#SonofaPitch: Query #4: A Tulip in Winter

For my regular readers, these are some special posts this week as part of a pitch contest I'm providing feedback for. My normal musings will return next week.

For participants, welcome to my blog! I'm happy to host you and excited to see what kinds of stories you've written. Please remember that only the author of this piece and the participating judges are supposed to comment. All other comments will be deleted.

We're Team Hera! Because here on Balancing Act, we're both bad-ass and warm and nurturing, and we'll fight to bring out the best in our crew, um, team. :-)

You can check out other teams on the other hosting blogs: Elsie Elmore (Team Droids), Elizabeth Roderick (Team Leia), Kathleen Ann Palm (Team Darkside), Rena Rocford (Team Rebels), and of course, our organizer and Grand Poobah, Katie Hamstead Teller.

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Title: A Tulip in Winter
Category and Genre: Adult/Historical Fiction
Word Count: 90,000

Query:

An orphaned Dutch girl, a warlord about to lose his lands and a bold adventurer are brought together in the twilight era of the samurai.

Why must this happen to me, as brutal hands born to untie sashes slid the kimono from my pale shoulders. I was so obviously made for other things.

For a chance to win her freedom, Miyako must embrace the samurai way and change everything about herself. Sailing into the land of snow and pine, the sole-survivor of a doomed ship, she could never envision the future as a warlord's concubine. This man will hold her captive. This man she will loathe like no other. Luckily, Dutch mettle comes in handy when she realizes she has been handed a unique situation. There’s plenty of scheming and intrigue to go around as the other women will do anything to stand in her way.

But a man is a samurai first, the blade is his lover. One magical winter, a bold adventurer arrives on a Russian ship offering Miyako more than a warlord’s empty promises. She’s a woman who has struggled so long against prejudice to find her purpose. She’s fought against enemy concubines but Miyako finds her greatest challenge yet-hiding forbidden love in a land where dishonor is a breath away.

Suspicions are aroused but a surprise from the shogun will force more secrets to go public. When the warlord takes the Russian ship hostage, grabbing her greatest happiness or the freedom she craves collides because no concubine should look at another man, unless she wants to be hung high from a turret at dawn.

First 250 Words:

It’s not that I could forget about the killing.

If I stopped for a second, I’d remember.

The ripe dirt shoved deep under broken nails.

Bruised knees perched at the edges of an open grave.

He hadn’t slept in weeks-now he’d sleep forever.

The sound of the blade popped in my ears, the weapon tore flesh, shattered bone. My hand opened, and the shiny hilt slid from my fingers. He was still staring into my eyes when he dropped and slumped on his side. I shrieked into my hand, the dagger buried within his chest. And all that blood, shimmering crimson under the shadow of the moon.

I had to pull the blade out.

“Go away. Don’t,” he murmured, red gurgling down his lips.

I trembled, hard.

His hand sought the hilt and drew the steel from mortified flesh; a sucking whir spit back squishy ooze.

He looked so deeply into my eyes that a flash of that old feeling stirred.

“Oh, my God.” I wept, clutching my stomach next to his lifeless body.

The black shadow of that castle all that had been my heaven and my hell loomed large. My life as a warlord’s concubine shouldn’t have happened. Courtesans rise by select methods, not by accident. I left on a ship that sank off the coast of a far-flung island. The beauty and glamor of a concubine is celebrated, their praises sung. I was exotic and homely to them. And I didn’t look well in kimono.

#SonofaPitch: Query #3: Lunar Base Lost

For my regular readers, these are some special posts this week as part of a pitch contest I'm providing feedback for. My normal musings will return next week.

For participants, welcome to my blog! I'm happy to host you and excited to see what kinds of stories you've written. Please remember that only the author of this piece and the participating judges are supposed to comment. All other comments will be deleted.

We're Team Hera! Because here on Balancing Act, we're both bad-ass and warm and nurturing, and we'll fight to bring out the best in our crew, um, team. :-)

You can check out other teams on the other hosting blogs: Elsie Elmore (Team Droids), Elizabeth Roderick (Team Leia), Kathleen Ann Palm (Team Darkside), Rena Rocford (Team Rebels), and of course, our organizer and Grand Poobah, Katie Hamstead Teller.

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Title: Lunar Base Lost
Category and Genre: Adult SCI-FI
Word Count: 89,000

Query:
LUNAR BASE LOST is set in an underground moon colony that lost contact with Earth after nuclear war broke out. Over fifty years have passed since Mission Control’s last transmission. Lunar Base Three hangs on by maintaining a strict society and limiting its population.

Isabela (Izzy) Rodriguez is assistant to Presider Barbara Graham. Barbara’s more relaxed policies have politically split the moon base and even her own family. Barb’s son, Matthew Graham, has become her most outspoken critic, and Barb has Izzy spy on Matthew’s activism. When Matthew and his wife become pregnant, their unborn child exceeds the population that the colony can sustain. Because the young have priority over the old, Barbara, as the oldest colonist, must be euthanized.

Barbara suspects the pregnancy is politically motivated to force her out of office. She urges Izzy to run against Matthew during the special election. As the baby’s birth looms, Izzy and Matthew campaign for the colony’s votes. The baby arrives healthy and sound, so Barbara dies. When Matthew exposes Izzy’s most private secret, the election spirals into violence and jeopardizes the survival of the moon base.

First 250 Words:

Each time the curtain fluttered, Izzy, and those that needed to be here and those that didn’t need to be here but were here anyway, would jump. Once when the nurse came out, a quiet gasp echoed off the round metal walls. But the nurse silently picked up a stethoscope from her supply cart and went back behind that curtain.

One new life, one old death.

Izzy had dutifully done her job a few hours before and got the custodial staff to move several stacks of folding chairs to the bottom floor level of the Hospital Tower. Most members from the Assembly were sitting in them now, although Izzy couldn’t see her dad anywhere. Off duty specialists and novices from the Nuclear Plant were sitting or standing around the bottom floor too. Of course, they would be there to congratulate their boss if what happened happened.

She looked up at the curious heads on the ledges of each level that ringed the round, white metal Hospital Tower. Izzy recognized just about everybody except those on the top level, six levels above the open atrium on the bottom floor. The distance and the fluorescent lighting up there made most of them shadowy, although she did recognize Billy Smith looking down. Big for his age, Ten-year-old Billy had fractured his leg a couple day shifts before when he fell in the AgCenter. He shouldn’t be here now, but this was the Hospital Tower, so of course he should be here.

#SonofaPitch: Query #2: No Rest for the Wicked

For my regular readers, these are some special posts this week as part of a pitch contest I'm providing feedback for. My normal musings will return next week.

For participants, welcome to my blog! I'm happy to host you and excited to see what kinds of stories you've written. Please remember that only the author of this piece and the participating judges are supposed to comment. All other comments will be deleted.

We're Team Hera! Because here on Balancing Act, we're both bad-ass and warm and nurturing, and we'll fight to bring out the best in our crew, um, team. :-)

You can check out other teams on the other hosting blogs: Elsie Elmore (Team Droids), Elizabeth Roderick (Team Leia), Kathleen Ann Palm (Team Darkside), Rena Rocford (Team Rebels), and of course, our organizer and Grand Poobah, Katie Hamstead Teller.

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Title: No Rest for the Wicked
Category and Genre: Adult Gaslight Fantasy
Word Count: 35,000

Query:

No Rest for the Wicked is the tale of con woman forced out of retirement when her last job comes back to haunt her...literally.

Vi thought her days of grifting and dealing with the dead were over when she left Peter eating steam on a Chicago train platform. No one west of the Mississippi should know she sees ghosts, but a dead stranger still shows up at her doorstep. Transparent hat in hand, he begs her to recover his buried gold to pay his debt and save a life. What should be an easy buck turns into racing horses, cheating at cards, and tangling with bandits, all before lunch.

Once she figures out who tipped off the ghost, Vi must face the past she thought she’d buried. Peter reveals himself post-mortem to warn her of enemies bent on luring her back to New Orleans and willing to murder to get what they want. Neither distance nor death has tamed Peter’s love, and even in his ghostly state he’s determined to do what he can to keep her safe. Vi may play the “damsel in distress” for a con, but she won’t let herself be rescued if she can earn his forgiveness and help him cross over. She may have broken his heart, but she decides to atone for the only deception she’s ever regretted—even if it kills her.

First 250 Words:

Viola Thorne couldn’t pinpoint the reason she preferred to bathe by moonlight. Perhaps it was the quiet chirps of the crickets, or the splash of stars above her head, but something about the nights here at the end of the world called out to her.

Steam rose off the water, eddying around her head and shoulders while the rest of her luxuriated in the gentle currents. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat near a waxed paper parcel on the rim of her soaking niche. She reached inside and pulled out a fragrant hunk of soap. This was the last of what she’d brought from back East, and there was no telling when she’d be able to get more, but Vi worked the bubbles through her hair with gusto. The smell of lilacs rose from the lather to combat the reek of rotten eggs. She breathed it deep into her lungs as she closed her eyes against the tide of foam.

A gentle sensation as light and dangerous as hornet wings fluttered on the back of her neck and slowed her hands. Miles away from anywhere anyone might possibly want to go, she should have been safe from prying eyes even in daylight. Unwilling to let the peeping Tom know she was on to him, Vi went back to washing her hair, listening for the whisper of cloth as the infiltrator approached. If it came down to it, she could always reach out with her other senses, but only as a last resort.

#SonofaPitch: Query #1: Arcanam

For my regular readers, these are some special posts this week as part of a pitch contest I'm providing feedback for. My normal musings will return next week.

For participants, welcome to my blog! I'm happy to host you and excited to see what kinds of stories you've written. Please remember that only the author of this piece and the participating judges are supposed to comment. All other comments will be deleted.

We're Team Hera! Because here on Balancing Act, we're both bad-ass and warm and nurturing, and we'll fight to bring out the best in our crew, um, team. :-)

You can check out other teams on the other hosting blogs: Elsie Elmore (Team Droids), Elizabeth Roderick (Team Leia), Kathleen Ann Palm (Team Darkside), Rena Rocford (Team Rebels), and of course, our organizer and Grand Poobah, Katie Hamstead Teller.

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Title: Arcanum
Category and Genre: Adult Fantasy
Word Count: 116,000

Query:

Naomi is the best healer in all of Nevre’stra. She shares a bond with the wolves, which heightens her senses and allows her to make a diagnosis based solely on the scent of an infection. While scouting the wilderness to help those in need, Naomi encounters her greatest fear, a marauder attack. She survives the onslaught only to be captured by one of the marauders, Delventrus. When Naomi is released, she permanently returns to her home in the city, scarred by the violent memories and the knowledge that she was left alive for only one reason: to carry Delventrus’ child.

Nearly eight years later, Delventrus reemerges in Naomi’s life. Now he wants her daughter, Dana’lia. He forces Naomi to choose between the life of her mate or relinquishing Dana’lia to him. Naomi does not have time to wait for the city guards or the wolves to intervene, she must decide. Yet unbeknownst to her, Delventrus has discovered a source of limitless power connected to her bloodline, and Dana’lia is the key to him obtaining that power. Naomi’s dire choice harbors drastic consequences for not only herself but also all the inhabitants of Nevre’stra.

First 250 Words:

Pillars of afternoon sunlight poured in through the tall, narrow windows of the barracks infirmary. Naomi neTara, the healer, the Luparian, gently held the swollen, red hands of the little girl in front of her. Clear humor trickled from open sores and black lesions made her pitiful hands grotesque. The redness seeped up to her wrists but the black lesions were mainly on her palms and fingertips. It was easy to see why the barracks healer, a former apprentice of Naomi, thought the girl displayed symptoms of Shepherd’s Plague. Such would be the end of the little girl and disaster for the township she traveled from for help. But Naomi did not worry. She held her nose close to the little girl’s hands, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She let the scent of the affliction roll across her olfactories and settle on the back of her tongue. Naomi inhaled again to be sure.

A wolf padded along the hidden deer-trails of the forest. When he detected an enticing odor on the wind, he stopped for a moment. It had been days since he had eaten, since he journeyed from his pack and family in search of his own territory and mate. The odor on the wind was meat, rotting in the sun, not choice parts but entrails. It didn’t matter, anything would do. He sniffed at the entrance of a burrow but the scent of prey was stale. The rabbits were long gone.

Mysticon 2017

Nine more days until Mysticon! I'm so excited. It's my first time at this convention, and I'll be there as a guest author. This is my year for new cons. I'll also be attending Ravencon and going back to ConCarolinas, but this time as a guest. w00t!

If you've been following this blog, then you know that I love doing the author thing at cons. I get to see lots of my writer friends, and talk nerdy for hours, and maybe even sell some books. My sister is going with me as my Plus One this time, so we'll get to geek out together, too. 

Here's what I'll be up to at Mysticon. If you're in Virginia, come find me!

Friday, 24 February, 3:00: 

Welcome to the Hellmouth: 

I'll be talking all things Buffy with other

fans. To prepare, I've been rewatching the series with my daughter. Ah, the sacrifices we make for art!

Friday, 24 February, 7:00: 

What Are Cult Classics? : What exactly makes a cult classic "cult" and "classic"? I'm sure our panel will have it all figured out by the end of our hour together. 

Friday, 24 February, 10:00:

ConCarolinas Party: I'm anxious to meet some of the people who pull ConCarolinas together, especially now that we'll be working together this year. I'm even willing to get over my party anxiety to do it. 

Saturday, 25 February, 11:00:

Honor in the Verse: Exploring the concept of honor in various fandoms. I signed up to talk about Firefly, which has an interestingly complex notion of honor, in my opinion. 

Saturday, 25 February, 2:00:

Author Signing Table: This is the nerve-wracking part, just me at a table, hoping someone comes by and buys a book and wants me to sign it. 

Saturday, 25 February, 8:30:

Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading: This is often the highlight of a con for me. Members of Broad Universe get together and each give a short reading from their work. It's a great way to catch up on what a lot of different writers are up to and find your next read. 

Sunday, 26 February, 9:00:

Where are my (super) girls at?: A conversation about female superheroes. What's worth reading or watching? What do wish there was more of? 

Sunday, 26 February, 1:00:

Ingredients of a Story: If there's a recipe for a story, what really needs to be there?

Got any thoughts about any of these topics? I'd love to hear what you'd have to say if you were going with me. 

I Owe it All to Jimmy Buffett

It's almost Valentine's day, so romance is in the air. I'm trying to avoid the chocolate this year, so I'll focus on the love. My own love, in particular.

Love is a tricksy beast, hard to predict, fickle and cunning. When you're looking you can't seem to find her, and she sneaks up on you when you've given up. At least that's how she's treated me.

I'm constantly amazed at the coincidences and twists of fate that brought me where I am now, all the decisions that didn't seem that important at the time, but ended up changing the trajectory of my life.

One of these is Jimmy Buffett.

In the early 1990s, I went on a Honors trip. Basically, kids who were in the Honors Programs at various Kentucky universities all came together and travelled for a week, learning about the history and geography of our fine state. I'd been on one before and had a lovely time and jumped at the chance to go on another.

It was fun. We ate a lot, played pool in the rec rooms at different colleges, laughed, and talked and talked and talked. There was a boy there I made friends with. We connected over a book. We found out that his parents and my parents didn't live that far apart.

At the end of the trip, he invited me to go to a Jimmy Buffett concert with him. I was engaged to someone else, and we were both clear this was a "friends" thing, so I went. It was a wet and miserable night and I was pretty muddy by the end of it, but we had a great time.

It didn't seem like any big deal at the time. But that not-really-a-date laid the groundwork for our friendship to continue. Anytime I came into town to see my parents, I also saw this friend. We'd get coffee, see a movie, take a walk, and talk. Always we'd talk. He was so easy to talk to.

Fast forward twelve years, and we've both had our hearts broken by other people. I was divorced and moving back in with my parents to deal with the financial fallout. He was getting ready to go to grad school. For the first time in all those years of friendship, we were both single at the same time. And boom! There it was.

It's already been another decade since then. We're still happy. So, thanks, Jimmy. Laughing in the rain and singing about spongecake is, apparently, the start of something beautiful.

#IWSG: When Writers Read

This month the #IWSG is asking:  How has being a writer changed your experience as a reader?

Short answer: Completely!

Longer answer:

In some ways it's probably for the better. I read better books. Now that I have some insight into the process, I'm impatient with lazy writing or bad editing. I know that there is help to be had, and that hard work improves the piece, and I get frustrated with authors or publishers who aren't putting in that level of effort. I'm definitely more apt to just give up on a book that isn't working for me. Life is too short for that! 

Sadly, becoming a writer has made it more difficult for me to really lose myself in a story. I'm pulled out by things I once would have glossed over or excused, hence that willingness to just stop reading something. That's why I'm so happy when a story can really move me, or make me laugh or cry. It's harder to do than it used to be. I feel like I've become more of a cynic or skeptic, harder to impress. 

I do miss simply getting lost in a book, like a spell has been cast and I can no longer feel the world around me. It's the best sort of escapism. It still happens sometimes, but nowhere near as frequently as it once did. Part of that is just that I am older and I've read so many more things. But part of it that I'm writer.

I'm always reading like a writer these days. Heck, I even watch television like a writer, picking apart plot decisions and characterization to the point that I'm surprised my family will talk to me about stories at all. Whether the story really works for me or really doesn't work for me, I'm always trying to figure out why. Was it falling into stereotypes or tropes without doing anything to make them new and interesting? Was it too much like other stories, with nothing to surprise or amaze me? Was it so different that I felt at sea, with no place to stand and view the story? 

I still love reading. I'm just pickier now. It means I'm frustrated sometimes. But it means that my joy is all the more joyful when I find something that rocks my world. How about you? What kind of reader are you?

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If you're not already following #IWSG (Insecure Writer's Support Group), you should really check it out. The monthly blog hop is a panoply of insight into the writing life at all stages of hobby and career. Search the hashtag in your favorite social media venue and you'll find something interesting on the first Wednesday of every month.