And away we go! Welcome to Son of a Pitch, Week 2. This week, I'll be hosting ten writers here on my site.
Participants are asked NOT to comment on other entrants' posts, only their own. Though, you may, of course, tweet, bribe, coax, share, cajole and otherwise pursue glory for your own pitch. I'll be leaving feedback in the comments, as will other participating writers: Ayden Morgen , Elsie Elmore , Leigh Statham , Mara Valderran, Stacey Nash , Elizabeth Roderick, and Yolanda Renée!
The top twenty will be selected and posted on Friday. Without further ado:
Title: Always the Moon
Category and Genre: Adult Women's Fiction
Word Count: 74,000
Being seventeen again wasn’t the fortieth birthday present that triplet sisters Lily, April, and Sunday Brewer were expecting. That’s the thing about birthday wishes: You never know when they might come true.
ALWAYS THE MOON begins in 2011, when April is a brilliant neurologist with an incredible career, Sunday dropped out of high school as a teen mom to raise twin boys, and Lily is a recovering addict dealing with a grim cancer prognosis.
The women are swept back to 1988 after inadvertently using an enchanted match book to light their birthday candles. Confused and disoriented, April is sent to a mental ward, her future success in jeopardy. Sunday is desperate to recreate the conception of her twin sons, despite her hatred for their father. Lily wants to grab this second chance with both hands, but her sisters’ suffering is not part of the plan. Secrets and deceptions drive a wedge between the sisters when they need each other the most.
A mysterious woman with an interest in magic figures out their secret and wants a do-over of her own; she will do anything to get it, even kill a seventeen year old girl. The triplets need to stand together, or they could lose everything that they love.
First 250 Words:
Prologue April 20, 1988
Great. Perfect. Nothing like a little murder to top off an already shitty day. She was still so angry that she wanted to just kick the body.
What am I going to do? Everyone who could help me is as helpless as this dead bitch on the stairs.
The last four days replayed in her mind at top speed. Could she have done better? If she had been more empathetic, less selfish, less anxious to get on with her life…could she have stopped all of this from happening? Was it middle child syndrome, the desperate craving for attention, for the spotlight, for that moment of “all about me?” Was she so desperate to live that she was willing to sacrifice everyone else?
This is not who I am anymore. It isn’t even who I was then—I mean, now. Damn it, I don’t know what I mean. I just know that I wasn’t prepared for these consequences. My mother, my sisters, my friends… even this psycho.
The psycho in question moaned. Okay, so she isn’t dead. Was this a blessing, or did it make it even worse? Flames sparked up around the body, and she knew she had to act, right now. She couldn’t stay, she had to get back and make things right… but she couldn’t just leave her to burn, even if she deserved it.
God, things were so much easier when I was older.