Miss Snark's First Victim

Back on Track

2009-12-01T14:38:00.002-05:00

I got through it.

Mind you, the family time was wonderful. My three-year-old nephew finally decided that he likes me (he's the cutest lil' thing you've ever seen and I'm totally not biased). My sister and I got to have JUST THE TWO OF US time at my favorite coffee shop. And my dad made me feel like a princess. (He always does.)

So. Yes. Awesome.

But I did start twitching halfway through. It wasn't an uncontrollable urge to write so much as it was a terrible feeling of disconnectedness from my work. Adding to the angst was the fact that I didn't quite finish chapter 20 before Thanksgiving. I got stuck on the last scene. I tried to sneak in an "end the chapter" writing session once or twice while my family was still here, but it didn't work.

Needless to say, I woke up nervous this morning. I knew that, after dropping my parents off at the airport and getting through the rest of my morning "stuff", I'd have to sit down and dig in. So I parked my tush at one of my "writing spots" (I think they've written me off as some sort of eccentric; today I bought a bottle of chocolate milk and hunkered down beneath my baseball cap.).

And. I broke through! Almost immediately, even.

I'm going to hit the "publish" button on this post and open Scrivener and finish the chapter. I'm not even worried about it. It WILL be finished this afternoon.

Hee!

So, a quick rest-of-December for you before I get to work:

Remember that our WRITERLY CHRISTMAS CONTEST with LAUREN MACLEOD opens on Monday, December 7.
The following week we will have a DROP THE NEEDLE in-house crit. Submission guidelines will be posted prior to the opening, so stay tuned.
On Christmas week, we'll frolic a bit.

That's it, really. In the midst of Christmas hoo-hah, I intend to complete this draft. So I'll be carefully balancing holiday planning, push-it-through writing, and sprinkles of Romantic Hubby Time this month.

I'm sure your month won't be much different than mine! Here's to a happy, low-stress December.

Reminder: Cyber Monday Weekend Deal

2009-11-28T12:58:00.002-05:00

Don't miss your chance to get a copy of AGENT: DEMYSTIFIED at half price!

The deal:

Purchase your copy of AGENT: DEMYSTIFIED any time from Saturday, November 28 through Monday, November 30 (until 11:59 pm, naturally) and a SECOND COPY will be sent to the email address you specify.

So be sure to SPECIFY A SECOND EMAIL ADDRESS on the Paypal order form.

You'll receive TWO COPIES for $9.99 instead of one.

Click here to buy now.

Or go to AUTHORESSPRESS.COM to learn more about the e-book.

Blessings

2009-11-25T08:07:00.003-05:00

And I'm off to revel in family time.

Thanks to so many of you for your words of advice and encouragement. I really do have my priorities straight; I just needed some empathy and a bit of direction.

You've provided both.

See you after the holiday!

Another Goodie: CYBER MONDAY SALE on Authoress's E-book

2009-11-24T09:00:00.000-05:00

Yep. I'm offering a special for Cyber Monday week-end: AGENT: DEMYSTIFED -- Buy one, get one free!

It's a perfect way to go in with a writing buddy and each get your own copy for just $5.49.

Or the perfect way to gift yourself and surprise a friend.

The deal:

Purchase your copy of AGENT: DEMYSTIFIED any time from Saturday, November 28 through Monday, November 30 (until 11:59 pm, naturally) and a SECOND COPY will be sent to the email address you specify.

So be sure to SPECIFY A SECOND EMAIL ADDRESS on the Paypal order form.

You'll receive TWO COPIES for $9.99 instead of one.

Click here to buy now.

Or go to AUTHORESSPRESS.COM to learn more about the e-book.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Our Very Special Christmas Contest!

2009-11-23T09:00:00.001-05:00

I promised you some holiday fun, so here it is!

Lauren MacLeod of the Strothman Agency has graciously agreed to team up with me for our first annual WRITERLY CHRISTMAS LYRICS CONTEST.

Actually, Lauren came up with the idea herself. So I roped her right in.

Here's the deal: On Monday, December 7, you will be invited to set your best writing advice/jokes/impressions to holiday tunes.

Here's Lauren's brilliant example:

Joy to the world, my manuscript is done!
Let agents finally see this beast;
let every inbox prepare it room,
And, dear God, let the query sing,
Please, God, let the query sing
Oh god, dear God, let the query sing.

(And you thought she only agented. Pheh.)

THE RULES:

When the contest blog post appears, you may enter your masterpiece IN THE COMMENT BOX.
Absolutely no emails, please. Comment box only.
Please do not enter more than TWO masterpieces.
Please use a screen name by which you will be EASILY IDENTIFIABLE. "Anonymous" simply doesn't cut it. Especially if there are more than one.
Lewd entries will be deleted. But you wouldn't do that, anyway.
Your masterpiece should be an ORIGINAL set of lyrics that go along with a CHRISTMAS CAROL OR SONG. Please include the TITLE of the Christmas tune so that we can all sing along.

The contest will open at 8:00 am EST on Monday, December 7, and will close at 8:00 am EST on Wednesday, December 9. Comments will then be closed.

THE PRIZE:

Lauren MacLeod will call you on your cell phone and SING your masterpiece--live!

Not really.

THE REAL PRIZE:

Lauren MacLeod will CRITIQUE THE QUERY LETTER of the person whose entry she deems Best Of All.

The winner will be announced on Thursday, December 10.

How's that for holiday happiness? It's no secret that I adore Lauren MacLeod; believe me when I say that her feedback on your query letter will probably be the best Christmas present you could ask for.

Oh. You might want to skip entering if you don't have a polished query letter. It would look kinda silly if you won. Yanno?

That's it! Post your questions below; I'll get to them as quickly as I can.

Friday Fricassee

2009-11-20T09:28:00.002-05:00

Okay, fellow writers. I'm fessin' up.

My family is going to be here for Thanksgiving and I. Don't. Want. To. Stop. Writing.

You already know I'm not one of "those" writers. As in, the writing-is-my-oxygen type. Passionate, yes. Committed, yes. But not...well, one of "those" writers.

I mean, it's okay to BE one of "those" writers. I'm just not.

And here I am, blessed to have my family coming here for the second Thanksgiving in a row. Last year, it was my idea. This year, they invited themselves.

My family isn't like that, really. They're not the invite-yourselves type. (How annoying would that be?) So last year must've been a big hit.

Right?

So I'm glad they're coming. Really, I am.

It's just that I'm looking at the calendar and thinking, "Tuesday. Company arriving. No time to write. Wednesday. Baking pies and making broccoli-cheddar soup from scratch. No time to write. Thursday. Thanksgiving. Um..."

You get the idea.

Now, my parents like to have quiet time in the afternoons to read newspapers. Newspapers make me grouchy; they lie all over the house when my parents are here, making my little fingers black when I move them around. But I'm thinking newspapers will be my best friend next week. I may buy one of every paper I can get my hands on.

Because they can read and I can, yanno, write.

My sister's a different story, though. I WANT to have sister chattiness and go-out-for-coffeeness. I really do. But it's killing me to set aside my work.

Killing me.

I never dreamed there was a Type A personality tucked inside me.

So help me balance, will you? My goal is to finish Draft 3 (aka The Huge Rewrite) of my Dystopian project by December 31. And this Thanksgiving thing is a whole chunk of days to give up. Remind me that I can get back on track once the house has emptied. Remind me that I am a human being first, a writer second.

And if you're one of "those" writers, keep your belief that "writer" comes before "human being" to yourself. Please.

Because I never expected this from myself and I've only got a few days to get my head on straight.

Eagerly awaiting your words of wisdom...

#37 1000-Word

2009-11-18T09:57:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Historian: A Tempest Guard Novel
GENRE: Urban Fantasy

Chase drew in a single deep breath and breathed out responsibility. He let all his stresses ease away. No worrying about the stuck drain in 5B and how he was going to have to page through the do-it-yourself plumbing books yet again. Hopefully he’d end up with less scraped knuckles this time. He could put off ordering in new light bulbs for the hallway lighting fixtures for a few hours. And there was no sense dwelling on the fact that he was pretty sure that Mrs. Hattaway in 3D was switching out the bulbs shortly after he replaced them.

All those concerns could wait.

Chase slouched against the side of the wide windowsill in his almost-uncle Mack’s apartment. He’d just meant to drop some groceries off while Mack was at work, but as often happened, he had gotten seduced by the peace of his window perch. Mack’s place was small and sparsely furnished, but just as clean and orderly as his automotive garage a few blocks away. Chase liked it here, and he liked Mack. But when he had the place to himself, he always came to watch from the window. From up here he could look out over the streets and not have to be involved. He didn’t have to worry about turf wars, getting knifed in the back for his shoes or getting roughed up for what few scraps of cash he might have on him.

He also didn’t have to be in charge of his apartment complex. No seventeen-year-old should be, but it had been status quo for him since he was about twelve. His mom had stopped even making an attempt right around that time and simply stayed doped up on whatever she could get her hands on. Chase had kept the complex going with Mack’s help or he wouldn’t have eaten. Now he took these precious minutes to simply watch and let the weight of responsibility slip away.

Then they ruined it. They looked innocuous at first – a chick completely tricked out in a leather biker babe getup and the tall, corpse-looking guy walking beside her. Weird people showed up down here all the time and this duo could be just two more in the long list.

Usually it wouldn’t bother him. Strangers came and went. They came down here by accident, to escape their own lives, or to tiptoe around danger and feel brave. His instincts, however, were screaming at him - the same instincts that warned when he was being followed; he’d learned to trust them.

These two stiffs had checked every street sign and hadn’t greeted a single person along the way. In fact, people were giving them a wide berth like they were dangerous. That last was what decided him. After they entered the squat abandoned storefront across the way, he blew out a disgusted sigh and hopped down from his roost. He’d go take a look-see, find out what they were all about and if they looked like serious trouble, he’d go tell Mack.

He hustled down the three flights, fought for a moment with the busted door knob, and then finally emerged into the dark night. Strolling across the street, he automatically avoided both the glaring street lights that would ruin his night vision and the deep shadows that hid the human predators stalking the area. A pungent odor had him looking at the pavement. Stepping lightly, he avoided a pile of desiccating newspapers and a puddle that smelled like piss and vomit.

Gak. Wouldn’t want that on his shoes – they were in rough enough shape.

A flicker at the edge of his peripheral vision caught his attention. A guy about his own age, thin and lanky, with a predatory glint in his eyes took a step towards Chase. Jakes or Jaz or something like that was his name. He was a small-time thug. But even wanna-be gangsters could be dangerous. Chase returned a slow smile and reached behind him, hand going under the bottom of his shirt to his waistband. He only had a small knife there, but this guy didn’t know that. As he started to withdraw his hand, Jakes or Jaz, whoever, hesitated, splayed his hands out and backed away. Chase smiled bigger. God loved a good bluff.

Once he reached his target building, he stuck to the shadows and methodically worked his way around, listening carefully to the sounds of the streets around him. The usual faint night traffic was reassuring. No sudden ruckus or tense silence. Nothing going down. The truly rough denizens weren’t out yet but it still paid to be vigilant.

He peeked quickly through each grimy window he could reach. At one time, someone had tried to brighten the place up by hanging colorful curtains at some of the windows. Chase snorted at the wasted effort. Now those curtains were ragged and bleached by the sun. Some windows had been boarded up.

Finally, around the back he saw light gleaming faintly from a window. Faded red draperies gapped a couple of inches at the center.

As quietly as he could, he crouched down to one side, brushing away the chunks of chipped mortar peppering the ground. His grungy gray sweatpants were already torn in three places and the drawstring was almost completely ripped out. The last thing he needed in them was another hole.

Settling himself on his knees, he took a deep breath and spared another quick glance at his surroundings. He was still alone. Leaning over, he darted a look through the window. Blazing teal eyes stared back at him from the far wall. His heart jumped and a shocked breath forced its way into his lungs. In that heartbeat, his brain refused to process anything more significant than the eye color. They were no normal shade of blue or green, but a shade in between.

It was like the color they’d used on those Geos so many years ago, was his bemused thought. Hideous color on a car, but absolutely kickin’ on the lady chained to the wall before him.

His brain started catching up with the scene.

Ah, s***. Who the hell chained people to walls, nowadays anyways? This was no castle and dungeon setup, although she definitely looked like a damsel in distress.

#36 1000-Word

2009-11-18T09:56:00.001-05:00

TITLE: WONDERLAND
GENRE: Memoire

Here it was the end of the third summer of high school and Pierre would be going back without a dependable female social companion for the near future. He was bemoaning the prospects with his friend Vern when an idea hatched that had some possibilities.

Vern's girlfriend Julie had just returned from a self-reliance building camp that lasted half the summer. Pierre had listened to Vern read some of Julie's letters she sent while at camp. The parts Pierre was most interested in hearing were the realizations she and her friend Gelany were having about how fun outdoor wilderness activities could be and how much their lives were changed by the experience.

Pierre had noticed Gelany before. She was a no-nonsense down-to-earth person if not a little pensive and short tempered. He was somewhat interested to hear about the girls summer first hand as Vern had proposed the four of them get together soon to hear about their new and possibly great expectations.

The next Saturday the four of them met at Gelany's house. Both girls were quite excited to share all the events of the summer and had pictures to show and souvenirs to explain. From the photos Pierre gathered the format of the camp was an extended bivouac where groups of six girls went through a well planned and supervised wilderness experience. An initial impression that they were going to hear about a girl scout-like so'- mores and campfire song party was quickly put aside. They had seen rough hikes, semi-serious injuries and even interesting survival problems. Evidence in the pictures was the more beat-up and dirty they got the happier they looked.

After the visual presentation they went into another room to listen to some of the records Jules and Lany had gotten addicted to at the camp. Their favorite was by an anemic sounding singer from Minnesota who tried to play a harmonica between verses of various poems he chanted with maudlin subjects.

One thing that added a little taste to the atmosphere was a tray full of wilderness food the girls had prepared. Because the environs of Kankapot were not wild enough to provide the actual ingredients for the camp recipes, substitutions were made resulting in very interestingly tasty "treats". Pierre thought the taste was somewhere between fruit jerky and pemmican his grandmother used to make. When he looked at Vern it was clear by his facial expression that his thoughts were as far as you could get away from enjoyment or satisfaction.

The conclusion of the afternoon was the girls listing the possible new quests they were hoping to embark on as soon as they could get some money. Hiking the Appalachian Trail and rafting on the Colorado seemed like financial impossibilities to Pierre but Vern assented to every one of their suggestions.

After leaving Vern commented that now that the girls were back from the woods their heads should be following them in about a week. Pierre agreed with his observation and thought to himself maybe the next time they got together he hoped he would get a little more personal recognition than a polite audience member.

A few weeks later to his surprise Vern asked Pierre if he wanted to try out for the school play along with Jules and Lany. "Sure, why not." He said wondering how the three of them developed any interest in that kind of activity. Then he thought about what opportunities might happen that would allow him to cultivate a stronger friendship with Gelany. Even the possibility of working on the sets and scenery could be fun. He had been to the movie and there was the book of Through the Looking Glass at home, but he would have to go to the library to get the play to see what he might like to do in the theater production.

When he checked out the script copy at the library the desk assistant asked, "Which part are you going to try out for?"

"I'm not sure yet." He answered.

"You can try for up to three, "she said, "and you're a senior so you'll get priority."

"I didn't know that."

"It's all on the last page of the announcement. You should read it. Even if you don't get a part you can be on the stage crew." She sure knew a lot about it.

Bringing back the script he was again questioned by the same librarian, "What parts did you decide to try for?"

"Maybe the hatter, the Cheshire cat or the white rabbit, Are you trying out too?"

"I hope to get to be a prompter again. I was one last year" she said with a clear receptive smile. He thanked her for the help and walking away remembered her name was Bobbie.

On the day of the try outs all four of the novice actors were amazed at how many people were there to try for the parts. It was quite organized and they all finished their readings and were out on the sidewalk near the kiosk in three hours. They hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words when Lany's sister Elaine pulled up in a car and said, "If you want a ride home get in now or walk." As the girls piled in to the back seat Lany leaned out and said, "Bye Per." Finally he got recognized personally and directly.

This last label reminded him of a Latin conjugate, a kind of locative case putting you in a closer status of friendship. A logical conjecture but in fact not true.

On the way home Vern asked "Are you still hoping to get something going with 'Paula Bunyan'?" His sarcasm although creative was usually baiting an argument. He was expressing his own irritation that he seemed to not be able to go anywhere with Jules without Lany coming too. A mutual friend, Sean, had given Vern a rusty log splitting wedge the last time he was carping about the girl's close friendship

Bits and Bobs

2009-11-17T14:00:00.002-05:00

I'm chomping on cajun-seasoned nachos and enjoying the freedom of a secret-agentless blog.

I know you understand. Love the contests, love a break from the contests.

At any rate, I wanted to let you know that:

we're going to have a couple of 1000-word critiques tomorrow, and
I'll be announcing a Very Fun Christmas Contest with Cool Prize next week!

Also, I'm compiling (and have been for some time) a wonderful collection of "celebrations and good news". So if ANYTHING good has happened to you as a direct result of this blog, please email your happies to me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com.

"Happies" include, but are not limited to:

Positive results on your query letter (particularly after reading AGENT: DEMYSTIFIED)
Request for material from agent after feedback on the blog
Representation from an agent after feedback on the blog
Representation from a SECRET AGENT after winning a contest
Book deal after feedback on the blog
Book deal, period!
Any quantifiable improvement in your writing, boost in your morale, infusion of encouragement you've received as a fellow aspiring author. It's ALL GOOD!

And that's that. Back to my nachos (which, admittedly, aren't sitting too well...)

Friday Fricassee

2009-11-13T09:04:00.003-05:00

Time to let you know what this blog will look like from now until the end of 2009. (That had an unintentionally ominous ring.)

No more Secret Agent contests until January, 2010. This is intentional. I like to take December off for obvious reasons.
We will have some old fashioned, in-house crit fests. Remember Drop the Needle? Yeah, I'm in the mood for a couple of those. Because, yanno, I get to play, too.
I'll pepper the remaining weeks with some 1000-word crits. If you're in the queue, I will email you prior to posting your entry, to make sure it's current (you're always welcomed to send your latest, most recently edited version).
There will be an "Internet Monday" special on my e-book, Agent: Demystified. If you've been deprived of a copy to this point, now's your chance.
Christmas fun. Define that for me in the context of this blog so I can start brainstorming.
And of course there will be an end-of-year recap of all the GREAT STUFF that has happened to authors as a direct or indirect result of participation in this blog.

There you have it! Post your questions and Christmas ideas below, and have a glorious weekend.

Fabulous Announcement: Book Publication!

2009-11-11T09:28:00.002-05:00

It's official: the first Real Book Deal in which this blog played the teeniest part is happening!!

Here are the authors' own words, used with their permission:

Dear Authoress,

I'm not sure if you remember us or not, but we participated in one of your Secret Agent contests back in February 2009. We didn't win, but we did get a ton of amazing feedback from Kristin Nelson and your fantastic readers. We used all of that great feedback to revise our manuscript and ended up scoring an amazing agent in March 2009. And now we've hit another huge milestone. Our debut novel, A Kate Lowry Mystery: The Haunting of Pemberly Brown, will be published by Sourcebooks in Spring 2011. We are beyond excited and we can't help but think that we have you and the community of writers at your blog to thank.

Thank you so much for all of your hard work! We can't imagine all the time and effort that goes into maintaining your blog, but we sure do appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Lisa and Laura

Woot woot and triple woot! It's a measureless honor to have been part of this book's exciting journey.

Read their blog post announcing the deal.

They're even giving away a Kindle to celebrate!

Throw confetti along with me. When two of our "own" make it, we're all part of the happy that happens. You could be next!

Winners!

2009-11-09T11:32:00.003-05:00

And here are Laura's winners:

Runners up:

#8 Bite Me by LoriStrongin
#9 The Button Girl by Sally Apokedak
#20 Touch by Melinda
#45 My Name Is Death by Inkspatters

Agent's Favorite:

# 30 Undisclosed by Ant

The prize:

Ms. Bradford requests that you ALL send her the first 30 pages plus a synopsis. Please email me at facelesswords(at)gmail.com for specific submission instructions.

Congratulations, all!

Secret Agent Unveiled: LAURA BRADFORD

2009-11-09T09:00:00.000-05:00

Applause and thanks to the amazing and helpful Laura Bradford of Bradford Literary Agency.

Laura's bio:

Laura Bradford has fifteen years of professional experience as a literary agent, editor, writer and bookseller. Laura began her career as a literary agent at Manus and Associates Literary Agency and formed Bradford Literary Agency in 2001. She considers herself an editorial-focused agent and takes a hands-on approach to developing proposals and manuscripts with her authors for the most appropriate markets. The mission of Bradford Literary Agency is to form true partnerships with their clients and build long-term relationships that extend from writing the first draft through the length of the author’s career. Her recent sales include books placed with Berkley, Grand Central, Harlequin/Silhouette, Kensington, Spice Books, Pocket, Virgin Books, Avon, Dorchester, Hyperion, NAL, Eos, and Mira Books. She continues to actively build her client list and is currently seeking work in the following genres: Romance (historical, romantic suspense, paranormal, category, contemporary, erotic), urban fantasy, women’s fiction, mystery, thrillers and young adult as well as some select non-fiction.

She is a member of the Association of Authors’ Representatives (AAR) and Romance Writers of America and she is an RWA-recognized agent.

Winner announcements coming up!

Friday Fricassee

2009-11-06T10:19:00.002-05:00

I'm a summer gal, but I've got to say that the vibrant orangey-greeny-gold effusing through the windows has filled me with a sort of autumnal bliss.

Glorious!

Now that I've morphed into a dedicated, uber-scheduled writer, I'm going to face the test of Writing Through the Seasons (sounds like a boring literary piece). In other words, I'll be stretched to survive winter.

Yes. Survive.

I grew up in a cold house with high ceilings and a piddly heating system. I spent winter nights curled up in front of the hot air register, blocking the heat from the rest of my family while we watched TV. I went through college winters wearing gloves to class to keep my fingers warm after having practiced my scales and arpeggios early in the morning.

The pianist and the writer in me both hate winter.

It's the gray light, too, that gets me. As the years pass, it gets worse. Ugh, the gloomy cloud cover, the damp hanging in the kitchen when I make the coffee each morning. The endless string of dull, cold, dull, gray, dull winter days.

I'm determined to bottle today's autumn brilliance and sip it slowly while I write through the winter. I will be untouched by the season I hate most.

My writing will prevail. And so will my attitude.

I mean, who wants to live with a grouchy female for three months of every year?

So that my autumn pledge. What's yours?

Oh. And all you jubilant, I-love-snow-and-frosty-windows-and-ice-cold-steering-wheels types? I love you, anyway. And if you can share one truly redeeming thing about winter, I'm all ears.

Christmas doesn't count. It's the only thing that NEEDS winter. Once it's over, I'm ready for April.

I'm all ears!

In Case You're Wondering....

2009-11-04T14:39:00.002-05:00

I goofed and overlooked an entry that actually made it before cut-off. Hence #51.

I know you'll treat this orphan entry as kindly as you will the others.

*blush*

51 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T14:39:00.001-05:00

TITLE: Curve Ball Baby
GENRE: Romance

The pain felt as if it was splitting her open. Karly Huffman took a deep breath and tried to focus on the nurse moving purposefully around her hospital room. She was desperate to think about anything other than the growing intensity of the contractions curling deep insider her belly.

“You’re doing a great job, Karly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. The doctor will be here any minute. You’re close,” the nurse said with a warm smile.

“Okay,” Karly managed, her eyes watering as she searched the hallway outside her room once more. She knew her mom and sister were caught in traffic. Going into labor two weeks early, at four o’clock in the morning no less, was not the most convenient thing to do. She was truly alone, and it felt like the impending birth of her son was more punishment for the mistakes of her past. Nothing was as it was supposed to be. Her trusted doctor was away on vacation. The support of her family was missing, and the pain she was experiencing had to be worse than normal.

“Good morning. Are we ready to have a baby in here?” A man’s voice interrupted her misery as he walked into the room, his back facing her as he grabbed some gloves and leaned over to study a clipboard sitting on the counter. Karly watched him, her breath catching as the stunning color of his disheveled hair sent shivers down her aching back. She would know that hair anywhere. It couldn’t be. She fisted her hands in the sheets on either side of her hips and listened as the frantic beeping of her heart monitor accelerated. The doctor turned to face her, a look of concern on his face until his eyes met hers.

50 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:10:00.000-05:00

TITLE: FLASHBACK
GENRE: Young Adult

Mom always warned against pulling stray threads. After all, my mother was a practical woman. One pulled thread could unravel a whole garment. And since we could afford only to patch a hole it was infinitely better to avoid getting one in the first place. Still, I can't help but stare at this shimmering yarn poking from the sleeve of my well-worn sweater.

I want to yank it loose.

I twirl it instead and do my best to focus on the moon-faced lawyer seated before me. I wish he’d get to the point. I wish he’d stop prattling on about the weather and explain why he summoned me here to the port city of Boston – to this grand, but cold, marble-floored room overlooking the bustling harbor and tall ships gliding silently past. Stuffed in my pocket, his cryptic letter crinkles with each impatient shift of my legs. I feel the envelope wax crack. Wax, of all things. Who sends wax-sealed letters anymore? As if it’s the nineteenth century and not the twenty-first. As if e-mail and telephones don’t exist in this parallel universe of antique wood furniture, leather chairs and silver fountain pens.

“So, Miss Jordan.” The lawyer clears his throat. He sweats, even though this office is freezing, and sports a haphazard comb-over that would likely unravel with one pull, too. “Miss Jordan, I assume you’d like to know why I asked you here today.”

I drop the thread and nod, even though the knot in my stomach tells me I might not want to hear the answer.

49 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:09:00.000-05:00

TITLE: OPAL FIRE
GENRE: Mystery

If I really were a psychic witch, as my grandmother insists, then wouldn't you think I could predict if the roof were about to cave in over my head like it was doing right now?

"Stacy, get out!" my cousin shouted through the thick smoke. She was in the basement of the Black Opal Bar gathering stock minutes before the fire barricaded her in the far room. I hoped the rear exit wasn't blocked. The front section, where I stood, was free of flames. For the moment.

I swiveled my head from side to side and clutched the amethyst necklace I wore for protection. "Where's Thor?" I yelled back.

"I don't know. Just go!"

"Thor, here boy," I called. Just then a wooden beam crashed to the floor, dividing the two sections of the bar. Black ash and sparks erupted from the floorboards.

I heard a faint whimper and circled to the face of the oak bar. My recently adopted Great Dane was at the opposite end, wedged between the foot rail and two kegs of beer.

"Thor, come," I screamed as loud as I could.

The kegs blocked his head like linebackers, but I could see his rear end wiggling, struggling to escape. A quick check to my right. The flames hadn't reached the front door yet and sirens wailed closer. There was no choice. My legs found power as I sprinted toward my dog.

Unfortunately, I didn’t see the toppled stool. I tripped in cartoon fashion.

48 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:08:00.000-05:00

TITLE: RING OF FIRE
GENRE: Offbeat Suspense

At the moment of his death, Andy Hansen had never felt more alive.

The captain of the Carolina University wrestling squad was enjoying his senior year immensely. With only one loss so far, he was destined for All-America honors at the spring conference championships. This alone would have been enough to sustain his natural high, but adding three turquoise pills and a petite, auburn-haired freshman named Denise Graham into the mix made for one pumped-up wrestler.

Knowing he stood a very good chance of being shirtless that night, Andy wasn’t taking any chances. If he threw himself into an intense chest workout at the gym, his pecs would be suitably swollen, making an ever-so-inviting pillow for Denise’s fragrant head.

As he closed his apartment door, his hand brushed against a thick, blue piece of paper swinging from the knob. Stupid ad, he thought, and wadded it up.

When it crinkled in his fist, he smoothed the ad out again and discovered a small cellophane packet glued to the back. Three capsules rattled around inside. The headline proclaimed “Increase Your Strength! Maximize Your Reps! Enhance Your Performance the All-Natural Way!” RepMax, the attached product, claimed to be organic--free from ephedrine, synephrine and steroids, any of which could get him kicked off the team in a heartbeat. Andy was intrigued; if God made it, what harm could it do?

He shrugged. He was twenty-one, in the best shape of his life, a bonafide wrestling star with a hot new girlfriend in the wings. In a word: indestructible. He pinched out the pills and tossed them back with a swig of water. Might be just bee pollen, but what the hell. He stuffed the free sample coupon into his pocket.

47 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:07:00.000-05:00

TITLE: Center Court Seats and a Pair of Jimmy Choos
GENRE: Women's fiction

Mimi undid another button and peeked down at her black lace bra for inspiration. She crossed through the last sentences of her draft and tried again.

She lay sprawled on a private beach, her long, tanned limbs entwined with those of a gorgeous blond lifeguard she’d met earlier that day. They writhed, skin against hot, sweaty skin, oblivious to the sand grinding beneath them as the torturous midday sun intensified their body heat. He stroked her back and moaned, “Ah, Grace.”

Mimi rested her head back against the restaurant booth. Maybe Grace wouldn’t be so aggressive. She glanced at her cleavage again.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I think they stopped growing after high school.” Jaclyn dropped her portfolio on the opposite seat. “What are you looking for?”

Mimi smiled at her older sister. “Sand.”

“You realize you’re in a restaurant.”

“I’m starting a new book. Paranormal.”

“ Para -what?” Jac grabbed the menu.

“Paranormal romances contain a supernatural element.” No way would her sister listen to the details of her story. Jac barely acknowledged her career at all. “My character is haunted by the ghost of a woman who was a burlesque dancer. Now she has erotic desires.”

“Sounds like there's a Pulitzer in your future,” Jac said.

“Your encouragement is overwhelming.” Mimi rolled her eyes.

“I just don’t see why anyone reads that stuff.” As an investigative reporter for the Dallas Post-Herald, Jac believed in reporting facts, exposing corruption, bringing bad guys to justice. Fiction was an F-word.

46 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:06:00.000-05:00

TITLE: Our Great Room
GENRE: Women's Fiction

HONEY. She wages a war over honey. Sugar substitute in the pantry, pure cane on the shelf, yet she wages a war over honey. This was supposed to be a low-key celebration - just family and a few close friends - not a house teeming with dehydrated Negroes, all waiting for a glass of her amazing honey iced-tea. I tell her I’m not going and return to my book. My finger skitters down the page. Now wait a minute. Odysseus couldn’t have slain all of the suitors already. I thumb back to the beginning. Maybe Penelope is at the loom, unraveling her wedding veil again. I thumb forward. Perhaps the Cyclops? Hmm. Poseidon? No. The Lotus-Eaters? The Sirens? Hades? I thumb forward and I thumb backward, backward and forward. It is no use. I cannot find my place. I am lost.

I sigh and toss the book across the kitchen table. I have put too much zip in the toss, and the book, an old dog-eared paperback, takes out a plate of wings. My mother stomps her foot. “No honey,” she says, “Not one miserable drop in the house. Everyone’s thirsty,” she says, “And I need you to go find me some. I know it’s hot out,” she says, “Hottest it’s been all summer, but I was born and raised in Savannah - I know what real heat is - and Newark heat don’t got s*** on Savannah heat. Now here, take my car keys. Don’t worry about them wings; I’ll clean ‘em up later. You listenin’ to me, Alexandra?”

45 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:05:00.000-05:00

TITLE: My Name is Death
GENRE: YA urban fantasy

I’ve lost the Book of Death. Usually, it’s in my bottom drawer, under this pile of work from the tenth grade I never bothered to chuck out. Today, an old geography textbook’s the only thing beneath my trig exams, and the sad canvas that’s my attempt at art. S***. I stare at the empty space, hands limp at my sides.

The Book of Death’s kinda vital. I can’t kill anyone without it. Not that killing people’s my all time favorite hobby or anything. Just comes with the territory when you’re the Grim Reaper.

I rip into my drawer. Please, God of Lost Things, God of Found Things, God of damn Birthday Cakes: let me find the Book of Death.

Only one item in my drawer requires any care – the Book of Life. It’s important, too. I write the names of those scheduled to die in the Book of Death, ending their lives, but the Book of Life tells me who to kill, gives me the names.

Once that’s safe on my desk, I reach back into my drawer, shoving things out again. What on earth are my sneakers from the freshman year still doing in here? They stink. After the sneakers, the only thing left is an SAT guide. Mom bought it for me once upon a time. Don’t think I’ve ever looked at it.

Still, there’s a slim chance the Book of Death is hiding beneath it. Fingers crossed. Toes crossed. Intestines crossed. I take a deep breath and plunge my hand into the drawer.

44 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:04:00.000-05:00

TITLE: What Elephants Know
GENRE: Fantasy

You ain’t ever got enough of it – not now, not ever.

You don’t ever want it on your hands, and it slips through the cracks when you need it the most.

Allen contemplated that bit of wisdom as he watched the soft downpour of pure white sand. The six-foot tall wrought iron hourglass reflected his face back to him as the last grains dropped into the lower vessel. The hourglass always made him feel small. He straightened his back, attempting to extend his five-foot-ten inches, his small wiry frame a testament to his somewhat hyper nature. He brushed at his sparse blond hair. His hairline had long ago lost its acquaintance with his forehead, and the fine lines in his brow threatened to merge into one large wrinkle. The wrinkle deepened as he squinted into the glass.

I’ve waited a long time for this.

The gigantic mechanized timepiece – the focal point of the magnificent garden – stood in the middle of the cobblestone court, watched over by the oldest oak tree in the world. The tree’s massive trunk and long limbs, gnarled and wrinkled and bent by time, had stood guard over the garden for over four thousand years. A breeze rose and sent a shiver through those twisted arms as the last grain of sand settled down onto the snow white dune.

So it begins.

Allen watched the warping of his image as the glass began its slow turn, the gears crying out in their stiffness.

43 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:03:00.000-05:00

TITLE: THE DYING CURSE
GENRE: Young Adult

A rush of air sent my hair flying around my face. My skin tingled, the adrenaline high was addicting, and I needed more. So I cranked my wrist, increasing the gas to send me shrieking forward like a blur. Speeding through the trees on my boyfriend Colin’s new All Terrain Vehicle had officially become my new favorite pastime. I couldn’t have been happier that we could each ride our own. Reckless activities were my secret obsession. I loved anything fast and a little dangerous.

Roots from the ancient maple trees caused jarring bumps on the forest ground that bounced me around on the seat. Even though Colin told me to take it slow until I got the hang of riding the new ATV, I couldn’t control the urge for speed. I’d never been this high on the hillside before and really had no clue where I was, but I knew I couldn’t be far off the beaten trail.

Closing in on the top of the mountain, the ground began to flatten. I needed to turn around because I was well aware that this hill had a pretty sharp drop off. Attempting to slow down, I pressed the brake. Nothing happened. My momentum still propelled me forward. I squeezed with all my might, and still nothing. I was still going full speed ahead right toward the edge of the cliff. Sweat began to bead-up on my upper lip, I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to wreck Colin’s new toy, but I didn’t very well want to die either.

42 Secret Agent

2009-11-04T13:02:00.000-05:00

TITLE: The Snap
GENRE: Women's Fiction

When the idea hit her, Robyn’s eyes widened and she gave an involuntary “Oh!” A tiny voice deep down warned that Mark wouldn't like it, but now she couldn't think of anything else. This was too good not to act on. She decided she would stand as soon as the rather comprehensive best man finished his toast, which would give her legs time to stop trembling.

The glazed eyes of the guests worked in Robyn’s favor, as no one seemed to notice the glasses vibrating on the table just above her knees. She glanced over at Mark again. His face was blank too, just like the past twelve times she’d looked at him.

The best man finished with a flourish, and just in time: the glasses teetered at the table’s edge. People clapped and then did that stupid clinking thing to make the couple kiss. Yes, yes. All very predictable.

Finally. She stood, holding onto the edge of the table for support, sure she looked like a cat in the car on the way to the vet’s office. Heads turned towards her, wondering who she was. The bride’s sister, perhaps? A close friend? A cousin? Mark looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

She flashed him a smile, hoping to reassure him. He shook his head in warning against whatever she was going to do, but she had to keep going, especially now that she was standing. Before Mission Control in her head could morph the movement into a trip to the ladies’ room, she lurched for the microphone.