St. Martin’s New Adult Contest
TEMPTED by P.C. Cast and Kristin Cast
Attention, writers! St. Martin’s Press is holding a contest for submissions. Yes, a contest hosted by yours truly to find books to publish. We are actively looking for great, new, cutting edge fiction with protagonists who are slightly older than YA and can appeal to an adult audience. Since twenty-somethings are devouring YA, St. Martin’s Press is seeking fiction similar to YA that can be published and marketed as adult—a sort of an “older YA” or “new adult.”
The contest begins today on Monday, November 9 and ends Friday, November 20, 2009. Submissions will be taken online and read by JJ of the St. Martin ’s Press editorial department and Georgia McBride, Founder and Host of #YAlitchat!
There are prizes! The top three submissions—1st, 2nd, and 3rd places, if you will—will receive a copy of TEMPTED by P.C. and Kristin Cast. There may be multiple winners of this contest, but a free book will go to the three I find the most interesting/appropriate for what we are looking for.
The Rules
- One submission per author.
- Fiction applicable to older teens and twentysomethings, please. For guidelines, the protagonist should be 18 or older, but 20s are preferred.
- All works must be complete, edited, proofed and ready for submission upon request.
- Submission must include author first name, email address, 2-3 sentence hook/pitch and first paragraph of story ONLY. Any additional content will be discarded.
How It Works
Submissions are reviewed by the Editorial Department at St. Martin ’s Press and Georgia McBride, Founder and Host of #Yalitchat. Based on the criteria defined by St. Martin’s Press; submissions are assessed and if we are interested in seeing more, authors are contacted via the email provided in the submission and a partial (first 50 pages) of your manuscript will be requested.
Your manuscript should be edited, proofed and ready for submission. If the editorial team at St. Martin ’s Press would like to see more of your manuscript after reading your partial, they will request the remainder of your manuscript. Please make sure that your manuscript is properly formatted, spell-checked and ready to go.
Winners
Winners in this “contest” are those who submit and are asked to have their manuscript submitted for consideration by St. Martin ’s Press. Ideally, a book deal would come of it, but we have no guarantees. The goal is to give as many #Yalitchat writers an opportunity to have their work considered.
Disclaimer: St. Martin’s Press does not guarantee to publish the material requested and cannot be held liable for a book published through St. Martin’s Press with similar content to any submission from the “New Adult” Contest sponsored by #YAlitchat.
Comment here to enter. Good luck!
Sheila embodies the clash of cultural mores at the end of the 60’s. When she conceives by date rape and her mother disowns her, Sheila grapples with homelessness and the welfare system as well as the decision of whether to keep the baby. She draws close to Father Will, expelled from his parish for firebrand sermons against the Viet Nam war, and she transforms herself from a lone girl in need to a young woman who not only belongs to a community but heralds a new era.
Mom’s Sure Cursive
answers my letter that I’m back from Brazil,
pregnant:
“September 1969.
Dear Sheila,
I will remember you
the way you were.”
The lines of writing blur
My hand floats up and pulls
the chain of the hanging light bulb.
Darkness in the attic room.
It begins, then—
my life as a dead
daughter.
A river of stars
blinks in the window.
When I stand, her letter
falls from my lap.
I want the comfort of the Milky Way—
instead the chill from the cold glass
makes me see Mom
writing the letter,
only an hour away,
in the hometown I never
belonged to.
Jessica
Jesscapelle (at) aol (dot) com
Title: ASCENDING ANGEL
Pitch: When Angel arrives at the pearly gates, she has no idea that she is one of God’s chosen human-angels and that she plays a pivotal role in the battle between good and evil. Can she accept her destiny or will her rebellion and love for someone she can’t have destroy her?
First paragraph: The unseasonable chill in the air was the only negative the day that I died. Houston was supposed to be the world’s largest sauna in May; the air thick with moisture that clings to you and invades each breath. Yet there I was, faced with an impossible choice: either wear Mom’s silver cardigan with the pearl buttons over my formal dress or prove that goose-bumps could be a stylish accessory. I had opted for the sweater, a choice I regretted as I looked down at what remained. Remnants of blood-drenched cashmere hung from my limbs, but I knew the worst was yet to come. Ruining a woman’s favorite sweater was a fate punishable by severe bodily harm. It didn’t matter that I was already dead; Mom’s wrath existed well past the grave.
Pitch:
When Ashley Hunter inherits a pub in England she jumps at the chance to uncover the truth about her ability to communicate with ghosts. Suddenly, she finds herself not only torn between two men, but torn between two worlds. In the end, Ashley is forced to believe in herself and trust the very man who may have been responsible for her father’s disappearance.
First Para:
This is why I’d traveled all night on a plane? This is why I’d left my job and my fiancé? I slipped my sunglasses atop my head, thinking perhaps the lenses were smudged and affecting my vision. But no, fingerprints weren’t at fault—this was a pub of horrors. Fanfreakingtastic.
Title: Dead Quiet
Pitch:
In this noir thriller for new adults, it’s 1949, and eighteen-year-old Nick Zarnecki is on the run from an accidental murder and a vow of revenge. When he meets a troubled older woman, her death pulls him deeper into danger. Nick must risk losing the girl he loves—the woman’s younger sister—to both keep her safe and prove his innocence.
First Paragraph:
I didn’t just fall off the back of a turnip truck. It was artichokes. And I jumped. I had twenty-five cents in my pocket and voices in my head. I was on the run, thumbing, riding, and mostly walking since Shytown, and I guess you could say I was scraping by all right. The voices didn’t let me sleep much, though. All that yelling.
Pitch:Whether it’s in the dojo or on campus, people tend to clear a path when Trystan Van Sant saunters through. A self-proclaimed “bully’s bully” with a sharp tongue and an affinity for the 80’s – Trystan has always used his martial arts training to stand up for the “little guy”. After becoming smitten with Elyssa, a beautiful girl claiming to be immortal but not a vampire, his life suddenly takes a dramatic turn away from the ordinary. As sole survivor of the race responsible for their existence, it is Elyssa’s duty to find and train one capable of doing battle with the vamps. What she didn’t count on is becoming so emotionally involved with the fledgling slayer. Having seen firsthand the brutally short lifespan of a vampire hunter, Elyssa now finds herself torn between her obligation to her people and the love she has waited 11,000 years to find.
1st Paragraph:
“Dammit Tryst, this is the third fight you’ve gotten into this semester. I can’t keep coming down here every time some meat-head looks at you cross-eyed!” Martin scolded, his bony fingers worrying the heck out of his poor glasses. Martin’s my dad. He’s a good guy but a bit of a push-over. You know, the kind of guy that fears confrontation so much he gets nervous when other people are arguing.
Pitch
In Against All Odds, eighteen-year-old Mary Kilpatrick looks forward to her first year at Boston College, but her studies are interrupted by a handsome FBI agent and al-Qaida terrorists. Soon she’s caught in a deadly game of intrigue where the stakes are high and growing with every deadly moment.
PARAGRAPH:
Mary said her goodbyes in the kitchen to her family, all except her father who’d be driving her to the bus station. They’d had so little time alone, so little time to talk over the summer. Days seemed to have flown by since her high school graduation, coupled with all the hard work of the farm that kept them busy from dawn to dusk. She took a few minutes to walk through the downstairs, running her hand over the familiar furniture. Nothing would be the same after today.
(1850) After escaping a treacherous attack by the crew of the ship Empyreal, Isabelle Brandt is determined to see justice for her murdered friends. As she waits for word from the authorities in the States, she finds romance and new opportunities in Antigua—only to have it all come crashing down when the real killers blame her for the sinking of the Empyreal, a charge that could end in her hanging. The trauma re-awakens Isabelle’s childhood ability to communicate with spirits, a talent that will prove crucial in the final reckoning with the ghostly Empyreal and its villainous crew.
Sorry for the duplicate, I think I have the hang of it now!
Pitch:
(1850) After escaping a treacherous attack by the crew of the ship Empyreal, Isabelle Brandt is determined to see justice for her murdered friends. As she waits for word from the authorities in the States, she finds romance and new opportunities in Antigua—only to have it all come crashing down when the real killers blame her for the sinking of the Empyreal, a charge that could end in her hanging. The trauma re-awakens Isabelle’s childhood ability to communicate with spirits, a talent that will prove crucial in the final reckoning with the ghostly Empyreal and its villainous crew.
First Paragraph:
“Where are you taking me?” I tried to plant my feet, but Miss Bonney roughly pulled me into motion again.
“I’m taking you to the east wing, to put an end to this superstitious nonsense once and for all,” she answered, holding my arm in an iron grip. “I will solve two problems with one fell swoop—get some use out of that room, and cure you of lying.”
Pitch:
BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH dips in and out of the online gaming world called Poirot, where some of the mysteries are virtual and some are quite real.
This Christie-style story brought into the twenty-first century follows distracted new mom Clara MacGregor and her group of twentysomething friends as they race around town on a scavenger hunt. But Clara puts her games aside to focus on real clues when her friend, Tuxy, falls victim to nasty threats, pranks, and then a terrible fall. The police think Tuxy – secretive designer of Poirot – is suicidal. Clara knows that someone is trying to kill her friend, and she’s sure the would-be murderer is someone they both know very well.
First Paragraph:
I’d rather have a root canal than go jeans shopping, though somehow I always forget that until I’m standing in front of a mirror that makes me look short and squat, under lighting that lends my skin an unhealthy greenish tinge.
And maybe I’d feel different if I’d ever actually had a root canal to compare against.
Pitch:
With the only life Serenity ever knew stolen from her, the hidden truth she has found is the name for what has stalked her for her entire life — the “Eyrie” — and that whatever this Eyrie is, it is coming, for her and for anything she holds dear. With a young man from an island she visited as a trusted companion, Serenity must learn the legacy her father left behind — a legacy the Eyrie will do anything in its power to prevent her from inheriting.
First Chapter:
Serenity walked into her room, sitting down in the cushioned chair near the door at the desk she rarely used as she preferred sitting on her bed. She looked over at her bed wistfully, knowing how tired she was but not actually wanting to go to sleep just yet. She looked for a sketchpad or book that could help her concentrate and stay awake but after only a few moments could tell that if she did not get to her bed now then she might end up sleeping in her uncomfortable wooden chair. She got up and headed to her large framed bed, remembering her father’s reaction when she had picked it.
Pitch:
When Haven starts her freshman year of college, falling in love isn’t an option, especially after Josh, her abusive ex-boyfriend, passes away. Her plans change when she falls for Tristan, an immortal from Australia. Josh, an immortal now too, returns for Haven—the reunion makes her one very pissed off witch.
The backhand across my face caught me off guard; the smack exploding in my ear like a fire cracker. I stumbled, collapsing onto the hard pavement. Scurrying around, I tried to stand up but Josh slammed me back to the ground with his foot, giving me a few swift kicks for good measure.
Crouching down next to me, he leaned in close. “Don’t go then. See if I care.”
But he did care, and his spit grazing my face showed me just how much. He stormed off toward his friends, not bothering to give me a second glance.
Pitch: Chris Ann Larson has decided to ski the American Birkebeiner, the premier Nordic ski race of North America, but struggles with injury and an man who won’t commit. A long layoff from training takes its toll, but she races anyway. Before crossing the finish line she encounters wayward deer bent on colliding with her, huge hills, but also a man who shows his love with energy bars and sports drinks. Her efforts earn her a place in Birkie lore for unexpected reasons.
First Para: If Chris Ann Larson could have picked a winter for her first marathon cross-country ski race, she would have picked 1991, the year three feet of snow fell on Halloween. That season was plush, velvety. Her skis never scraped ice, and the ski areas each weekend groomed every inch of trail. No, she had to pick a winter that the almanac said would be the most unpredictable in decades, with highs in the sixties and lows well below zero. The first snowstorm was predicted to arrive the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, but Tuesday came and went without a flake, and the Weather Tiger tracking system on News 5 revised their forecast and predicted a foot by Monday morning.
Pitch/Hook:
“We are cats, and as such, the term fear is generally not part of our vocabulary. Many of our actions and responses are instinctive, and feline instinct might tell us to retreat and lie low on occasions, but the human part, the bravely stupid part, will make us do crazy things.
Like challenging an older, experienced leopard to a Combat. That dangerous mix of feline and human almost always makes for unpredictable results.”
First Paragraph:
“Mi-ra-belle,” the voice called out softly, dragging the syllables out. “Mirabelle, come out for a run.” Twilight was winking out with the first stars that sprinkled the cold December night sky, spreading like a shawl of glittering sequins that slowly began their dazzling night-show with an audience of at least one. Below, they were calling me out for a run, though, as usual, I would deny them my company. I had not run for so long, as if I was punishing myself; but it couldn’t fill the gaping hole in the area where my heart should be. Sometimes I hurt so much, I couldn’t breathe. That was when I wanted to run, so that the gasping for breath would be based on something external, something that did not try to claw its way out from inside me. Yet even if I did run, it felt like I could never escape. I cocked my head to the side. There was something about that last thought…. I was sitting on the wide window sill of my bedroom, legs hanging out, and like tendrils of mist curling about, that thought crept stealthily into my head: there are various truths in life, but none more important than the one that states that you cannot run from who you are.
Pitch:
Eighteen year old Violet’s beauty and charm makes her a prized possession in a world full of power hungry, driven politicians. She discovers the perfectly manicured future her parents have crafted isn’t set in stone when she refuses the attempts of the grandson of a United States Senator. Pierced, tattooed, and the epitome of her families greatest fears, nineteen year old Judah Brooks rescues Violet and the two have to decide whether to let their pasts dictate who they are or if they alone decide their future.
First Paragraph:
Violet Newman lost count of how many men used the same pathetic pick up line on her during the evening. She completely ignored the drunken idiot as he slurred the line to her one more time. “You’re so beautiful, baby. Come on, just one drink.”
Pitch: Just because Izabel Rivera was the youngest to graduate from Scorpio, the galaxy’s top school for spies and assassins, doesn’t mean she’s good at her job. When her communications assignment goes south, she not only has to deal with her impending termination (the consequences of yet another failure), but she also has to deal with someone impersonating her dead older brother, a man she can’t decide if she should kill or sex up, and an old friend who wants her help with his heretical theory about the origins of Homo sapiens. Her new assignment, to assassinate the high ranking Imperial, Daryl Cook, is just what she needs to prove she isn’t a failure and that she’s worthy of the name Scorpio.
First Paragraph: Sombra Alara wasn’t who I was; she was who I had to be. As Scorpio, I was expected to change names as easily as I changed clothes. After failing my last assignment, they gave me the name Sombra Alara. It meant either “ruler of all shadows” or “shadow ruler of all.” Take your pick; it was just a name.
Pitch:
When the Union, a small, peaceful nation with limited technology but rich mineral resources, is invaded by the stronger, more powerful Empire of Scheszit, it is up to an Airmage named Nila and a local Sheriff named Marat to fight the invaders. What do you do when your enemy out-numbers you by a thousand to one, and out-guns you by, well, lots of guns to none at all? You use what you have. Wits, home-ground advantage and, of course, a bit of magic.
First Paragraph:
Nila of the Second Rank of Air shivered as she walked along the dark main street of Forest’s Edge. Even here, in the southern reaches of the Union, the Spring evening had a chill to it. The breeze was northerly, and that added to the chill. Her white and grey robes were whipped against her legs as the breeze picked up, becoming a real wind. A storm was brewing, and that meant trouble. Soon, no doubt, she would be summoned to the Elder’s house to discuss that she planned to do about the Spring storms.
Pitch:
Amanda Evans had no clue that a quick detour into her favorite New Age shop would be the catalyst to turning her world upside down. Instead of getting incense she got crazy warnings from an eccentric old psychic, and instructions for performing a ritual that unlocks stolen memories from her past; revealing to her a life long connection to Arius, an incubus, and the first born son of Lucifer himself. When the dust settles she learns that denial can’t protect you from demons, friends aren’t always what they seem, and fate’s a bully waiting to kick you in the face.
First Paragraph:
I awoke in a pool of sweat without the faintest idea of what I’d done the night before, and any memory of my dreams were foggy at best. I was stinky, I had a headache, and an annoying sharp pain in my loins that was indicative of a much more interesting night than I was used to having on Thursdays alone in my apartment. I was in an utter state of confusion, so much so that I found myself playing detective. I checked my phone, no one had called, I had called no one, there were no random empty bottles of tequila in the kitchen so that ruled out the possibility that I may have gotten drunk and called an ex for ‘comfort’. I checked all of my locks and doors…..everything seemed to be in order. I’d often thought myself to be excessively paranoid, and tried to calm my brain as it ran through scenarios of a nighttime intrusion and assault that I had somehow managed to sleep through. But as soon as those thoughts came, I realized that this freak out was probably the result of watching way too much lifetime that week. If that was the only time it happened, I never would have thought it was anything more than a fluke, but that wasn’t the first time I’d woken up with what can only be described as a sex hangover without any memory of the events that may have caused it.
Pitch:
Courting The Pawn in a 100,000 word completed fantasy romance.
Bound by his ancestor to restore their land’s power stone, a young man with the hereditary gift of jumping learns the surly witch sent to guard him has been ordered to steal the crystal wand. He wants to escape her, but his family ghosts insist the sorceress’ servant accompany him on a quest during which they become more than friends and he must choose between his first love and defending his land.
Paragraph:
The ramshackle cottages of the Ignis peasants lined the road and as I passed it heartened me to see the people headed for work in the fields. Several gave me friendly waves as the wind and dawn chased away the morning fog. Our poor people. My poor people now. “’Tis a hard burden to bear,” I muttered. The words held a poignant edge now that I’d never hear my Da utter them again, but never did quite explain why I had fallen into the hands of the fates being born the seventh son following Horatius’ son’s bollixed mess. Literally. “Couldn’t Evin have kept his rod in his pants?”
Title:
PEKING DUCK: THE PORTRAIT OF A MARRIAGE
Pitch:
Chinese fortune cookie messages can sometimes seem ironic, when the couple opening them in their favorite Chinese restaurant in Midwest America has high expectations, but totally different perceptions of the events occurring in their relationship. These events are experienced from the distinct viewpoint of either Richard or Darla, in each alternating chapter, and each chapter is introduced by a message from a fortune cookie. Your fortune: A pleasant surprise is in store for you.
First Paragraph:
I. Chinese fortune cookie message: “Happiness is across the table from you.”
It all began, as a great many romances do, in a Chinese restaurant. Richard Kendrick, not an impulsive man by nature, had finally gotten up the nerve to ask Darla Wimple out on a date after months of staring fixedly at the back of her slender neck in the Northwestern University Library. To his utter amazement, Darla agreed, although “why on earth she’d want to be seen in public with a clod like me” was beyond Richard’s comprehension.
Pitch:
An unexpected birthday present is about to throw Sabrina McCarthy’s life
into chaos. And unlike the latest iPod, her deceased Grandma Lila isn’t
returnable.
When a long forgotten family legend proved true, Sabrina never guessed that
Lila, her loving grandmother was about to become her meddling sidekick
straight from he other side. With Lila’s penchant for disrupting everything
from Sabrina’s work to her love life, Sabrina’s certain she’s soon to become
Vegas’ number one dating disaster. To make matters worse, mysterious hottie,
Logan Hunter manages to appear everytime Sabrina’s in trouble. But Sabrina’s
finding it hard to tell who’s human and who’s not. Throw in a ghost club
where the two worlds collide and Sabrina finds life as Sin City’s newest
Vegas Whisperer is far more chaotic than she could ever have imagined.
Paragraph:
“Am I dead?” Sabrina McCarthy asked.
Of course, she had to be.
That was her dearly departed grandmother Lila at the foot of her bed, amongst the swirling translucent pale blue, almost white mist.
Even her beloved canine protector Buddy wasn’t barking at the sudden intruder. Nope, the lhasa apso was still sound asleep at her side, happily snoring the night away.
So this was it.
She was dead.
Passed over into the great beyond.
And apparently missed that big bright light show everyone always talked about.
Pitch:
Genevieve O’Malley should be a normal senior in college, living with her older brother Kieran as he finishes his residency in neurosurgery. Her life starts to change when Kieran starts dating Rowena, and becomes close with her older brother Marcus, another resident.
There’s something not quite right about those two. And Genevieve is determined to find out. Before she loses her brother. Or her life.
First Paragraph:
I remember hearing Mom telling her best friend, Miss Betsy, from next door, “Oh, hon, every child goes thought a phase where he or she has an imaginary friend, your little tyke will be just fine.”
Mine was Euphemie. A tiny thing with black hair and eyes and an old fashioned dress, she made sure I was up in time for school, laid out my clothes for me in the morning while I slept, and kept my room tidy. I adored her. When I was especially well behaved she would sing me to sleep. I knew better than to tell my parents about her presence in my room. They would not have understood. I may have been seven at the time, but I wasn’t stupid. When they died in a car crash driving back from Thanksgiving dinner, Miss Betsy and Mr. Dan took me in after the hospital released me, and adopted me as one of their own. I became Genevieve O’Malley and gained in addition to a new set of devoted parents, a bossy older brother named Kieran. Euphemie warned me not to get too comfortable, although she liked the O’Malley’s just fine. As usual, she was right. four years later, when Kieran and I were at a church camp out; they died in a plane crash. Kieran was 21, had just finished college, and moved me in to the extra bedroom in his apartment. We’ve been together ever since. I took care of the practical things, like paying the insurance and rent, and he held me together like Atlas. I couldn’t tell him what kept me awake in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t have understood, either, as normal twenty-one year olds did not have problems like this. Only Euphemie did. Someone was looking for me. And I could hear them searching in my dreams. At least twice a month, I had the same nightmare. I was being hunted; stumbling through a fog shrouded forest, and hid behind a massive oak during a thunderstorm. I could feel the rain slicing against my skin, the mud that squished between my bare feet as I ran. Worst of all, I could hear the group chasing me, one voice in particular swore that one day he’d make me his. As if. Euphemie warned me to never answer. She held my hand in the fog as I shook. Euphemie rocked.
Title: The Art Critics
Pitch: At an art opening in a prestigious New Orleans gallery, Jack Jessup (age 26) and his good buddy, Gilbert Tamarack, learn the hard way that is best not to criticize paintings at an art opening, even if the artist just painted them the week before and the art space reeks of paint fumes. THE ART CRITICS is a 70,000 word, humor-adventure novel that follows Jack Jessup on his own personal voyage of discovery, when he reluctantly leaves the “Crescent City” and sets out on an unforgettable odyssey.
First paragraph:
They call me Poor William, but in reality my real name is William Orrville Lafayette, the third. And please don’t call me “Po” William. OK. Although originally from southern Illinois, Paducah to be exact, I now call New Orleans my home. I came here twenty years ago and have never been able to leave. You might say the place is addictive. And I’m not talking about substance abuse here. It’s like it’s about the “Big Easy” mentality that is so prevalent here. Everybody has the disease, or at least a touch of it – including myself. And another thing, back then not too many people called this place the “Big Easy”, it was just black slang. But then the movie came out and everybody started usin’ that term.
PITCH:
Can Matilde Royce, a young Edwardian Catholic wife and mother, retain her humanity in the face of her own bloodthirsty sins? Or will her unstoppable cravings make her the queen in a deadly game between her allies and her enemies?
PREYERS’ heroine follows in the footsteps of Charlotte Bronte’s JANE EYRE, hand-in-hand with THE MILLENIUM GUARDIAN’S Brigit.
FIRST PARAGRAPH:
In all my lonely years haunting Siam’s humid jungles, it never crossed my mind that I was something other than the loathsome spawn of Hell. Now, I stood in the muddy river shallows covered in a dead crocodile’s blood, astonished to find a man watching me from the riverbank’s evening shadows. I neither heard nor sensed his approach and, until that moment, no creature had come upon me with the element of surprise in its favor.
[...] I found on the Query Tracker blog. It is actually an announcement and link to the fine folks at St. Martin’s Press, who are sponsoring an agent pitching contest. (N0, you don’t get to toss any agents around, [...]
Drawn to outcasts, mirrors of herself, Cinch leaves home at 15 and lives on the fringes, one of the original groupies to a couple of rock bands. She also hangs out for a while with a houseful of artists who believe in free love. But Cinch is resilient and keeps her sense of humor in spite of the problems she encounters—abandonment, pregnancy, drugs, illegitimacy. Her life depends on it.
I turned fifteen that fall. Mama agreed I should quit school. I already knew how to type. I could read and write. What more was there to learn? I soon understood why Mama didn’t mind me dropping out. She was moving to Vancouver with her boyfriend Maurice La Blanc: “He’s got itchy feet,” she said.
My feet got pretty itchy too when I heard the news. I might not have been motivated to do much in high school, but I sure was now. Her leaving was a wake-up call. I was on my own.
Christauna R. Asay
Title: 12th Dimension R.A.G.E.
Pitch:
U.S. Army Specialist Kris Rose has been accused of murder. Not just one murder but the brutal massacre of over two hundred and thirty six citizens of an alternate dimension of Earth. So why can’t she remember it happening in her lifetime? Because it didn’t.
First Paragraph:
Thwump!
A boot planted itself in my spine just as my hand touched the outer door of the Special Forces armory. Flung forward into the metal door frame, my arm and shoulder took the brunt of the impact, striking the unlatched door and forcing it open with a rattling thud. I tried to remain on my feet but the forward momentum carried me down the two concrete steps, my hand and elbow skidding across cement with great stinging abrasions while my hip bit the edge of one of the stairs, my left temple meeting the sidewalk.
[...] reminder: Submissions for the St. Martin’s “New Adult” Contest are now closed. Any submissions received after 12:00 midnight Friday, November 20 will not be [...]
I received your contest notice dated 21 Nov 2009. This made it impossible to submit my New Adult manuscript. When will you hold another contest? My protagonist is twenty-one and will appeal to the YA of 1930’s to the present. A description of my completed manual is on my blog.
Sincerely
David
Chazley
chazley.dotson@yahoo.com
When Nicole convinces a disreputable old wandmaster to take her on as an apprentice, she thinks that she has succeeded, but the year of grueling study and dangerous tasks is just beginning. She and the other apprentices must dive for deadly mer-lion whiskers, search river deltas for hideous, boil-covered squonks, and cut screaming reeds in the middle of an ancient forest. Not all of the apprentices will succeed; a few won’t survive.
The Wandmaker’s Apprentice
In the light that trickled through the workshop’s windows, a man polished a thin, dark wand. As her eyes adjusted, she could see the inscriptions etched in circles from the wand’s handle to its tip, symbols carved deep enough to last for a lifetime. This was the last address on the list.
Ah, my apologies. I did not see the cut off time.
In THE SECRET TRUTH, Olivia discovers the terrible power of knowledge when she learns her father has a second family. To preserve her family’s façade, she struggles to keep his bigamy a secret but ultimately reveals the deception in a moment of anger and weakness. Long misperceiving her mother as a weak victim, in the final pages Olivia comes to recognize the woman’s quiet strength and dignity.
THE SECRET TRUTH
At first, I imagined how many of them I could kill. Plenty of them. My father. My mother. Others too, of course. I’d have to do the others first, before I came home and handled things there. But then my little brother wouldn’t have parents, so I’d have to kill him, too. Cricket is nine and I have no idea how someone kills a nine-year-old.
While on vacation at her uncle’s farm in North Carolina, Nellie Albright and her cousin Peter, are caught behind enemy lines as the southern stWhile on vacation at her uncle’s farm in North Carolina, Nellie Albright and her cousin Peter, are caught behind enemy lines as the southern states are attacked and decimated. The government and remaining unaffected states offer no assistance as a make-shift marshal law takes over. Mayhem and destruction prevail as half the population is either missing or dead. The two teenagers fight desperately to stay alive, not be captured and reach Nellie’s ten year old brother Owen who’s in camp hundreds of miles away. ates are attacked and decimated. The government and remaining unaffected states offer no assistance as a make-shift marshal law takes over. Mayhem and destruction prevail as half the population is either missing or dead. The two teenagers fight desperately to stay alive, not be captured and reach Nellie’s ten year old brother Owen who’s in camp hundreds of miles away.
While on vacation at her uncle’s farm in North Carolina, Nellie Albright and her cousin Peter, are caught behind enemy lines as the southern states are attacked and decimated. The government and remaining unaffected states offer no assistance as a make-shift marshal law takes over. Mayhem and destruction prevail as half the population is either missing or dead. The two teenagers fight desperately to stay alive, not be captured and reach Nellie’s ten year old brother Owen who’s in camp hundreds of miles away. ates are attacked and decimated. The government and remaining unaffected states offer no assistance as a make-shift marshal law takes over. Mayhem and destruction prevail as half the population is either missing or dead. The two teenagers fight desperately to stay alive, not be captured and reach Nellie’s ten year old brother Owen who’s in camp hundreds of miles away.
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The Oldsmobile was running on fumes, and we nearly coasted into the Mobil station off I-35 just outside of Lamoni. Chet shut off the ignition and turned to me, “Well, Steve, what’s in the bank?”
Imagine this.. The sun is setting. You have the chilly wind blowing over you, making your long white hair whip wildly. The sun filling your white irises with that same peach color. You smell the city aroma laced with the wind. A bird soars feet above you, while your feet are dangling over the edge of the building. The cars are honking and making there way through the city about 20 stories below you.
Yeah.. Are you freaking out? I’m not. This is just end to another day…
“This girl is crazy!” You might be thinking. I’m not crazy, I’m just experienced. I’ve got many years behind me, despite my young stature.
How many? I actually have no clue. I can only remember 100 years or so back before things get cloudy.
I know you have a lot of questions. I’ll try and answer a few basic ones. The ‘who-what-where’ series.
Who: I’m Aurora Ricker-Vince.
What: A very broad question.. I’m a humanoid-figure being, but not human. I’m Immortal. I also have Psychic powers. I can pretty much do anything.
Where: Am I from? No idea.. I am a wander, a renegade, a free-lancer.
When: Was I born? Again, I don’t know.
Why: Why am I here? No idea. It’s what you humans look for too right? Well, send me a letter, telegram, phone call, e-mail, text message, instant message, or what ever method of contact you wish.
How: Do I exist? Do I use my powers? Am I immortal? Again, I seek those answers, but cannot find them.
You see, since I cannot die, and I have never been injured, I do things most people don’t do. i just do them forever
[...] also thankful because, in writing news, I entered my first novel in the St. Martin’s Press contest for New Adult Fiction last week (“new adult” is a freshly invented category of books [...]
Gillian Stewart has taken up ranching in spite of her father’s pessimism. She is determined to make it in a man’s world–without a man’s help. When her foals begin to die Gillian finds herself relying on the help of Constable Brent Shantz of the RCMP. His faith and gentle affection show her that not all men see women as her father does. Gillian finds herself caught in a trap of deception. Can she trust Brent to find her? Can she believe in the God that leads him? Can she overcome a past of abuse to find joy in life?
[...] and marketed as adult—a sort of an “older YA” or “new adult.” (Submissions can be read here; winners were announced last [...]
[...] fledgling genre created by St. Martin’s Press in 2009 that is similar to Young Adult, but appeals more to twentysomethings and the sufferers of the [...]