Monday 22 October 2012

The Haunted Writing Clinic Query and First Page

Dear Super Villains,

Before I humbly present my query and first page, just know that I can bench press a million pounds like a billion times.  It's not a big deal or anything...


Dear Agent,
A strange, mournful wail trumpets from the nearby forest, disturbing eleven-year-old Andy Salazar’s imaginings of baseball games and monster movie marathons.  Accompanied by Rich, his wisecracking best friend, Andy ventures to the dried riverbed on the first day of summer to investigate.  Together, they unearth fragments of the town of Hamlin’s guarded history in the form of old, forgotten relics.
Guided by the dapper dwarf known as King Henry, Andy and his friends endeavor to connect their discoveries to the town’s past.  Henry says a storm is coming, and the town elders look to the rumpled clouds with growing unease.  A mysterious murder, Hamlin’s first in decades, portends a series of baffling crimes.  Rumors swirl of a tattooed man and dog-faced boy stalking the streets.
 Hamlin is haunted by its secrets and time is running out. Andy must learn why the year 1934 is missing from the town’s history books, and how the buried artifacts connect to the bloodshed, the flood, and the elephant calls in the night.  With the help of his friends, Andy forces Hamlin to face its past and confront its restless dead.
The Last March of Elephants is a New Adult novel with coming of age and paranormal elements in the tradition of Stephen King’s It and Robert McCammon’s Boy’s Life.  It clocks in at 90,000 words.  Although the protagonist and his friends are around eleven years old, the novel deals very much with adult themes.  Thank you for your time and consideration.

Continuing with the first page:

             He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled her name again.  The wind whisked away the thin wail, and he massaged his aching throat.
           “Elva!” he called, again and again.
            The mountains stood sentinel over the parched plain of brittle grass and thorny bushes. The sun shined in a cloudless sky, a cruel mockery of recent events.  His eyes scanned left and right, searching for baby blue against the yellow backdrop.
            Seeing no option, he walked towards the distant cliffs, unaware of the tombstone until his knee collided with it.  After an initial expression of shock, he stopped.  Grunting, he scrambled atop the stone and pitched forward for a moment before righting himself.  With one arm outstretched for balance, he stood erect and shielded his eyes with a dusty, quivering hand. 
            The sweet smell of rot tickled his nose, and he pinched his nostrils between a thumb and forefinger.  When he looked up again he saw her, a distant swath of blue, the black hair only a dot from his position.  He leaped off the tombstone, not caring that it cracked and buckled to the ground in a heap of gray rubble.  The more recently departed demanded his sympathies.
            He ran on trembling legs, aware of carrion-eaters nearby.  When the wind ceased and the rustling grass quieted, he could hear the groaning of their contorting bellies.   The scent in the air beckoned, a miasma that promised an easy meal.  She swayed in an elliptical pattern, her eyes downcast and seeing nothing.    He sprinted faster, calling her name between gasps for air, but she did not hear.  She was trapped within the prison of her mind.
            “Elva!” he shouted as he stopped before her.
            He seized her hand and at that she did favor him with a glance.  The sun had burned her porcelain skin an angry hue of red.  His eyes followed a trail of small, rust colored puddles on the pixilated earth that ended at her feet.  Blood oozed thickly from her cracked heels.  The tip of a nail protruded from the flesh of the left foot and crusted, black blood encircled the wound.
            Whimpering, he pressed his face into her bosom, “They’re all dead, Elva.  All dead.”

Thursday 18 October 2012

Haunted Writing Clinic First Page Part Tres: Return of the Revenge

Thanks to the Super Villains for some awesome comments.  I present The Last March of Elephants first page second rewrite:


            He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled her name again.  The wind whisked away the thin wail, and he massaged his aching throat.
            “Elva!” he called, again and again.
            The mountains stood sentinel over the parched plain of brittle grass and thorny bushes. The sun shined in a cloudless sky, a cruel mockery of recent events.  His eyes scanned left and right, searching for baby blue against the yellow backdrop.
            Seeing no option, he walked towards the mountains, unaware of the tombstone until his knee collided with it.  After an initial expression of shock, he stopped.  Grunting, he scrambled atop the stone and pitched forward for a moment before righting himself.  With one arm outstretched for balance, he stood erect and shielded his eyes with a dusty, quivering hand. 
            The sweet smell of rot tickled his nose, and he pinched his nostrils between a thumb and forefinger.  When he looked up again he saw her, a distant swath of blue, the black hair only a dot from his position.  He leaped off the tombstone, not caring that it cracked and buckled to the ground in a heap of gray rubble.  The more recently departed demanded his sympathies.
            He ran on trembling legs, aware of carrion-eaters nearby.  When the wind ceased and the rustling grass quieted, he could hear the groaning of their contorting bellies.   The scent in the air beckoned, a miasma that promised an easy meal.  She swayed in an elliptical pattern, her eyes downcast and seeing nothing.    He sprinted faster, calling her name between gasps for air, but she did not hear.  She was trapped within the prison of her mind.
            “Elva!” he shouted as he stopped before her.
            He seized her hand and at that she did favor him with a glance.  The sun had burned her porcelain skin an angry hue of red.  His eyes followed a trail of small, rust colored puddles on the pixilated earth that ended at her feet.  Blood oozed thickly from her cracked heels.  The tip of a nail protruded from the flesh of the left foot and crusted, black blood encircled the wound.
            Whimpering, he pressed his face into her bosom, “They’re all dead, Elva.  All dead.”

Tuesday 16 October 2012

Haunted Writing Clinic First Page Part Deux: Revenge of the First Page

Based on the observations of my Super Villain, Krystal Wade, I reworked my first page from the ground up.  I present the same scene as viewed through the eyes of the second character.  I offer The Last March of Elephants first page...


            He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled her name again.  His throat ached and the wind whisked away his feeble offering.
            “Elva!” he called, again and again.
            The mountains stood sentinel over the parched plain.  Tall, brittle grass and thorny bushes littered the landscape. The sun shined in a cloudless sky, a cruel mockery of recent events.  His eyes scanned left and right, searching for baby blue against the yellow backdrop.
            He walked towards the mountains and did not notice the tombstone until his knee collided with it.  After an initial expression of shock he stopped.  He climbed atop the stone with a brief grunt, pitching forward for a moment before righting himself.  He stood erect, an arm outstretched for balance, and shielded his eyes with a dusty, quivering hand. 
            The sweet smell of rot tickled his nose and he squeezed his nostrils between a thumb and forefinger.  When he looked up again he saw her, a distant swath of blue, the black hair only a dot from his position.  He leaped off the tombstone, not caring that it cracked and buckled to the ground in a gray heap.  He was concerned with the more recently departed.
            He ran on trembling legs, aware of carrion-eaters nearby.  When the wind ceased and the grass was still he could hear the groaning of their contorting bellies.  They were drawn by the scent in the air, an odor that promised an easy meal.  She seemed to be dancing with specters, guided by the gentle nudge of the breeze.    He sprinted faster, calling her name between gasps for air, but she did not hear.  She was trapped inside her mind and might as well have been on the moon.
            “Elva!” he shouted as he stopped before her.
            He seized her hand and at that she did favor him with a glance.  The sun had burned her porcelain skin an angry hue of red.  His eyes followed a trail of small, rust colored puddles on the pixilated earth that stopped at her feet.  Blood trickled from her cracked heels.  The tip of a nail protruded from the flesh of the left foot and the blood there was black.
            He whimpered and pressed his face into her bosom, “They’re all dead, Elva.  All dead.”

Monday 15 October 2012

First Page Haunted Writing Clinic




            The woman didn’t know her feet were bleeding.  She stumbled, pursuing a random path and cruel tufts of yellowed grass stabbed her soles.  A vermillion trail followed behind her, but she felt no pain.  She walked on the surface of the moon.  She saw and heard nothing.
         The air was weighted with the stench of cinders and rot.  Elva walked with her arms outstretched as if to embrace a specter, and the sun burned her porcelain skin an angry hue of red.  She stared into eternity, blinking only as a reflex while a lone, determined coyote mirrored her movements from a distance of twenty feet.  The scavenger licked its lips.  The stench of spoiling meat was maddening to the poor beast, whose fur was falling away in gray patches.  The coyote would not chance that meal, though its stomach contorted and groaned.  There were too many men around.
         The woman in the blue dress appeared to be dancing, at times.  She swayed when the wind pressed against her back and swooped when it relented.
         Dimly, as if a fistful of cotton had been hammered into her ears, she became aware of a voice.  The cadence was familiar even if its owner was not immediately apparent.  It was the rhythm of a boy calling to a lost dog.  She descended from the moon, through the ether and the sky and collapsed into her body.
         Suddenly, she was no longer dancing.  She blinked and scanned the horizon.  There were mountains in the distance and an expanse of parched earth leading to them.  She heard the voice again and recognized her name.
         “There you are!” the man said.
         She remembered his face, the cherub cheeks and lively, umber eyes.  Tears had carved a path through the dirt on his cheeks and his eyes were milky and wet.
         “Elva!  They’re all dead.  All of them,” he said.

Saturday 13 October 2012

Haunted Writing Clinic 4th draft (minor revisions)


I've made a few minor revisions based on the suggestions of the Minions and the awesome Courtney Young.  Thanks for all the help!

Dear Agent,
A strange, mournful wail trumpets from the nearby forest, disturbing eleven-year-old Andy Salazar’s imaginings of baseball games and monster movie marathons.  Accompanied by Rich, his wisecracking best friend, Andy ventures to the dried riverbed on the first day of summer to investigate.  Together, they unearth fragments of the town of Hamlin’s guarded history in the form of old, forgotten relics.
Guided by the dapper dwarf known as King Henry, Andy and his friends endeavor to connect their discoveries to the town’s past.  Henry says a storm is coming, and the town elders look to the rumpled clouds with growing unease.  A mysterious murder, Hamlin’s first in decades, portends a series of baffling crimes.  Rumors swirl of a tattooed man and dog-faced boy stalking the streets.
 Hamlin is haunted by its secrets and time is running out. Andy must learn why the year 1934 is missing from the town’s history books, and how the buried artifacts connect to the bloodshed, the flood, and the elephant calls in the night.  With the help of his friends, Andy forces Hamlin to face its past and confront its restless dead.
The Last March of Elephants is a New Adult novel with coming of age and paranormal elements in the tradition of Stephen King’s It and Robert McCammon’s Boy’s Life.  It clocks in at 90,000 words.  Although the protagonist and his friends are around eleven years old, the novel deals very much with adult themes.  Thank you for your time and consideration.

Thursday 11 October 2012

Haunted Writing Clinic 3rd draft Query


Dear Agent,
A strange, mournful wail trumpets from the nearby forest, disturbing eleven-year-old Andy Salazar’s imaginings of baseball games and monster movie marathons to come.  Accompanied by his wisecracking best friend, Rich, Andy ventures to the dried riverbed on the first day of summer to investigate.  The boys are surprised to find there the quiet, homeschooled girl from Rich’s neighborhood.  Together, they unearth fragments of the town of Hamlin’s guarded history in the form of old, forgotten relics.
Guided by the dapper dwarf known as King Henry, Andy and his friends endeavor to connect their discoveries to the town’s past.  Henry says a storm is coming, and the town elders look to the rumpled clouds with growing unease.  A mysterious murder, Hamlin’s first in decades portends a series of baffling crimes.  Rumors swirl of a tattooed man and dog-faced boy stalking the streets.
 Hamlin is haunted by its secrets and time is running out. Andy must learn why the year 1934 is missing from the town’s history books, and how the buried artifacts connect to the bloodshed, the flood, and the elephant calls in the night.  With the help of his friends, Andy forces Hamlin to face its past and confront its restless dead.
The Last March of Elephants is a New Adult novel with coming of age and paranormal elements in the tradition of Stephen King’s It and Robert McCammon’s Boy’s Life.  It clocks in at 90,000 words.  Although the protagonist and his friends are around eleven years old, the novel deals very much with adult themes.  Thank you for your time and consideration.