Miss Snark's First Victim

Friday Fricassee

2012-01-27T08:44:00.000-05:00

It's awfully hard not to make jubilant comments about the fact that this is the final Friday in January. Truly, it's my least favorite month!

I'm sure I'd feel differently if I lived in the Caribbean.

At any rate, it feels good to be back in the Secret Agent swing! And I need to thank you again for your rabid voting. As of this writing, MSFV is in the lead with 37% of the votes. But voting goes on for another whole week, so please keep voting! (There's a button on the sidebar.)

So let's talk about the changing voice of children's literature. (My, that sounded lofty.) I'm currently reading The Borrowers and not really enjoying it. (Funny, because I remember reading it as a child and liking it, but this reread may as well be my first time, because I don't recognize any of it!) It's a delightful premise--tiny people living under the floorboards and "borrowing" things? How fun!

But--ugh! It's incredibly blah-blah-blah, and I know that has a lot to do with the fact that it's, well, old. Language has changed, and continues to change. Today's children's books are zippier, faster-paced, tension-imbued.

Thing is, when I read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, I don't have an "ugh" response at all, despite the older language style. I adore this book and can forgive its cliches, because they weren't cliches yet when Lewis wrote them.

The Borrowers, which is written for the same audience, is a ponderous read with way too much "adult humor" written into the adult Borrower characters. (I don't mean "adult" in a seedy sense. I mean "adult" as in "over the heads of most children".) And the dialogue goes on and on. And on.

So, does this say something about our modern attention span? Am I a product of the twenty-first century and its penchant for faster-paced everything? Or can it be that, perhaps, even among the older books, there are some that simply aren't up to snuff. Just because a book is "old and revered" doesn't mean it's automatically awesome.

Right?

The original Nancy Drew books aren't exactly literary masterpieces, but they do keep you turning the pages. Mystery! Fright! A handkerchief laced with chloroform pressed against Nancy's nose and mouth! Which proves that older books can certainly have good pacing and a refreshing lack of blah-blah-blah.

What do you think? Am I too saturated with modern children's literature? Or is it valid to call an older book "ponderous" and "wordy" simply because...it is?

Will You Vote for MSFV?

2012-01-26T08:18:00.000-05:00

I received a nomination for inclusion on a list of Top Writing Blogs on eCollegeFinder.com. If you will take a few moments to cast a vote or two, I will be ever so grateful.

There's no grand prize or anything. It's just good blog exposure, which is always a good thing.

GO HERE to vote.

You may vote MORE THAN ONCE. You may vote EVERY DAY.

The last day of voting is FEBRUARY 3.

There's a button in my sidebar for easy voting clickage.

Thanks in advance!

January Secret Agent #ALT-1

2012-01-25T09:50:00.001-05:00

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. “This material was imported from India.”

I stood in front of the mirror with the gown on, fidgeting and pretending to admire myself.

“Is everything all right, Taylor?” 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 automobile accident that killed her husband also left her paralyzed from the waist down.

“Taylor, I have some costume jewelry, exceptionally good imitation, that I know will interest you. There’s a tall dresser in my guest room. 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, ‘Heck yes, open and read.’

January Secret Agent #50

2012-01-25T09:49:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Jacked
GENRE: Young Adult Fiction

My stepdad steered his blue Ford pickup into the circular driveway at Molly Rainer’s home. “Now, that’s a nice outhouse,” he touted, with his usual country twang.

Before our excursion, he clocked several hours on a Los Angeles neighborhood-watch site researching the area. In addition, to get the true lay of the land, Richard pulled the satellite view, convinced that any neighborhood outside the Miracle Mile district might be infested with inner city gangs or hidden van rapists.

Therefore, being the ultimate stepdad--or red-neck zealot, whichever you prefer--he tried to make sure I would be safe from harm. “After all,” he’d told me earlier, “L.A. is nothin’ like Searcy, Arkansas”--his native town--or “Poverty Point, Louisiana”--where my brother and I were from.

I liked my mother’s choice of men this time. Richard trumped Dad in countless ways, and, although he could be a little overprotective at times, he proved to be a thoughtful man who loved his family.

We got out of the car and headed for the entrance of the manicured white stucco mansion that Molly simply called her “place.” Motif hedges, alongside pink and white rose beds, screamed “They’re rich!” while Richard gleamed with pride, extra pleased with himself, as if, just this once, someone at the drive-thru window filled his order with expert precision.

January Secret Agent #49 (redacted)

2012-01-25T09:48:00.001-05:00

REDACTED

January Secret Agent #48

2012-01-25T09:47:00.001-05:00

TITLE: FULCRUM
GENRE: Upper MG sci-fi

The screaming was so loud it crowded out all thought. It took a few moments before the boy realized the sound, more a moan than a scream, came from his own parched mouth.

He dragged in a whoop of air and sat up, his eyes bugging out of their sockets. A hot yellow sky stretched overhead, but the rest of the world swam around him in a blur. He grasped for simple information: where he was, how he’d gotten here. Why he could barely see.

Nothing.

A feeling of dread wormed its way into his confusion. Something was wrong. He couldn’t remember what.

Pain crashed down as he lurched to his feet. He staggered a few steps, stars exploding across his vision, before dropping to his hands and knees, and drew in a deep breath. He had to get back up. He had to stop…something.

In the background, a high-pitched noise rose and fell. His vision cleared enough to make out the grey shape of a nearby building, and something vast and green behind it.

A hand landed on his shoulder. Someone crouched beside him, shouting things he could not unscramble. He shook his head. There was something important he needed to say—what was it? His mouth worked silently, trying to find the words.

His ears began to ring, his vision darkened. Something of vital importance danced at the back of his brain, just out of reach…

“Guide the star!” he blurted out, just before the blackness closed in.

January Secret Agent #47

2012-01-25T09:46:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Identity
GENRE: Young Adult

I can’t tell you my name, but I will try to tell you everything else. We don’t know each other. Think of this as a letter from one stranger to another. You’re here, reading this pile of paper. I’m not around. Imagine me as the creepy kid up in the tree, eavesdropping from a safe distance. Imagine me narrating my life in third person. Imagine me invisible. Imagine me in plain sight. Imagine me however you want. I don’t care.

It’s Monday afternoon, lunchtime at my high school. I sit at the usual picnic table. It’s a violent shade of orange. I nod to the three other people already sitting there. The benches wobble and squeak. One of them is broken. I shrug my backpack off my shoulders. I bend over and catch a glimpse of the table’s colorful underbelly. The chewing gum is disgusting, but it might be the only thing holding the table together.

I used to enjoy eating outside. Three or four kids play soccer. They used to just be scenery, but lately, the stupid soccer ball disrupts our table almost every day.

Someone should do something.

“What do you think, Abner?” says Ed.

Ed’s real name is “Edna,” but no one calls her that.

Pause.

“Hello?”

Lunch table conversations are a free-for-all. Everyone talks at once. It is easy to get lost. Abner blinks his way back and re-joins his friends. He’s like that. His mind wanders. Ed is usually the first person to notice and pull him back.

January Secret Agent #46

2012-01-25T09:45:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Outside In
GENRE: Contemporary Young Adult

A bright red B. Oh my God. My lowest grade ever.

I rubbed my cheek as hard as I could and stuffed the paper into my binder before anyone could see it. I didn’t bother to check the comments—plenty of time to memorize those later.

My throat closed up and I couldn’t draw a full breath. One full grade less than an A. My G.P.A. would sink. Miranda would pass me in class rank.

One single B could ruin everything.

Dr. Shah wound her way through the rows of students. She handed a paper back to my friend Miranda, who grinned in triumph and scanned her comments. An A for sure.

How could I be such a fool? I clenched my teeth and my hands shook. I should have spent more time on the paper until it was flawless.

Dr. Shah passed out the last of the papers, but I barely noticed. Chairs scraped. Someone sneezed. There was a giggle from somewhere behind me. But all I could see was the afterimage of a—

Bright.

Red.
B.

The bell rang, and Miranda and I headed out the door together. Once we were in the hallway, she burst out, “I got an A! What about you?”

“Mmm,” I said, half-nodding.

She prattled on about her comments and each word stabbed at my stomach.

I couldn’t listen to her any longer. “I have to pee.”

I made it to the safety of a stall before the dam burst and the tears rushed down my cheeks.

January Secret Agent #45

2012-01-25T09:44:00.001-05:00

TITLE: The One Called Coward
GENRE: Middle Grade Fantasy

The strap that fastens over my shiny silver boot feels loose. I tighten it, making sure that no skin is visible.

Three years ago, when I was studying the enemy with Geros, he peeled off his jacket and pointed to the oozing black scar that started at his wrist and ran up to his shoulder. “This was the penalty for carelessness,” he said. “It happened twenty years ago, and it still pains me.”

A gasp ran around the class. He glared at each of the twenty-four of us. Only Merith met his flat, black eyes. Geros is a hero. He’s old, fierce, afraid of no one, and we were children, eleven years old.
He pointed to me. “You, boy. Will you cover every piece of flesh before you go outside?”

“Yes, sir.”

Geros mocks us when we make mistakes and makes us work until we can scarcely move. But he’s been out beyond the wall many times. He knows what it’s like, and he wants us to be prepared. We understand that and we forgive him. All except Merith, who hates him and never shows him any sign of weakness. I’ve seen Geros watching her sometimes, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

I’m ready to go. I bend down and pat Navid, my dog. He licks my hand as I pull his long, silky ears and kiss the top of his head. I wouldn’t like anyone to see me doing that.

January Secret Agent #44

2012-01-25T09:43:00.001-05:00

TITLE: TELL THE TRUTH
GENRE: Middle Grade

Maggie Woodson peeked over the edge of her cinder block fence. Her best friend Samantha boosted her up from below. From the street, only Maggie’s sunglasses and a mushroom cap of brown curls were visible.

“My back is breaking,” Samantha complained. “Do you see her yet?”

Maggie shushed her. “Subject is approaching from the South.”

“Like you know which way is South,” Samantha grumbled.

Maggie raised her dad’s clunky binoculars to her eyes. She zoomed in on a wild-haired blob bouncing down the sidewalk. With a twist of the knobs, a clear image of her mother came into focus. Mrs. Woodson jogged towards their house, fists jabbing the air like a prizefighter.

“I have her in sight,” Maggie said. “Subject turned around and is now jogging backwards.”

“Why does she always jog backwards?” Samantha asked.

“Because she’s weird,” Maggie said. “It’s a known fact. School bus approaching from the North.”

“Why are you spying on her, anyway?”

“Something’s wrong with her. She’s taking all these pills and being sneaky about it...”

Bang! The rickety old school bus backfired. Black smoke belched from its tailpipe. Maggie watched Mrs. Woodson dart left and dive behind a spikey yucca plant in Samantha’s front yard, like an actor taking cover in some shoot-‘em-up movie.

Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “My mom just face planted in your lava rocks!”

Mrs. Woodson’s head popped up from behind the yucca. Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “Game on, Mom,” she whispered. You can run from me, but you can’t hide.

January Secret Agent #43

2012-01-25T09:42:00.001-05:00

TITLE: SEASON OF THE SOULLESS
GENRE: YA Near-Future Science Fiction

Seeing so many smiles made the stale air easier to breathe. My eyes flitted over my eleven sisters huddled in small groups around the great room: chattering, squealing, fidgeting with their identical, blonde braids. All caught up in the excitement watching the BioLife staff enliven the sterile ward with a Thanksgiving feast. The first in our seventeen years.

Invisible strings tugged at my ribs, urging me to join them, to lose myself in the rare revelry. And I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to! But a second string pulled even harder. One I seemed unable to resist.

Alone, I claimed my favorite stakeout spot, slouching against the ward’s library. The shallow, metal cabinet held exactly one hundred and fifty-three paperback books describing wonders from the outside world. All censored by the doctors, of course. Chosen to stimulate our growing minds. Despite my faultless memory, I’d read each twenty times.

I surveyed the room. Four black-clad, female soldiers, armed with Tasers on their hips and rifles across their backs, flanked the stark hallways leading to the classrooms and sleeping cells, keeping my sisters and me herded in the great room. Kitchen staff, again all women, donned in knee length aprons bustled around the dining table laying out rich-scented foods normally banned from our strict diets. Then, there was Gladys—the night warden who, as always, was wearing her eye-damagingly bright skirt-suit too tight and enough paint on her face to supply our art class for a month.

January Secret Agent #42

2012-01-25T09:41:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Hannah Rides the Pony Express
GENRE: Middle Grade Paranormal

“Robbie stinks.”

Hannah’s mom looked back from her crocheting. She gently rubbed Robbie’s leg. “Honey, we need to stop at the next rest area and clean this guy up.”

Robert looked up catching Hannah’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hold on Pumpkin.” Robert always called her pumpkin, honey, or sweet cheeks. She wondered if he even remembered her name.

“The travel books say this was the Pony Express route to California. I bet they had a rough ride back then. Didn’t you study the Pony Express last year?” Hannah’s mom asked, raising her voice to be heard over the country music flowing from the stereo.

“That was fourth grade,” Hannah grumbled and set the book aside. She stared out the window, imagining a horse and rider following the stream by the road. The vision faded and Hannah found herself back in the Explorer, sitting next to a baby who really needed a diaper change. She pulled the book closer to her face, trying to keep the smell out of her nose.

Robert chimed in, “Besides the Pony Express was a haven for outlaws and drunks. The movies always glorify the history around the reality.”

“Whatever,” Hannah sighed. Robert was always right even when he was wrong, according to her mom.
Hannah touched her scarab necklace she gotten from her father on her fifth birthday. At first, she’d hated the ugly silver bug. Scarab’s were Egyptian dung beetles, or poop eaters. Too bad Robbie didn’t have a scarab diaper right now.

January Secret Agent #41

2012-01-25T09:40:00.001-05:00

TITLE: BOWLING UPSTAIRS
GENRE: YA Contemporary

There are reasons why 15-year-old boys find great pleasure in long, steamy showers. I sat in boxer shorts on a sandpaper-rough towel spread flat over the ivory-colored tiles of the motel bathroom floor. With the door locked and the shower spraying a vacant tub, I treasured my handful of minutes without anyone lurking behind my shoulder.

On this particular Saturday morning, I had at least three good reasons for hiding out in the bathroom. Two of them involved my father and younger brother, Cole, who were lounging on the queen beds and monopolizing the room with a blaring movie about a mission to intercept an asteroid before it destroyed the Earth. Manufactured melodrama failed to interest me. If I wanted a pitiful story of suffering and tension, then I could flip through the past five months of pages in my sketchbook, which brings up the third reason. My sketchbook.

A cloud of steam obscured the upper half of the bathroom, and under it I struggled with another sketch. After four weeks of growth, my sideburns were finally thick enough to show up in the full-length mirror on the bathroom wall. My self-portrait was graphite, which was fortunate because I could draw the sideburns as wild and dark instead of blonde when the rest of my hair was brown. My artistic limitations portrayed me as a caricature of a frontman for an alternative British rock band, all cheekbones and crooked teeth and, of course, dashing, prominent sideburns.

January Secret Agent #40

2012-01-25T09:39:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Gallop
GENRE: YA thriller (horror elements)

Long Beach Island was supposed to be a magical place. That’s what real estate and travel agents told tourists, anyway. Come to LBI for your vacation, and all your dreams will come true. Soak up the sun and let your cares float away.

Right.

Maybe it was just that I’d lived on the mainland for so long, or maybe it was that being on the island meant coming to work on my dad’s boat — it wasn’t anything special. And with the first fingers of winter creeping over, it felt like I’d never get the chill out of my bones. Nothing magical about that.
November winds whipped frigid salt—scented air into my face, pushing against my scooter and seeming to urge me away from The Tern. When I finally pulled into the parking lot, Rick Camarda waved from his favorite position: slumped against the front wall of the restaurant to wait for the owner to arrive and unlock the door.

“Hey, Mackenzie,” he said. He hadn’t smoothed down the cowlick that kicked up his short, dark hair, like he’d just woken up and rolled into work without a shower. “What’re you doing on the island in the off-season?”

“Noah didn’t tell you? We’re moving,” I said, flicking the key in the ignition and removing my helmet. The scooter engine sputtered off, leaving only the raspy—shrill call of seagulls and the occasional rumble of a car engine to block out the sound of the ocean a few blocks away.

January Secret Agent #39

2012-01-25T09:38:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Lady Grace's Rendezvous
GENRE: Regency

The sky darkened and wind blew the carriage, rocking it. Hail joined the hard rain mixed with snow. Lady Grace Carpenter pounded on the roof of her carriage. “How close are we to the Crow and Hound?”

“Not far, my lady. I’m thinkin’ we should stop,” her coachman responded.

“Yes, indeed. Make it so.” She huddled deeper into her fur-lined cloak. When they’d started out this morning, the weather had been dry and sunny, with no indication a storm would come on. She was only an hour or so from Stanwood Hall, her home, but they’d not make it. Better to trust in, Mr. Brown, the Crow and Hound’s innkeeper’s, discretion than risk her servants to this weather. They turned off the road and her coachman shouted for an ostler. The coach door quickly opened and the steps let down. Thornton, her groom hustled her from the carriage through the open door of the inn.

Mr. Brown came forward to greet her. “My lady, we didn’t expect to see you this evenin’.”

“For good reason.” Grace took off her cloak and shook it. “I didn’t expect to be here. I was visiting an elderly cousin and the storm blew up.”

“It’s as they say, my lady. No good deed goes unpunished.”

Grace smiled thinly. “Well, it certainly seems like that at times. I’ll need rooms for my servants and a private parlor. I cannot abide eating in my chamber. It should go without saying, you have not seen me here.”

January Secret Agent #38

2012-01-25T09:37:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Once Upon a Mosh Pit
GENRE: Young Adult Urban Fantasy

Slive’s fist swung and connected with my chin before I even noticed that he was in front of me. The hit snapped my neck back and knocked me to the beer-slicked floor, pain shooting through my jaw. I pushed myself up to my hands and knees and watched him dance away, following the flow of the circle pit until the crowd obscured him. Only a quick glance over his shoulder to check his handiwork gave away that the punch wasn't accidental.

A half-dozen sweaty, slippery hands grabbed at me to pull me upright and get me out of the way of the trampling stampede of the other dancers in the pit. I looked back, but didn't recognize any of the faces. They were strangers, helping me like they would have helped anyone who fell during the show. There was concern in their eyes, but no one saw the hit that took me down.

I shook my head to try to clear the ringing in my ears and managed to get my feet back underneath me just as Slive finished another lap around the circle. I saw him coming this time, a nasty grin distorting his face in the low light. He moved through the dancers, making a beeline for me, his eyes never leaving mine. I stiffened, resigned to the pain I knew was coming. His shoulder rammed into my chest as he passed, and I was sent reeling into the people at the edge of the pit.

January Secret Agent #37

2012-01-25T09:36:00.001-05:00

TITLE: BREAKING FATE
GENRE: YA Paranormal Romance

If I had known I was going to die before my seventeenth birthday, I would have definitely been more reckless. Like ran off with some hot college guy to the city for the weekend or chopped off all my hair for once. Or simply just stopped wasting my time planning my future. But it was too late for a rebellious weekend or a new hairstyle. And it was too late to live for the moment. My moment was gone. He was hiding in my room waiting to kill me just like my most recent prophetic dream predicted and there was nothing I could do to change it. But I refused to make it easy for him. I wanted to guarantee the news report read ‘girl put up a fight’. I would not go out looking pathetic.

I scanned my nightstand for some type of weapon but a furry pillow, a Sixteen Candles DVD and eyelash curler weren’t going to cut it. Why was I so girly? I needed a baseball bat or one of those Taser thingies. I slid the eyelash curler in my palm and stepped closer to the hallway slipping on the trail of water my hair left on the wood floor. If my damn phone hadn’t been ringing I wouldn’t have stormed in my room pinning myself between my bed and him. An amateur move for someone who knew they were fated to be killed.

January Secret Agent #36

2012-01-25T09:35:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Vesuvius: Re-loved
GENRE: YA Paranormal Romance

I looked down at my hands, and they were not my pale, freckled ones. These were the hands I had always wanted, stronger than mine with glorious olive skin. One held a copper knife, the other a loaf of bread, and they sliced the way I usually danced—like they were born to do it and then practiced, a lot.
The world lurched and stood still, like time and space disappeared. We met each other’s eyes—this woman with the capable hands and I—except I saw from inside her eyes, so it was more like we traded places. Or I was in two places at once.

Through the small, glassless window, we shared a view of a vegetable garden, a wall of mortared stone, and a green hump that would have been laughed out of Colorado if it dared call itself a mountain. The hump was a mountain to her, though, so it was a mountain to me. I experienced along with her as she perceived me in the same way, and certainty took hold from her toenails to her scalp.

Something terrible is about to happen.

The earth shook again, and the bread-knife sawed into my index finger. Pain yanked my attention back to my mother’s kitchen like falling from a history book into a Martha Stewart catalogue, and bleeding all over the pages. Crimson blossomed on my freshly sliced white bread.

“Rachel!” Leonardo’s deep voice shouted as a chair clattered to the floor in the dining room.

January Secret Agent #35

2012-01-25T09:34:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Darkwood
GENRE: YA Historical

“Silas!” I call. “Silas wait for me!”

My feet are moving as fast as I can will them, and I hear my breath coming out in quick puffs. I am not as fast running in a dress as I am in breeches and Silas knows it. But he doesn’t wait for me. He never does. I can see the flash of his copper-colored hair when it catches the last bit of the day’s sun as he hops the wall that surrounds the Manor, using the hay cart near the barn to boost himself up and over. Chickens scatter.

The sun slides behind a cloud, and the darkening day makes our task seem all the more hopeless.
“Silas, wait!” I call again, but my voice trails away. I doubt he can hear me. There is distance and a thick stone wall between us now.

I, too, climb up into the hay wagon, hitching up my heavy woolen skirts and throw one long leg over the wall. I drop down on the other side in a heap, cursing myself for misjudging the distance. The extra fabric of my dress does nothing to break my fall. I brush my hair from my eyes in time to see Silas, still pounding away over the Dells, fade into the distance.

I know now I will never catch him, so I stand and brush out the brown serge fabric, checking it for tears.

January Secret Agent #34

2012-01-25T09:33:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Untitled
GENRE: MG Adventure

Dreading summer vacation isn't normal.

And Jack, like most normal twelve-year-olds, dreamed of summer arriving - especially this summer. But now that it was here, he just wanted it over. And, that wasn't normal either. The afternoon humidity hung thick and heavy, turning the pleasantries of the fresh summer day into stagnant, dead air. Jack's mood mimicked the changing afternoon sky; grey, sullen, and waiting for something unpleasant to arrive.

Nope. Definitely not normal.

Scuffing up pebbles on his way home from school, the conversation with his classmates after last period bubbled in his brain. He'd finally told them about his dilemma. At least the part he could tell them - Calvin, the Fresh Air Kid.

"Wow! That sucks! Sharing your room with a complete stranger . . . all summer?" Tyler said. "Sticking a kid like that in the country for the summer is like throwing a river trout into Archer's Pond!"

"What kind of kid?" Jack wondered.

"You know," Matt said, elbowing Jack's arm,"inner-city kids. Isn't that what Counselor Peters calls them? They're usually pretty messed up, aren't they?"

"It's all over TV - Gangs. Drive-bys. Junk like that," Tyler said. "Isn't there some reality show about people living in the city-New Jersey or LA or something? My sister watches all those stupid shows."

"Well," Jack said, "when I met him in February, he seemed okay . . . kinda quiet - more interested in my Wii than anything else."

"Just watch your back, that's all,"Tyler had warned.

January Secret Agent #33

2012-01-25T09:32:00.001-05:00

TITLE: CLAVENDOR
GENRE: MG-Humorous fantasy

I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a good day, but death really wasn’t on my radar screen.

Everything seemed normal until I saw a hobgoblin in the third row of the bleachers. Sitting between two girls and wearing an Indiana University sweatshirt was a little guy with gray skin and a long, pointy nose. No one else really seemed to notice him. Maybe it was because his hood was pulled up and they thought he was just an ugly seventh grader.

Or maybe it was because the girls he was sitting between were both hot and he would have to be on fire for anyone to be looking at him instead. He only caught my attention because I felt the weight of his stare.

But I had more important things going on. I was at first base waiting for Derek to hit me home with the tying run. Luckily, he got a hold of the next pitch, sending a line drive over the head of the second basemen. It bounced into center field right at the feet of Jay Vance, aka Mr. Missile.

“Fabulous,” I grunted to myself. That’s exactly where I didn’t want the ball to go.

I was halfway to second base when I realized that something was wrong. I mean, besides just seeing a hobgoblin watching a baseball game.

My mom was yelling at me from behind the chain-linked fence. “Run, Ben, run!” But then the sounds became muffled and echoed in my ears.

January Secret Agent #32

2012-01-25T09:31:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Game Changer
GENRE: Contemporary YA

“Hey, Emerson—you’n them boys are gonna take the championship this year, right?”

Milton’s oldest and everywhere, Harold Z. Barnes, spit on the ground and pointed a dripping pump nozzle at me from across the gas station.

“Or die trying—yes sir.” I smiled and squinted through the bead of sweat that squirmed from my eyebrow and dropped to the front of my t-shirt, while I waited for the gas pump to tick and squeal its way toward a twenty dollar bill.

“Atta boy! We’re countin’ on you.” Mr. Barnes never missed my games and always showed with his face painted in Grover’s colors—half maroon, half orange—and my number in white on each cheek.

“I know you are, sir. I’ll be throwing for you this season.”

He turned to the man at the next island, “That boy’s somethin’ else. Sure is. Best damn quarterback Grover’s ever seen. They call him ‘da Bomb’ because of that arm he’s got.” The man at the island
smiled and nodded, polite and pretending it was all new information, until Mr. Barnes twisted back toward me. “Hey, your brother still working at your daddy’s shop?”

“Yes, sir. We’re both there for the rest of the summer.”

“Good. Gotta stop in, have him look at my clutch.”

“I could take a look at it for you. Just bring it in. I’ll be there until six today.”

“No offense, Adam. You got the magic on the field, but that little brother-uh yours got it in the shop.”

January Secret Agent #31

2012-01-25T09:30:00.001-05:00

TITLE: THELMA BEE
GENRE: MG Paranormal Adventure

Thelma Bee had short confident bangs, a heavy red backpack, and no idea that something dangerous was searching for her. When the final bell of the school day rang that Wednesday afternoon, she closed her eyes and the sound transformed into a celebration of mariachi trumpets. Just one more school day until the long-long weekend. She busted out of the front door with the excitement that only 2:30 p.m. can bring, and navigating a path through a weird-smelling ocean of middle-schoolers, Thelma set a course for her dad’s antique shop.

Mr. Henry Bee was the proud proprietor of Bee’s Very Unusual Antiques – which was, in Thelma’s opinion, a bit of false advertising. Sometimes they sold items that were quite ordinary, like an old chipped mug, and sometimes they sold things that were not antique at all, like Mrs. Edelstein’s homemade cookies. Maybe, she thought, the shop should be named something more like Bee’s Very Unusual Antiques and Also Some Very Normal Antiques and Also Cookies. Not very catchy, but honest.

“Hey Dad!” She threw down her backpack and plopped herself on an overstuffed chair from the 1970s.

“Hey kiddo!” hollered Henry.

He emerged from his workshop in a worn-out brown apron. Henry Bee sported the kind of thick eyeglasses that were fashionable in the 1950’s, as he had a passion for the old and unique. Once a journalist for the American Post, Henry traveled the globe reporting on strange occurrences from Albany to Antarctica.

January Secret Agent #30

2012-01-25T09:29:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Soul Therapy
GENRE: YA Fiction w/Fantasy Twist

Jessica slumped in her seat. Her mother gripped the wheel like talons, eyes set dead ahead, unwavering. Jessica had grown to know that look so well. Her mother was lost in thoughts of her father and their world that shattered seemingly overnight. It felt like a lifetime when the divorce papers were filed, but really, he was just gone one day. Her mother never really could get over that.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go inside, alright?” Other students flooded into the high school off of busses. At least her mother worked so early in the morning that Jessica could get a ride. “Mom?” Jessica ran her fingertips over her mother’s knuckles.

Her mother gave her the sideways glance and that sweet smile, used to cover up any ill feelings. “Have fun.” Her eyes shifted back, out the windshield, unregistering.

“I’ll try.” Jessica snatched up her bag and got out of the car. She closed the door with a bit too much force. She looked over the high school, Westbury High. She only had one year left, but she was ready for it to be over. It felt long overdue, with as much drama that had been building. She couldn’t really stand to be home anymore, with her mother acting as a shell.

Jessica drifted through the hallways. She felt like a ghost, except for the small shadow she cast. But she was used to that feeling. She had a knack for making friends with all the wrong people.

January Secret Agent #29

2012-01-25T09:28:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Firekeeper
GENRE: Young Adult Fantasy

The firebird sat atop an old-fashioned mailbox at Dharma Downs Lane. Rather than retreat to the safety of nearby trees and rooftops as any sensible animal would have done, it drew itself up, as regal as any queen, and waited for the shades to attack.

The shades in question were already closing in, and assuming frightening, monstrous shapes. Some took human form, with long sharp claws in place of hands. Others took on semblances of wolves and bears and strange winged creatures; black eyeless silhouettes with teeth.

The firebird chirped a warning, but the shades paid little heed. So it sighed - a resigned, I-really-did-warn-you-about-this-you-know sigh - and glowed. Its feathers, a variety of yellows and reds and oranges tipped with a subtle silver shimmer, flared. Its majestic tail fanned out like a vestal train, whipping at slow, concentrated intervals. Despite its bravado, it had a wide-eyed curiosity about it suggesting it had not been a firebird for very long and, if the shades had their way, would not be one for much longer.
The nearest shade reached out for the bird, claws extended and sharp. It was promptly engulfed in an angry red blaze.

For one brief second the firebird reared; smoldering, ardent, angry. In the next it shifted and lengthened, beak and wings giving way to limbs and legs.

Now, a young girl crouched. Feathered crown had given way to a spirited mess of hair that lashed around her bare body like coiled firelight.