why he didn’t say anything.
Sully was loud, obnoxious and thought he was every girls dream. More like nightmare, she thought. He was your stereotypical biker. The one all moms’ warned their little girls about. Greasy, long hair, leather clad, tattooed, dirty piece of shit that rode a low rider Harley Davidson. The one who would screw, tattoo and leave you by a roadside crying. Yep, that was Sully, “love em leave em”, Smithson and Dave’s best friend.
March 2012 Test Run #1
TITLE: Untitled
GENRE: Poem
Through the silence of the thousand thousand landscapes of my mind, a voice calls out, "Why hast thou forsaken me?" It is my voice, but it is also the voice of every journey not taken, every task left unfinished, every lost opportunity. It is the voice of a small, scared little boy who recoils in horror at the sight of the man he has become. I want to comfort him, but he is beyond my reach, and I could not bring myself to meet his eyes if I could find him. The hurt in those eyes is mine, but I cannot bear it. The disappointment in those eyes are also mine, and I can bear it no better. The child in my heart of hearts is wounded. Scarred and torn, he can only cry out, and I can only listen.
GENRE: Poem
Through the silence of the thousand thousand landscapes of my mind, a voice calls out, "Why hast thou forsaken me?" It is my voice, but it is also the voice of every journey not taken, every task left unfinished, every lost opportunity. It is the voice of a small, scared little boy who recoils in horror at the sight of the man he has become. I want to comfort him, but he is beyond my reach, and I could not bring myself to meet his eyes if I could find him. The hurt in those eyes is mine, but I cannot bear it. The disappointment in those eyes are also mine, and I can bear it no better. The child in my heart of hearts is wounded. Scarred and torn, he can only cry out, and I can only listen.
Monday, March 26, 2012
"Test Run"---March First Page Critique Round Call for Submissions!!
The submission window is now closed. Please check back tonight, 3/29/12, for the entries!
This critiquing round will be another “Test Run” session. This is for any first page. Whether your manuscript is finished and polished, it's a work-in-progress, or you only have the first page, this is the time to test it out on readers and get some honest, helpful feedback and support from your peers. If you've entered previous rounds, this is also a great opportunity to get feedback on your revisions.
From Monday, March 26 at 6:00 PM EDT until Thursday, March 29 at 12:00 PM EDT, I will accept submissions. I will post them later that evening (between 7 PM and 8 PM EDT) right here at KTCROWLEY.COM for critiquing.
Please send submissions to ktcritiques [AT] gmail.com
In the subject, please state "MARCH FIRST PAGE”
This round I will accept all genres and it is one entry per person, per genre (So you can submit 1 adult 1 YA/MG).
Please list the TITLE, GENRE and your SCREEN NAME (I will not include screen names in the critique posts, these are for my purposes only) above your 250 words (format it the way you normally would). Please do not stop in the middle of a sentence. If it goes over the 250 limit by a couple of words, that's fine. If you stop at say, 235 words, that's fine, too.
Your submission should look like this:
SCREEN NAME: Your Screen Name Here
TITLE: Your Title Here
GENRE: Your Genre Here
(Excerpt here.)
Please leave out "chapter one," chapter "titles", etc. Otherwise, I may count them toward your 250 and you could lose some of your first page entry.
You will receive a confirmation email, but it may not be right away. Only resend if you don't get one by the last hour of the submission window.
Please check your submission(s) carefully for typos, grammatical errors, etc. before submitting. Once the submission is confirmed by email, it is set to automatically post. Once your post is up and has received a critique, I won't be able to fix it for you. Double checking it first will ensure you're writing is critiqued appropriately. ;-)
If you enter, you must critique at least 5 other submissions (if there are only five, please critique all). If you enter two first pages, please critique 10 (if there are less than 10 total, please critique all). This is so it's fair for everyone involved.
I will accept up to 20 entries.
That’s it! If you have any questions, please hit me up in the comments or send me an email at crowleykt@gmail.com.
Spread the word please; the more, the merrier! Let's fill up this round and help everyone involved get as much feedback as possible.
I look forward to seeing everyone's fabulous work and comments.
P.S. I'll be back with a blog post very soon; I have lots to share. :)
This critiquing round will be another “Test Run” session. This is for any first page. Whether your manuscript is finished and polished, it's a work-in-progress, or you only have the first page, this is the time to test it out on readers and get some honest, helpful feedback and support from your peers. If you've entered previous rounds, this is also a great opportunity to get feedback on your revisions.
From Monday, March 26 at 6:00 PM EDT until Thursday, March 29 at 12:00 PM EDT, I will accept submissions. I will post them later that evening (between 7 PM and 8 PM EDT) right here at KTCROWLEY.COM for critiquing.
Please send submissions to ktcritiques [AT] gmail.com
In the subject, please state "MARCH FIRST PAGE”
This round I will accept all genres and it is one entry per person, per genre (So you can submit 1 adult 1 YA/MG).
Please list the TITLE, GENRE and your SCREEN NAME (I will not include screen names in the critique posts, these are for my purposes only) above your 250 words (format it the way you normally would). Please do not stop in the middle of a sentence. If it goes over the 250 limit by a couple of words, that's fine. If you stop at say, 235 words, that's fine, too.
Your submission should look like this:
SCREEN NAME: Your Screen Name Here
TITLE: Your Title Here
GENRE: Your Genre Here
(Excerpt here.)
Please leave out "chapter one," chapter "titles", etc. Otherwise, I may count them toward your 250 and you could lose some of your first page entry.
You will receive a confirmation email, but it may not be right away. Only resend if you don't get one by the last hour of the submission window.
Please check your submission(s) carefully for typos, grammatical errors, etc. before submitting. Once the submission is confirmed by email, it is set to automatically post. Once your post is up and has received a critique, I won't be able to fix it for you. Double checking it first will ensure you're writing is critiqued appropriately. ;-)
If you enter, you must critique at least 5 other submissions (if there are only five, please critique all). If you enter two first pages, please critique 10 (if there are less than 10 total, please critique all). This is so it's fair for everyone involved.
I will accept up to 20 entries.
That’s it! If you have any questions, please hit me up in the comments or send me an email at crowleykt@gmail.com.
Spread the word please; the more, the merrier! Let's fill up this round and help everyone involved get as much feedback as possible.
I look forward to seeing everyone's fabulous work and comments.
P.S. I'll be back with a blog post very soon; I have lots to share. :)
Friday, January 20, 2012
January Test Run #8
TITLE: The Hourglass Bridge
GENRE: YA Fantasy
The room was an apocalyptic mess. Coby’s rats’-nest hair, scruffy uniform and muddy trainers were like camouflage amidst the chaos.
“Who took my school bag?” he yelled, checking beneath his bed and finding only dirty laundry and untouched textbooks.
“Haven’t seen it!” shouted his twin sister, Di, “but can you hurry up? Mum and Dad just left for work.”
That meant only one, horrible thing: the bus would arrive any second. Coby knew this time was meant for last-minute fridge raids and hallway football, but it was always ruined by face-washing and teeth-cleaning and other things sisters think are important, but any 15-year-old boy knows are a waste of time. Determined not to waste this morning too, Coby abandoned the search of his room.
“Lunch is made,” Di said as he arrived to scour the kitchen. He even checked the pantry, but today, unlike previous occasions, his bag wasn’t there.
“I’ll help you look,” Di offered. Coby disappeared.
You’re welcome. Di hurried away, silently composing the lecture she would never have the heart to deliver. Halfway to the living room, she froze. An antique hourglass was sitting on the bookshelf. It hadn’t been there a second ago.
Di checked over her shoulder, certain she was being watched. The hallway was empty. She turned back to the hourglass. Something about it made her step forwards.
“Got it!” Coby thundered downstairs with his bag.
“Finally.” Di threw a last, panicked glance at the hallway clock.
From its glass case, two solemn figures were watching her.
GENRE: YA Fantasy
The room was an apocalyptic mess. Coby’s rats’-nest hair, scruffy uniform and muddy trainers were like camouflage amidst the chaos.
“Who took my school bag?” he yelled, checking beneath his bed and finding only dirty laundry and untouched textbooks.
“Haven’t seen it!” shouted his twin sister, Di, “but can you hurry up? Mum and Dad just left for work.”
That meant only one, horrible thing: the bus would arrive any second. Coby knew this time was meant for last-minute fridge raids and hallway football, but it was always ruined by face-washing and teeth-cleaning and other things sisters think are important, but any 15-year-old boy knows are a waste of time. Determined not to waste this morning too, Coby abandoned the search of his room.
“Lunch is made,” Di said as he arrived to scour the kitchen. He even checked the pantry, but today, unlike previous occasions, his bag wasn’t there.
“I’ll help you look,” Di offered. Coby disappeared.
You’re welcome. Di hurried away, silently composing the lecture she would never have the heart to deliver. Halfway to the living room, she froze. An antique hourglass was sitting on the bookshelf. It hadn’t been there a second ago.
Di checked over her shoulder, certain she was being watched. The hallway was empty. She turned back to the hourglass. Something about it made her step forwards.
“Got it!” Coby thundered downstairs with his bag.
“Finally.” Di threw a last, panicked glance at the hallway clock.
From its glass case, two solemn figures were watching her.
January Test Run #7
TITLE: Running From Shadows
GENRE: YA paranormal romance
Something lurked in the shadows. It watched us. My gaze fixed on the
giant oaks of the Red Forest. I waited, frozen mid-step, wanting what
I couldn’t see. Drawn to it.
Suddenly Haven slammed into my back. “Greta, seriously? Don’t just
stop like that.
Damn.” My pink-haired friend stomped in front of me. “Maybe I should
take the lead.”
“Whatever, girl.” I risked a quick glance past Haven toward the
shadowy figure. Gone.
“What are you looking at?” She followed my gaze.
“Ooo, I hope it’s something witchy and dangerous.” Jill’s blonde hair
swished over her shoulders as her head bobbed up and down. She’d been
ecstatic to perform a spell with us.
“It was probably just a deer. Come on.” I gave Haven the let’s-move
look and marched past both of them.
Haven raced up to my right side. “G, you realize we’re gonna hike out
of the woods in the dark, right?”
“It’s okay. The spell has to be done at sunset.” Jill chimed in,
practically bouncing up and down on my left.
“How does she know that and I don’t?” Haven stopped walking. “She’s
not even a witch.”
Jill didn’t say anything, but I could almost feel her mood dampen from
the comment. I stopped and spun around to face Haven. “Look, I tried
calling you last night if you remember correctly. But, you were busy.
A date or something. So Jill and I talked.” Of course, I hadn’t told
Jill the reason why I wanted to do the spell.
GENRE: YA paranormal romance
Something lurked in the shadows. It watched us. My gaze fixed on the
giant oaks of the Red Forest. I waited, frozen mid-step, wanting what
I couldn’t see. Drawn to it.
Suddenly Haven slammed into my back. “Greta, seriously? Don’t just
stop like that.
Damn.” My pink-haired friend stomped in front of me. “Maybe I should
take the lead.”
“Whatever, girl.” I risked a quick glance past Haven toward the
shadowy figure. Gone.
“What are you looking at?” She followed my gaze.
“Ooo, I hope it’s something witchy and dangerous.” Jill’s blonde hair
swished over her shoulders as her head bobbed up and down. She’d been
ecstatic to perform a spell with us.
“It was probably just a deer. Come on.” I gave Haven the let’s-move
look and marched past both of them.
Haven raced up to my right side. “G, you realize we’re gonna hike out
of the woods in the dark, right?”
“It’s okay. The spell has to be done at sunset.” Jill chimed in,
practically bouncing up and down on my left.
“How does she know that and I don’t?” Haven stopped walking. “She’s
not even a witch.”
Jill didn’t say anything, but I could almost feel her mood dampen from
the comment. I stopped and spun around to face Haven. “Look, I tried
calling you last night if you remember correctly. But, you were busy.
A date or something. So Jill and I talked.” Of course, I hadn’t told
Jill the reason why I wanted to do the spell.
January Test Run #6
TITLE: MAINE-AC
GENRE: Horror
For the second time Nancy peeked at the rearview mirror and saw the red sports car still behind her. What the hell. She’d driven her beat-up Ford truck down the whole length of the North Conway thoroughfare before she realized the car was following her. It mimicked her every move, from lane switches to running a red light. Her stomach lurched and a bead of sweat broke out on her brow. Nancy gripped the steering wheel tighter.
For the past fifteen or so miles, it stayed two car lengths behind. Nancy couldn’t make out the driver; it was to dark to see anyone distinguishable. ‘Prolly just kids playing around. She switched lanes again. A glance in the mirror showed the red car did too. When the car behind inched closer, Nancy’s heart skipped a beat. Instinctively she pressed on the accelerator pedal and her rattling old truck sped up, as did the car behind her.
She should pull over, but where? Everything’s closed. It was after two in the morning. Dammit, she didn’t need juvenile games right now. Exhausted physically and mentally she should’ve already been home. The ICU ward had been quiet all night but right at the end of her shift a patient had gone bad. Which sucked as she had to stay until the patient was stabilized then give notes to the next nurse. It was one thirty before she walked out of the hospital and jumped into the truck, now she had to deal with this sonofabitchin stalker behind her.
GENRE: Horror
For the second time Nancy peeked at the rearview mirror and saw the red sports car still behind her. What the hell. She’d driven her beat-up Ford truck down the whole length of the North Conway thoroughfare before she realized the car was following her. It mimicked her every move, from lane switches to running a red light. Her stomach lurched and a bead of sweat broke out on her brow. Nancy gripped the steering wheel tighter.
For the past fifteen or so miles, it stayed two car lengths behind. Nancy couldn’t make out the driver; it was to dark to see anyone distinguishable. ‘Prolly just kids playing around. She switched lanes again. A glance in the mirror showed the red car did too. When the car behind inched closer, Nancy’s heart skipped a beat. Instinctively she pressed on the accelerator pedal and her rattling old truck sped up, as did the car behind her.
She should pull over, but where? Everything’s closed. It was after two in the morning. Dammit, she didn’t need juvenile games right now. Exhausted physically and mentally she should’ve already been home. The ICU ward had been quiet all night but right at the end of her shift a patient had gone bad. Which sucked as she had to stay until the patient was stabilized then give notes to the next nurse. It was one thirty before she walked out of the hospital and jumped into the truck, now she had to deal with this sonofabitchin stalker behind her.
January Test Run #5
Title: Unraveled
Genre: YA Mystery
I found it impossible to pick a favorite, until I saw the strapless taffeta dress hanging inside Mrs. Kline’s meticulous closet. Nancy, my mother’s best friend, insisted I wear one of her original designs to my first homecoming dance. As if I’d say no.
“This is it.” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.
Nancy ran her fingers over the dress identifying the fabric. “This material was imported from India.”
I stood in front of the mirror wearing the gown, fidgeting and pretending to admire myself.
“Taylor, is everything all right?” Nancy asked.
“I love the dress, but for sure I’ll be pulling it up all night.”
“No worries, I’ll add a little padding, make a few tucks, and no one will have to know.” Nancy maneuvered her wheelchair behind the sewing machine. Her career as a fashion designer ended after the deadly automobile accident that killed her husband, also left her paralyzed from the waist down.
“Taylor, I have some costume jewelry you might be interested in—exceptionally good imitation. In my guest room, there’s a tall dresser. I think the second drawer.” She paused. “Maybe the third. Help yourself, while I finish up here.”
“No. Really?” Hello, sparkle.
I ran into the room, opened the first drawer and sitting right on top, I found an envelope marked adoption papers. My adrenaline started pumping fast, and this little voice in my head said, ‘Do not open.’ But, the rest of me said, ‘Yes, open and read.’
Genre: YA Mystery
I found it impossible to pick a favorite, until I saw the strapless taffeta dress hanging inside Mrs. Kline’s meticulous closet. Nancy, my mother’s best friend, insisted I wear one of her original designs to my first homecoming dance. As if I’d say no.
“This is it.” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.
Nancy ran her fingers over the dress identifying the fabric. “This material was imported from India.”
I stood in front of the mirror wearing the gown, fidgeting and pretending to admire myself.
“Taylor, is everything all right?” Nancy asked.
“I love the dress, but for sure I’ll be pulling it up all night.”
“No worries, I’ll add a little padding, make a few tucks, and no one will have to know.” Nancy maneuvered her wheelchair behind the sewing machine. Her career as a fashion designer ended after the deadly automobile accident that killed her husband, also left her paralyzed from the waist down.
“Taylor, I have some costume jewelry you might be interested in—exceptionally good imitation. In my guest room, there’s a tall dresser. I think the second drawer.” She paused. “Maybe the third. Help yourself, while I finish up here.”
“No. Really?” Hello, sparkle.
I ran into the room, opened the first drawer and sitting right on top, I found an envelope marked adoption papers. My adrenaline started pumping fast, and this little voice in my head said, ‘Do not open.’ But, the rest of me said, ‘Yes, open and read.’
January Test Run #4
Title: A Ripple in Time
Genre: YA - paranormal Mystery
I once heard that life was like a giant ripple. One decision, one action, could affect everything that came after it. What I did today could affect my life twenty years from now. Some people refer to this theory as the Butterfly Effect, but for me, it was about ripples; water. My life was surrounded by water, even though I lived in the landlocked state of Illinois. I dreamed about water. Feared water. And apparently built my life's philosophies around water. And I had no idea why.
I didn't see my so-called “Ripple Effect” through the actions of my dad, but my mom's entire face; the lack of spark in her eyes, her tight hair, pursed lips and newly acquired wrinkles near her temple, all proved my theory correct. My nighttime actions, my watery nightmares that forced my mom to coddle me back to sleep in the darkness, was putting a strain on everyone.
As I plodded into the sunny kitchen, my bare legs prickling from the winter cold that had set in overnight, I waved to my dad. With his back to the bay window, he simply bent down the corner of his newspaper to peek at me. A raise of his eyebrows was the best I got, and I was content. I didn't hear my mom come up behind me, simply felt her cold hand on my hip as she maneuvered me out of the way. She forced a smile, but couldn't hide her exhaustion.
Genre: YA - paranormal Mystery
I once heard that life was like a giant ripple. One decision, one action, could affect everything that came after it. What I did today could affect my life twenty years from now. Some people refer to this theory as the Butterfly Effect, but for me, it was about ripples; water. My life was surrounded by water, even though I lived in the landlocked state of Illinois. I dreamed about water. Feared water. And apparently built my life's philosophies around water. And I had no idea why.
I didn't see my so-called “Ripple Effect” through the actions of my dad, but my mom's entire face; the lack of spark in her eyes, her tight hair, pursed lips and newly acquired wrinkles near her temple, all proved my theory correct. My nighttime actions, my watery nightmares that forced my mom to coddle me back to sleep in the darkness, was putting a strain on everyone.
As I plodded into the sunny kitchen, my bare legs prickling from the winter cold that had set in overnight, I waved to my dad. With his back to the bay window, he simply bent down the corner of his newspaper to peek at me. A raise of his eyebrows was the best I got, and I was content. I didn't hear my mom come up behind me, simply felt her cold hand on my hip as she maneuvered me out of the way. She forced a smile, but couldn't hide her exhaustion.
January Test Run #3
Prologue
In that colorless time right before sunset, in the woods bordering the fairway, there was a glint, a flash of light, and the sound of someone struggling. The following morning, behind the country club pool house, they found a young woman beaten so badly she was unrecognizable.
It was twelve years before anyone knew who really killed her.
My name is Patty Henry, and this is the story my grandfather told me about hisfriends Kurt and Charlie and the murder of Catherine Block at Rosewood Hills Country Club on October 24, 1920.
1914
At the beginning of the twentieth century there was a tremendous sense of well-being and satisfaction in the United States and especially in Akron, Ohio, the fastest growing city in the country. After Henry Ford’s 1905 deal with Harvey Firestone to supply tires for his Model-A cars, the rubber industry was booming, and each day hundreds of immigrants and “barefoot people”—the poor from West Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee--arrived at the railroad station. In the decade from 1910 to 1920 Akron’s population exploded, growing by over sixty percent to 208,000.
Grandpa said, “Those were the days when it was important to be better with your hands than with your mind.”
In that colorless time right before sunset, in the woods bordering the fairway, there was a glint, a flash of light, and the sound of someone struggling. The following morning, behind the country club pool house, they found a young woman beaten so badly she was unrecognizable.
It was twelve years before anyone knew who really killed her.
My name is Patty Henry, and this is the story my grandfather told me about hisfriends Kurt and Charlie and the murder of Catherine Block at Rosewood Hills Country Club on October 24, 1920.
1914
At the beginning of the twentieth century there was a tremendous sense of well-being and satisfaction in the United States and especially in Akron, Ohio, the fastest growing city in the country. After Henry Ford’s 1905 deal with Harvey Firestone to supply tires for his Model-A cars, the rubber industry was booming, and each day hundreds of immigrants and “barefoot people”—the poor from West Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee--arrived at the railroad station. In the decade from 1910 to 1920 Akron’s population exploded, growing by over sixty percent to 208,000.
Grandpa said, “Those were the days when it was important to be better with your hands than with your mind.”
January Test Run #2
TITLE: The Black Keep
GENRE: Fantasy
Alone on the Keep’s parapet, the young woman stalled for time, walking her fingers on the dark stones like a child avoiding her chores. The wind stung her bare fingers and cold seeped through her layers of thin clothing. She was used to it though and paid it no mind. Gazing out over the tundra at the last vestige of the sinking sun, apprehension coiled in her stomach. She turned to greet the luminous orb that peeked over the mountaintops.
“Hello again,” she whispered. “I guess it’s time.”
Her platinum hair danced above her head, twisting in the breeze, as she turned to descend the stairs. Hugging her arms to her chest, she couldn’t melt the ice that settled on her heart. Through the winding hallways of the stronghold she padded, finally climbing narrow steps to the small chamber perched in the highest tower for the second time that day. Previously, she had brought up the supplies Father would need for the ritual to come. The girl paused in the doorway, reluctant to enter. She wasn’t afraid of what was to come, but the burden of duty weighed her down.
A stone altar dominated the center of the room, but she gave the blood-rimmed manacles no thought; he had never used them on her. Inscriptions in the stone floor surrounded the altar with a ring of esoteric markings. She had placed lit candles at each mark on the ring, matching colors to symbols the way she had been taught.
GENRE: Fantasy
Alone on the Keep’s parapet, the young woman stalled for time, walking her fingers on the dark stones like a child avoiding her chores. The wind stung her bare fingers and cold seeped through her layers of thin clothing. She was used to it though and paid it no mind. Gazing out over the tundra at the last vestige of the sinking sun, apprehension coiled in her stomach. She turned to greet the luminous orb that peeked over the mountaintops.
“Hello again,” she whispered. “I guess it’s time.”
Her platinum hair danced above her head, twisting in the breeze, as she turned to descend the stairs. Hugging her arms to her chest, she couldn’t melt the ice that settled on her heart. Through the winding hallways of the stronghold she padded, finally climbing narrow steps to the small chamber perched in the highest tower for the second time that day. Previously, she had brought up the supplies Father would need for the ritual to come. The girl paused in the doorway, reluctant to enter. She wasn’t afraid of what was to come, but the burden of duty weighed her down.
A stone altar dominated the center of the room, but she gave the blood-rimmed manacles no thought; he had never used them on her. Inscriptions in the stone floor surrounded the altar with a ring of esoteric markings. She had placed lit candles at each mark on the ring, matching colors to symbols the way she had been taught.
January Test Run #1
TITLE: MADE OF STEEL
GENRE: Science Fiction Romance
The only reason I understand words prefixed with “nano” is because of my Chemistry class last semester. My professor spent four hours lecturing on electromagnetic radiation and how we measure the length of its wave in nanometers. In other words, very small increments. Like, to-the-negative-tenth-power small, or one-billionth of a millimeter. What have you. Irregardless, it’s hard to comprehend things that can’t even be seen in a chem lab microscope.
Using nano-speak, Tom is explaining the details of a disease that is causing a rift in our relationship as I resurface from a drug-induced slumber. Obviously this confession comes as a result of someone trying to kill me, but the intoxicant has made cerebral thinking near impossible. Instead my thoughts are consumed with how nonsensical it is that Tom, of all people, knows the details of nanotechnology.
He cringes every time I blink, and it seems that his abundant physical strength runs as rampant as his sympathy. Which is sweet; don’t get me wrong. We have never discussed Chemistry though. Unless it has to do with the way we are physically drawn to each other like magnets, but certainly never in a context that directly involves his manliness. Rather, his man-likeness, and more specifically concerning his genus and species. That is, if he isn’t a Homo Sapien. The answer to that question will take this relationship to a whole new level, either way.
GENRE: Science Fiction Romance
The only reason I understand words prefixed with “nano” is because of my Chemistry class last semester. My professor spent four hours lecturing on electromagnetic radiation and how we measure the length of its wave in nanometers. In other words, very small increments. Like, to-the-negative-tenth-power small, or one-billionth of a millimeter. What have you. Irregardless, it’s hard to comprehend things that can’t even be seen in a chem lab microscope.
Using nano-speak, Tom is explaining the details of a disease that is causing a rift in our relationship as I resurface from a drug-induced slumber. Obviously this confession comes as a result of someone trying to kill me, but the intoxicant has made cerebral thinking near impossible. Instead my thoughts are consumed with how nonsensical it is that Tom, of all people, knows the details of nanotechnology.
He cringes every time I blink, and it seems that his abundant physical strength runs as rampant as his sympathy. Which is sweet; don’t get me wrong. We have never discussed Chemistry though. Unless it has to do with the way we are physically drawn to each other like magnets, but certainly never in a context that directly involves his manliness. Rather, his man-likeness, and more specifically concerning his genus and species. That is, if he isn’t a Homo Sapien. The answer to that question will take this relationship to a whole new level, either way.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
"Test Run"--January First Page Critique Round *Submissions Start Today!*
***Submissions are now closed for this round***
I’m calling this critiquing round “Test Run”. This is for any first page. Whether your manuscript is finished and polished, it's a work-in-progress, or you only have the first page, this is the time to test it out on readers and get some honest, helpful feedback and support from your peers. If you've entered previous rounds, this is also a great opportunity to get feedback on your revisions.
From Wednesday, January 18 at 3 until Friday, January 20 at 12, I will accept submissions. I will post them later that evening (between 7 PM and 8 PM EDT) right here at KTCROWLEY.COM for critiquing.
I’m calling this critiquing round “Test Run”. This is for any first page. Whether your manuscript is finished and polished, it's a work-in-progress, or you only have the first page, this is the time to test it out on readers and get some honest, helpful feedback and support from your peers. If you've entered previous rounds, this is also a great opportunity to get feedback on your revisions.
From Wednesday, January 18 at 3 until Friday, January 20 at 12, I will accept submissions. I will post them later that evening (between 7 PM and 8 PM EDT) right here at KTCROWLEY.COM for critiquing.
Please send submissions to ktcritiques [AT] gmail.com
In the subject, please state "JANUARY FIRST PAGE”
This round I will accept all genres and it is one entry per person, per genre (So you can submit 1 adult 1 YA/MG).
Please list the TITLE, GENRE and your SCREEN NAME (I will not include screen names in the critique posts, these are for my purposes only) above your 250 words (format it the way you normally would). Please do not stop in the middle of a sentence. If it goes over the 250 limit by a couple of words, that's fine. If you stop at say, 235 words, that's fine, too.
Your submission should look like this:
SCREEN NAME: Your Screen Name Here
SCREEN NAME: Your Screen Name Here
TITLE: Your Title Here
GENRE: Your Genre Here
(Excerpt here.)
- Please leave out "chapter one," chapter "titles", etc. Otherwise, I may count them toward your 250 and you could lose some of your first page entry.
- You will receive a confirmation email, but it may not be right away. Only resend if you don't get one by the last hour of the submission window.
- Please check your submission(s) carefully for typos, grammatical errors, etc. before submitting. Once the submission is confirmed by email, it is set to automatically post. Once your post is up and has received a critique, I won't be able to fix it for you. Double checking it first will ensure you're writing is critiqued appropriately. ;-)
If you enter, you must critique at least 5 other submissions (if there are only five, please critique all). If you enter two first pages, please critique 10 (if there are less than 10 total, please critique all). This is so it's fair for everyone involved.
I will accept up to 20 entries.
That’s it! If you have any questions, please hit me up in the comments or send me an email.
Spread the word please; the more, the merrier! Let's fill up this round!
I look forward to seeing everyone's amazing first pages. :)
I look forward to seeing everyone's amazing first pages. :)
Thursday, January 12, 2012
January Logline #7
TITLE: Extraction
GENRE: YA sci-fi
At age sixteen, Clementine is one of fourteen children picked to escape the dangerous slums of the planet Surface, where kids are killed off at twenty. Down there, Clementine doesn't have to be afraid—not of hunger, officials, or the moon's poison. But when she finds out the boy she had to leave behind is in more danger than she ever imagined, she doesn't care about fear anymore. She must find a way to return for him and save him before the planet leaders take something she can't afford to lose: her freedom of mind.
GENRE: YA sci-fi
At age sixteen, Clementine is one of fourteen children picked to escape the dangerous slums of the planet Surface, where kids are killed off at twenty. Down there, Clementine doesn't have to be afraid—not of hunger, officials, or the moon's poison. But when she finds out the boy she had to leave behind is in more danger than she ever imagined, she doesn't care about fear anymore. She must find a way to return for him and save him before the planet leaders take something she can't afford to lose: her freedom of mind.
January Logline #6
TITLE: The Hourglass Bridge
GENRE: Fantasy
Diamond has never done anything more adventurous than stray from her homework roster – until an ancient ritual yanks her into a hidden, magical civilization in the 16th century. There she must join a dangerously chivalrous wizard and his crossbow wielding twin sister to defend her ancestors from an immortal witch who threatens to destroy them, even if it means embracing the corruptible powers she never knew she had.
GENRE: Fantasy
Diamond has never done anything more adventurous than stray from her homework roster – until an ancient ritual yanks her into a hidden, magical civilization in the 16th century. There she must join a dangerously chivalrous wizard and his crossbow wielding twin sister to defend her ancestors from an immortal witch who threatens to destroy them, even if it means embracing the corruptible powers she never knew she had.
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