And away we go! Welcome to Son of a Pitch, Week 2. This week, I'll be hosting ten writers here on my site.
The top twenty will be selected and posted on Friday. Without further ado:
Title Of Manuscript: SECOND-SELF
Category and Genre: Adult Speculative Fiction
Word Count: 95, 000
Eighteen-year-old Rory Lyon is an autistic college freshman who uses her strengths—focus, determination, and sensory sensitivity—to navigate obstacles in life. When she meets a mysterious man (Jai), from a planet in another dimension, she learns she shares a physical and spiritual bond with him—one so strong that if she were to die, he’d die as well. Each Incepterrian has a human counterpart, who isn’t aware of the connection.
When Rory crosses into Incepterrene, Jai’s brother seizes her. He hates humanity and is convinced Rory can be used to sever the deadly bond, but Rory's afraid of what he’d do if successful. She’ll have to choose between losing her humanity by turning her back on the inhabitants Incepterrere who are pointlessly dying, or risking the lives of humans to help Incepterrians.
First 250 Words:
Time trickles, waiting for other students to arrive. The fluorescent lights drive needles into my eyes. I shut them until the creaking of seats being unfolded alerts me people are sitting down. Sneaking peeks at them would be easier at the back of the room, but an article in the orientation package said I could raise my grades by sitting in the front row. Ten minutes watching students avoid the front row makes me realize I might be setting myself up for ridicule.
Arranging my books in the order they’re listed on the syllabus provides a temporary distraction, then I go back to scanning faces. I stop on a familiar one, meeting a pair of dark eyes. He’s perusing me like a lunch menu. Heat creeps into my cheeks, so I avert my eyes and count to five before looking back. His peculiar smile makes me wonder what’s going through his mind. He’s moving towards me, so I swivel in my seat just to be sure he’s not looking at someone else. I’ve seen enough beer commercials to know hot guys never turn out to be talking to the dorky girl with shoes that twinkle. Curse Bluetooth!