Wow. It's been a few weeks since I posted here, hasn't it? Okay, okay--I'm lazy. But I've also been busy with other forms of writing, notably working on several novels and writing three short stories. Two of the short stories are out, looking for magazines to take them on. If successful, I'll pass it on where you can find the short stories.
I've also entered a writing contest in Writers Digest Magazine. It's an unusual contest. You enter the first 150-200 words of a completed young-adult novel to an agent. The agent then picks the top three and offers to critique the first ten pages of those novels. Hey--not the biggest prize, but it's one way to get an agent to look at your stuff, right? Who knows? It might lead to being published. I'm going to include what I sent here, in this blog, in case any of you are interested. But there's one more thing--if you've written a young-adult book, you can enter this contest, too. The entry fee is to do what I'm doing right now--getting out the word about the contest in two forms of social media. Here's the url to get more info--http://tinyurl.com/pcmopmq. So, if you've written a young-adult book, please have at it. And if you wish to critique my entry, please feel free to do so, as well.
And for those who have pestered me to add another chapter to this blog and to my 100 Greatest Meals blog, stay tuned--it'll happen soon. I promise.
“Dear Lucky Agent” Contest Submission
Swiping the Fabric of Time
By Earl G. Fisher
Social media links used to promote contest: a Facebook notificatiuon on 4-4-2014, and my blog: fisherremodelers.blogspot.com. on the same date.
Dear Ms. Somberg:
Below are the first 200 words of my 363-page YA novel, Swiping the Fabric of Time, where Beauty and the Beast meets The Time Machine. Thanks for the look.
Logline: Fifteen-year-old Laura Hawkins helps time-traveling teens Bobby Fulton and Roger Hillyer try to save the world as they battle an army of Morlocks, until Laura ruins everything by falling in love with the Morlock who’s been sent from the future to assassinate her.
March 6th, 1853.
For thirty seconds I listen, my hand gripping the bayonet. The darkness in the room is total. The only sound is the soft breathing of my sleeping parents. Is someone else in the room?
I sense a gaze. I stare out the window, trying to see details in the gloomy woods beyond. There’s movement. Someone’s there with a weapon, and I’m in his sights. It feels as though my ears . . . my lips . . . my eyes . . . are being ravished. It feels eerie and good at the same time.
I pick up the pistol, still in its holster, and strap it on, sticking the bayonet behind the belt. Whatever happens, I’m armed.
I tiptoe back to my room.
“Attention, please!” a voice booms from above.
“God?” I ask, not sure I want an answer. The room becomes brighter. I shade my eyes, searching for the source of the light.
“Attention, please!” the disembodied voice calls out again. “We are the Game-Board Supervisors. It’s Game Time, Miss Hawkins.”
“Yes. Game Time. There’s to be no arguing. It’s Game Time. Play or die.”