Announcing the Free February First Five Pages Workshop with Guest Mentor Todd Strasser

Note from Martina: 
The workshop is full for the month. Thanks everyone for all the entries. We will notify all participants by tomorrow, so stay tuned to see who made it. Entries will be posted on Monday at noon.

Our February workshop will open for entries at noon on February 1, 2014. We'll take the first five Middle Grade, Young Adult, or New Adult entries that meet all guidelines and formatting requirements.

Click here to get the rules!

And we have some very exciting news!

As some of you may know, Lisa and I have been really struggling to keep up with the workshop on top of our own writing and various other responsibilities at Adventures in YA Publishing and elsewhere. In addition to going through the final stages of publication on the first book of my trilogy, I'm writing the second book, and I was honestly struggling with the decision to have to close the workshop  down. But we have had such success and so many great participants come through the workshop, that I really hated that idea.

Fortunately, a number of amazing authors have stepped up to give us a hand here as permanent mentors who will each take one participant per month through the initial entry and two revisions so that each workshop participant will receive a critique each week (time permitting) from the guest mentor and two permanent mentors.

We'll always have the updated mentor list here, but so that you know how it is going to work, here is the full current list.

FOUNDING MEMBERS:

Martina Boone (little old moi), loves reading and writing books about beautiful, vicious, magical worlds that intersect our own. She is the principal blogger at Adventures in YA Publishing, and the founding member of YA Series Insiders. COMPULSION, the first book of her Southern gothic trilogy, will be available Fall 2014 from Simon Pulse – Simon & Schuster.

Lisa Gail Green (aka Lisa the Great) writes paranormal and fantasy. She is the author of THE BINDING STONE, the first novel in her DJINN series. She would most definitely have a werewolf for a pet if she weren't allergic.

AND OUR NEW MEMBERS:

Kimberly Sabatini is a former Special Education Teacher who is now a stay-at-home mom and a part-time dance instructor for three and four year olds. She lives in New York’s Hudson Valley with her husband and three boys. Kimberly writes Young Adult fiction and is represented by Michelle Wolfson of Wolfson Literary Agency. TOUCHING THE SURFACE was her debut novel from Simon Pulse – Simon & Schuster.

Julie Musil is represented by Karen Grencik of Red Fox Literary. She writes Young Adult novels from her rural home in Southern California, where she lives with her husband and three sons. She’s an obsessive reader who loves stories that grab the heart and won’t let go.

Susan Dennard is a reader, writer, lover of animals, and eater of cookies. She used to be a marine biologist, but now she writes novels–and not novels about fish, but novels about kick-butt heroines and swoon-worthy rogues. Her debut, SOMETHING STRANGE AND DEADLY, as well as the prequel, A DAWN MOST WICKED, and the sequel, A DARKNESS STRANGE AND LOVELY, are available from HarperTeen.

Ron Smith writes television commercials for an ad agency in Chicago. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He’d rather be writing fiction full-time, and exploring worlds of wonder and imagination. He writes YA and MG fiction and is represented by Adriann Ranta of Wolf Literary Services.

Miriam Forster is a recovering barista and former bookseller who's obsessed with anthropology, British television and stories of all kinds. Her debut fantasy CITY OF A THOUSAND DOLLS was published by HarperTeen in February 2013.

Leslie S. Rose was an assistant professor in the Department of Theatre at UCLA for many years where several of her plays were produced. Her short stories appear in the ongoing Journeys of Wonder series and the anthology Paramourtal 2 by Cliffhanger Books.

Erin Cashman's debut YA fantasy novel, THE EXCEPTIONALS, was named a Bank Street College of Education Best Children's Book. She primarily writes YA and middle grade fantasy while eating chocolate and drinking tea.

Sheri Larsen is a lover of the otherworldly, and her sweet spot is writing for the average tween/teen who's not so average. But she write picture books and middle grade as well. She is represented by Paula Munier of Talcott Notch Literary, and is also the creator of #WS4U!-a Facebook writer support group, and co-collaborator for Oasis for YA.

Stasia Ward Kehoe is the author of YA novels THE SOUND OF LETTING GO and AUDITION, both published by Viking. She grew up performing at theaters along the eastern seaboard, then shifted from stage to page and has been writing fiction, marketing copy and educational materials for almost two decades.

Melanie Conklin is a MG & YA author represented by Peter Knapp of Park Literary Group. In between books, she spends her time doodling and chasing after two small maniacs. She is also the founding member of Kidliterati.com, a group blog that gets to the heart of kidlit.

 
FEBRUARY GUEST MENTOR


Along with our permanent mentors, the guest mentor this month will be TODD STRASSER, the author of more than 100 books for teens and middle graders including the best-selling Help! I’m Trapped In … series. He has written numerous award-winning YA novels including The Accident, The Wave, Give A Boy A Gun, and How I Created My Perfect Prom Date, which became the feature film Drive Me Crazy starring Melissa Joan Hart and Entourage star Adrian Grenier. The New York Times called his most recent novel, Fallout, "Superb entertainment." His books have been translated into more than a dozen languages, and several have been adapted into feature films. Recent novels include the YA mystery thrillers Wish You Were Dead, Blood on My Hands, and Kill You Last. He has also written for television, newspapers, and magazines such as The New Yorker, Esquire, and The New York Times. His novel BOOT CAMP, an ALA Quick Pick for Reluctant Readers, recently made Barnes and Nobles' short list of 13 Great YA Novels with Male Protagonists.

Here's his full bio:

Shortly after Todd was born in New York City his parents moved to Roslyn Heights, New York (Long Island). Todd went to the I.U. Willets Elementary school and then attended the Wheatley School for junior high and high school. His best subject was science. He also liked to read, but had difficulty with spelling and grammar, and struggled in English. His favorite sports were tennis, skiing, and fishing.

Todd went to college at New York University for a few years, and then dropped out. He lived on a commune, then lived in Europe where he was a street musician. All the while, he wrote songs and poems and lots of letters to his friends back home.

After returning to the United States he studied literature and writing at Beloit College. After college, Todd worked as a reporter at the Middletown Times Herald-Record newspaper in Middletown, New York, and later at Compton Advertising in New York City.

In 1978, he sold his first novel, Angel Dust Blues, and used the money to start the Dr. Wing Tip Shoo fortune cookie company. For the next 12 years, Todd sold many more fortune cookies than books.

In 1990, Todd moved with his family to Westchester County, N.Y. He is the author of more than 140 books for teens and middle graders including the best-selling Help! I’m Trapped Inseries, and numerous award-winning YA novels including The Wave, Give A Boy A Gun, The Accident, Can’t Get There From Here, Boot Camp, If I Grow Up and Fallout.

Several of his books have been adapted for television and his novels The Wave and How I Created My Perfect Prom Date became feature films. His books have been translated into more than a dozen languages, and he has also written for television, newspapers such asThe New York Times, and magazines such as The New Yorker and Esquire.

Todd now divides his time between Westchester and Montauk, NY. He likes to read and watch movies, spend time with his grown children, play tennis and ski, but his favorite new sport is surfing.
Todd's Most Recent Book



No Place
by Todd Strasser
Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Released 1/28/2014
When Dan and his family go from middle class to homeless, issues of injustice rise to the forefront in this relatable, timely novel from Todd Strasser.

It seems like Dan has it all. He’s a baseball star who hangs with the popular crowd and dates the hottest girl in school. Then his family loses their home.

Forced to move into the town’s Tent City, Dan feels his world shifting. His friends try to pretend that everything’s cool, but they’re not the ones living among the homeless. As Dan struggles to adjust to his new life, he gets involved with the people who are fighting for better conditions and services for the residents of Tent City. But someone wants Tent City gone, and will stop at nothing until it’s destroyed...


Author Question: What is your favorite thing about No Place?
Somewhat sadly, I suppose my favorite thing about NO PLACE is its timeliness. When I started working on the book nearly three years ago, I had no way of knowing what the state of homelessness would be in early 2014. Now here we are just a month from pub date and this week the New York Times is running a big front-page series about homelessness while the most recent statistics indicate that there are more homeless children here than at any time since the Great Depression. I’ve always felt that books like these – including GIVE A BOY A GUN and IF I GROW UP – present something of a moral dilemma. The worse the situation is, the more I, the author, stands to gain. And yet I strongly believe these topics need to be addressed.

To give an example of why I feel NO PLACE is an important book for today’s young adults, I recall doing a Skype with a class from a suburban school in Florida back when I was just beginning my research. When I asked the students if there were any homeless children attending their school, they all said no. But when the Skype session ended and the students were leaving the room, the teacher came up to the camera and said in a low voice that there were indeed a number of children in the school whose parents were homeless. The other students had no idea.


Purchase No Place at Amazon
Purchase No Place at IndieBound
View No Place on Goodreads

1st 5 Pages Jan. Workshop Rev 2: Carr

Name: JL Carr

Genre: New Adult Urban Fantasy

Title: Rain Dogs

The moment the door creaked open, Bri pressed her foot into the gap and shoved the picture of the werewolf through. "Seen him around?"

"What--" The door jerked, but the man inside recovered fast and let it creak open a few more inches. He peered out at her, and his scowl twisted into a slow smirk. “Well, well. Look who’s back. Not even a smile or a hello, princess?"

She lowered the photo a few inches. Her foot stayed in the doorway just in case. "Hello."

She knew him as Dirty Dan, and he seemed to have aged ten years in the months since she saw him last. His face was jagged angles, thinned by the same drugs he tainted the block with. Dull black hair in sloppy cornrows, ashy skin pocked with sores, yellowed eyes glittering under the streetlight. Familiar. Smug. It made her itch.

The whole neighborhood made her itch, with its boarded-up windows and whiskey stink and the piles of trash hiding wasted, near-feral humans. Made her arms feel heavy and sensitive, as if track marks reacted to memories like some kind of phantom limb ache.

Dan plucked the picture from her hand and gave it a squint-eyed look. It was ratty and a couple years old: wolves didn't usually pose for portraits. She was lucky to have a snapshot at all.

“A wolf?” 

"He's been in the city six months. He was using, and yeah, a wolf, which means he bought from you."

Dan let out a hoarse cough of a laugh. "A hundred people buy from me. A dozen of ‘em are wolves. You think I ask for personal information? I’m not a fuckin' bank."

Bri stared at him, waiting. Not meeting his eyes, not giving away a thing. He thrived on reactions. Always had. The key to dealing with Dan was to become as close to a brick wall as a person could get.

Sure enough, when she didn't respond he peered down at the photo again. "What's his name?"

"Pete. Evans."

"Looks familiar. Why the hell you looking for some werewolf? You ain’t shit, girl, but you ain't lowdown enough to be mixing with animals."

She answered through clenched teeth. "He’s missing, D. If you know anything, tell me. If not, stop wasting my time."

Eyebrows raising, Dan slid his gaze up and down her body in lazy challenge. He opened his hand and let the picture flutter to the ground. "I haven’t seen him. And if I did I wouldn’t give two sour shits. I don't make friends with dogs."

She bent to grab the photo and peel it off the damp cement step, then straightened with a glare she couldn't repress. The urge to throw an elbow in his face was strong enough to make her arm clench, but she couldn’t afford to burn any bridges. Not even shitty, smug bridges who had to be riding high on some kind of chemical just to be up and moving around.

Dan met her glower with another smirk. “Fuck off, Brianna. Next time you come by either bring some cash or keep on walking.”

She turned and moved down the uneven steps and to the sidewalk. Her hands dug deep into her pockets for imagined warmth as she left the crumbling duplex. The door slammed shut behind her, but the sound barely carried in the still, stale air.

Dead end. 

Bri hadn't ever met Pete Evans. He was legit, living out on Somena in the government housing, working the shit job he'd been officially assigned. He was doing things right, screwed over a hundred ways but suffering it because he had to get money back to his pack. Pete started using, spending his money on drugs to get through the day instead of sending it all home. That made him a disgrace to those traditional Somena wolves, but Bri understood him. Too damned well. 

Odds were that Pete sticking needles in his arm had nothing to do with why he was missing, and god knew she was gonna be dragging the slimy feeling of Dan and his neighborhood behind her like a slug trail the rest of the night. But she had to try. Nobody helped the ones who needed it most, and knowing that even the other miserable wolves in the city had written Pete off made a lot of old rage stir up inside of her. 

Bri was barely twenty-one years old, and like Dan said she really wasn't shit, but she had more than enough anger to keep her fueled through another long night of useless searching. She sure as hell wasn't gonna look for Pete any less hard than she looked for all the others who'd vanished. 

She didn't lift her gaze from the ground until a glow began spilling onto the sidewalk ahead of her. One other place she wanted to check before it got too late, and it meant going uptown. 

As soon as she stepped onto Boren, Bri shifted her posture. She forced her chin up, pushed her shoulders back, moved more deliberately. She made this transition a lot lately, but it still took some conscious thought. 

Uptown people walked like they had somewhere to be. They made eye contact. They smiled greetings at each other. Trudging in shadows, hunching and avoiding eye contact, that felt more natural to Bri. But she was risking everything just being outside at that hour. She had to fit in with the sweet-smelling masses bustling their way from one place to the next. The idea was to stay as invisible as possible, but invisibility changed a lot from the shadows to the light.

She kept her hands in her pockets, but peered at everyone who passed as the sidewalks got busier. |She practiced her distracted-yet-polite smile at the few who looked back at her, pretending not to notice their reactions to her. Too-skinny black girl, natural hair and dark skin. Worn out clothes, worn out face. She wasn't a threat and she wasn't for sale, so nobody looked at her twice.

The city changed around her in just a couple of blocks. The bright glow of government-erected lighting strips started on the corner of Boren and Broadway and went into the heart of the tourist district, glaring down from dusk until dawn in a crass attempt to bring some fake sun to nighttime. The stillness of the dark neighborhood she left behind was replaced by the growl of traffic and the ripple of cheerful voices speaking without fear. 

The only change that didn't make her tense was in the air itself, the clearing of the thick rank odors behind her. The sour smell of dirt and mold, cheap alcohol and the sweat of unwashed bodies. That stink never went away entirely, not in a city big as Seattle. But downtown it was thinned by a breeze of salty harbor air and then covered with layers: perfume, car exhaust, flower stands, hot food. Endless steam from the thousands of coffee cups carried by red-eyed humans pretending it was natural for them to be nocturnal.

She breathed deeper uptown. It was the one part of the transition that she actually enjoyed.

Less than a block off Broadway, where the lights were still patchy and the tourists weren’t clogging up the sidewalks, a sudden scent in the clearing air grabbed at her attention.

Sweat. Human. Different from the stink of athletes or the funk of the soap-deprived. This was a potent sharp sweat all its own, cold and tangy with adrenaline. 

Fear.

She slowed her pace down the sidewalk, curious. It took some focus to filter through the normal stink in the air and radar in on where that smell was coming from. 

Fear sweat, cheap cologne...

And near it, under it, the wispy scent of blood. 

Not the copper bite of spilled blood, this was a barely-there tickle, old blood but not stale. Digested, trailing from breath and skin the same way humans leaked their food from their pores.

Only one thing in the world smelled like a blood meal.

1st 5 Pages Jan. Workshop Rev 2: Moreno

Name: Maria Moreno

Genre: Young Adult-Mystery/Paranormal

Title: In Your Wildest Dreams 

When I was 14-years-old I read my obituary and it went like this:

“Ms. Montesino is survived by her parents George and Elena. She was a freshman at Central Lakes High School. She was loved and will be missed dearly.” 

That was all. My whole life reduced to a mere two inches of column in a newspaper. There was no mention of the unfolding of events that led to my accident. No talk of any of my personal milestones. After all, how could there be? I was only a kid.

If I had been perceptive enough I would have noticed all the cues. All the little pieces of lint that rolled up and cumulated into one big ol’ ball of dust—the moment when life left my body.

The Saturday of Labor Day weekend was meant to be a big night. Actually, the best night for my best friend Jordan and me. As freshmen we had finally earned our spot at “The Point,” a stretch of woods on a hill overlooking a blue lake. Perfect for first kisses and “bumping” into people outside of school.

Basically, a one-mile stretch of dreams and it was ours for the taking. We were going to rule. We were most certainly going to be royals.

Honk. Honk. Our carriage had arrived. I looked out her second story window. Her date Andrew rolled up sporting his newly minted license.

“Eww, Jordan. He’s here in his mom’s min-van. I thought you said he was coming in his dad’s Benz.”

Whatever, it’s fine. As long as we show up with an upperclassman we’re still good,” she said while touching up her dark-blond hair in front of her white vanity.

“Do you really, think he was able to find someone for me?”

“Well, he said he would! I don’t see why not. If not we’ll find someone for you there. I promise.”

I sighed and watched Jordan apply her lipstick. Secretly, I had hoped that Andrew would bring John B. He and Andrew weren’t best friend’s like Jordan and me, but I was still hoping. I could talk to Jordan about anything except John. I looked at her long legs and hair and felt embarrassed. I knew he was out of my reach and I’m sure she’d think so too.

“Ok. Let’s go,” said Jordan. “Oh wait.” She gave me some of her lipstick and fixed my hair. “All right, now we can go.”

 She was always doing nice stuff like that for me.

***

I scanned the Point for John, but he was nowhere to be found. Most people had already paired off, so I fell asleep in the back of Andrew’s van while Jordan and him took a blanket and went into the woods.

I was awoken by a gentle rocking movement and then a small slide back as if the car was put in reverse. “Hey. Jordan? Andrew? Back already?” I said as I removed my ear buds and sat up. No Answer. Silence. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach when I saw no one was in the van with me. The car lurched back again with a little more force. I lunged for the side door and kept pulling at it, but it wouldn’t budge because the child safety lock was on.

Frantically, I tried to climb over the console to reach the front passenger door. As I did so, the weight from my sudden movements shifted the car back and propelled it into its quick descent down the hill and into the water. I held on to the headrest for grip and pressed my feet firmly to the ground to hit the invisible breaks. Like I could really stop this.

A hot pain seared across my face when I hit the headrest, punching out four of my front teeth, spilling blood down my throat, leaving a thick-metallically taste. I let go of the headrest and clutched my face to clench the pain. In the process I was flung into the backseat. I was out cold.  

The pressure from the water forcing its way into my nostrils and mouth brought me back into a mild state of awareness. The car was now fully submerged in water and I was still in it. I opened my eyes and tried to sit up, but I could barely lift a finger. The resistance from the water made all my movements so labored. My head throbbed and everything was in slow motion.

“Don’t. Freak. Out.” I thought. “Count to ten. Try again”  

“1, 2,..3...4…”

My eyelids got heavy and the rising and falling of my chest slowly came to a stop. In that moment my spirit peeled away, leaving my body in its watery grave. The scene below me was remarkable. Dozens of kids running down the steep hill, while others had already reached the shore and were swimming to the car to get me.

But they were too late. I had already left earthly limits.

There wasn’t the token white light to follow. I just found myself in an empty sterile room. Actually, it was bigger than a room and more like an endless plain of white. This must be heaven’s waiting room. There were no other patient’s like in a doctor’s office or even a ticket dispenser like at a deli. Nothing like I had imagined it at Sunday school.

It was only me surrounded by nothingness. I didn’t feel safe or at peace. Rather, I felt an empty void where my heart should have been and it was soon filled with hopelessness, anxiety, guilt and anger. I never thought something so infinite could make me feel so claustrophobic.

I looked down at myself and saw that I was naked. It kind of didn’t matter because it’s not like I was made out of flesh and blood anymore. I was invisible all the way through only seeing my silhouette. Except for my center. There was a huge white orb resting behind where my rib cage used to be.

A few paces in front of me was the Central Lakes Gazette and it was there that I saw my obituary. Just to the left of the article, was last year’s yearbook photo showing a round-faced girl. The purple background making my hazel eyes look a mere brown. The only thing that has always been magnificent about me is my long Pantene Pro-V style brown hair.

My mother is catholic and she believes that there is great beauty in dying. “My baby,” she would say. “There is a time for everything. If you’ve done all that you could with your time on earth then rest assured that eternal rest is a gift to look forward to.”

I always thought it was such a scary thing to say to a child. But I understand it now, and I don’t think it’s fair. At least not for me. Right now. I didn’t get a filmstrip showing my happiest moments or even my saddest. What could I be “judged” for?  

I kept staring at my picture and a tremendous lump welled up in my throat. I wasn’t sad for the people I left behind. I was sad for myself. The girl in the picture would never get to grow up. I silently pleaded to be given my life back to have an opportunity to really live it.

A tear ran down my face and went down my body until it reached the floor. That is when I became solid again. Slowly, my organs popped back into place, my bones made a disturbing crunch sound at the places they joined, and the orb in my middle melted away restoring the original color of my skin. Plus, I was now wearing a long white night gown.

“Ugh!” I clasped my hands over my ears and huddled onto the floor in fetal position. A deafening buzz pierced the silence of the room, further punctured by a blinding light.   

When the sound faded I sat up and saw that a portal had emerged. From where I was, I could see oak trees and a blue sky. A slight smell of cigars and the comforting scent of a cologne that I had not smelled for a long time drifted over to where I was.

“Grandpa Juan?” I ran over to the entry and soon found myself consumed by an all-encompassing warmth. 

***

My eyes opened wide and I found myself submerged back in the water in the lake. Outside of the window there were lots of sparkly lights zooming towards me.

1st 5 Pages Jan. Workshop Rev 2: Perinovic

Name: Jenny Perinovic

Genre: Young Adult Gothic Romance

Title: A Magic Dark and Bright

A woman haunted the woods behind my house.

I used to catch glimpses of her from my bedroom window. She glowed in the moonlight, a pale wraith in a white dress that curled around her ankles and twisted in an ancient wind that didn't touch the pine trees around her.

My brother, Mark, used to tease me about my interest in her. Some days, he called it my obsession. Or my overactive imagination, on others. "Watch out, Amelia," he'd say, throwing his hand against his chest, "She's going to lure you out into the woods and steal your soul."

But that was before. I hadn't seen her in the six months since night of the accident, since the night she watched Mark die.

I pressed my palm flat against the screen and waited, the way I had almost every night since I'd come home from the hospital. Nothing stirred outside; the line of forest that stood along the edge of our yard stood still, black branches stretched toward the sky. There wasn't even a breeze to flutter the gauzy curtains around my windows. The woods were empty.

Everything was empty.

"Come on," I whispered, like I could summon her with my words. The clock in the hallway chimed, its bells echoing through the silent house.  Three in the morning. I sighed and turned from the window--if she hadn't shown up by now, she wasn't going to show up at all.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night like this, when the corners of my brain went fuzzy from exhaustion, I'd wonder if maybe I was the reason she'd disappeared. If that maybe, since that night, I'd wanted to see her too much, that my wanting had scared her away. And then I'd think how absurd that was--scaring away a ghost.

Whatever her reasons, she was gone. They were both gone.

I slid out of bed and made my way down the stairs from my attic bedroom, careful to avoid the third step from the bottom that always groaned underfoot. Mark's bedroom sat directly below mine, right across the hall from my mother's. I turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open, its hinges creaking in protest.

Crap.

I froze, hand still on the knob, and waited for my mom to appear in her doorway. She didn't need to know about my late night habits.  I'd told her--and my therapist--that the nightmares had stopped. And they had, technically. As long as I didn't let myself sleep.

I counted to ten. No movement came from behind her door--no rustle of blankets, no shuffle of bare feet across the wooden floor. I let out my breath and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

I kept the lamp switched off and crept across the floor. The silvery-white glow from the full moon gave me enough light to see, and even if it hadn't, I knew my way in the dark. Mark's bedroom hadn't changed since the accident. His laptop was still open on his desk, next to a doodled-in textbook and his unfinished chemistry homework. A purple University of Scranton hoodie was thrown across the bed, one sleeve turned inside-out. His duffel bag, half-packed full of clean clothes, sat on the floor in the middle of the room, like he'd just gone out for the night and he'd return in the morning.

I beelined for the built-in shelf that held Mark's movies. He had hundreds of DVDS, mostly movies I never would have watched before, sports documentaries and slasher flicks and raunchy comedies, but they made me feel close to him. It was too dark to read the titles, but I ran my fingers over the plastic cases and picked one at random.  I tucked the case under my arm and turned to go.

Tires crunched on gravel a moment before headlights cut a wide swath of light down the wall, right over Mark's posters of the Philadelphia Eagles and some red-haired model in a tiny white swimsuit. I frowned. Our street was a dead-end; it was rare enough that someone would drive by during the day.

I crossed to the window beside his bed, the one that overlooked the side of the house.  Our driveway was dark, but there was a car pulling into Ms. MacAllister's driveway next door. Her porch light switched on at the same moment the driver parked and killed the engine. Ms. MacAllister stepped out onto the wide, wrap-around porch. She ran a hand over her hair and looked up, right at the window where I stood. I let out a squeak and ran, heart slamming against my ribs, stopping only to close Mark's door behind me.

By the time I reached my bedroom, I'd managed to get myself back under control. The room behind me had been dark, and it's not like Ms. MacAllister could have seen me from where she stood.  I set the DVD on my bedside table and ran my hands over my face.

Outside, a car door slammed. Voices, one low and deep and one higher, carried across the still night, right through my open window. It would have been so easy to peek outside, to see who was outside, visiting Ms. MacAllister at this hour.

I shouldn't, I told myself, even as I climbed back into bed, right under the window. Don't be a creep, Amelia.

Someone laughed. A very male laugh. My curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed the curtain aside.

A guy, tall and thin, stood next to the car, a bag slung over his shoulder. Ms. MacAllister stood beside him, another bag in her hand. He laughed again and turned toward the car, toward me. For whatever reason, I was surprised to see how young he was--maybe only a little bit older than me, with a mop of brown curls and thick, black-framed glasses that glinted in the yellow light.

I stayed there, waiting in the window until the door slammed behind them and the porch light winked out. Exhaustion washed over me, turning my limbs to jelly. I yawned as I reached for the cord for the blinds, and cast one last look out to the woods. Just in case.

And there she was.

She flickered between the trees, her long white dress twisting in a non-existent breeze, her feet hovering over the ground.

I froze, almost afraid to breathe.

She was there.

And if she was there, maybe, just maybe…

Any thought I had in my head evaporated as she left the cover of the woods and floated above the grass along the treeline. She stopped, her entire being flickering like a projection of an old-time newsreel,  moonlight dancing across pearl-white skin. She raised her arm and pointed. Pointed straight at the MacAllister House.

I clapped my hands to my mouth and the blinds crashed down over the window. By the time I had stopped trembling enough that I could lift them again, she was gone.

1st 5 Pages Jan. Workshop Rev 2: Rose

Name: April C. Rose
Genre: Young Adult Contemporary
Title: Winter on Brimstone Hill

I roll over to check if the milk is frozen. It is. It’s going to be a bad day.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m hallucinating. If I pretend to fall back asleep
and go through the whole process of waking again, then perhaps
there’ll be a fine icy film over the milk and nothing more.  It’s
worth a try.

Convincing myself it’s going to work is almost easy, but when the
sleeping bag comes down, the day looks pretty bleak.  The milk, neatly
stacked in three crates of glass bottles, appears solid.

I could pray that the bottles won’t break as the room warms with
daylight. I could pray, but I won’t. In any case, there’s no use
wasting energy over frozen bottles.  If it’s going to get cold, it’s
going to get cold, and all things—milk among them—freeze. There’s a
life lesson for you.

I pull the folded clothes from my nightstand into the warmth of the
sleeping bag.  I am the salamander that used to live in the cellar.
Joseph and I used to amuse ourselves by enticing it with earth- or
mealworms.  It shot from under the stone long enough to bite down on
the morsel before retreating.  The salamander couldn’t guess we
weren’t going to hurt it. It didn’t need to move fast, but I do.
Otherwise, my body heat will escape.  The chill will never leave me
then.

At least my bedroom isn’t as damp as our cellar. That’s something.

I also manage to get my underwear on right on the first try. That’s
also something. You’d think I’d be a pro at dressing within the
sleeping bag’s confines by now, but it’s so worth it. I stay warmish
and avoid more “Did you see Sarah’s wrinkly shirt?” episodes. Score.

My hand gropes for the Big Man aviator frames I call glasses. They
hearken back to Tom Cruise and the 1980’s, but without the cool
factor. And hey, they work.  Why someone would beg her parents to
spend twenty dollars extra to buy girl’s frames when she can have her
peers make fun of her for wearing gigantic frames is beyond me. I
mean, what’s not to love?

The clock reads five a.m.  My glasses let me see that.

Only sixteen more hours left in the day.

Grace will sleep a while longer, being too young for chores and
school, and it’s another hour before Joseph wakes to tend the
chickens. He’s lucky; throw some scratch down and refresh their water
and they’re fine. I don’t have to be in the kitchen to know my father
sits at the head of the table with a coffee cup in one hand, and Mom
sits to his right with a deck of cards in hers.

I climb from bed to examine the bottles. The wooden floorboards,
painted grey to hide two hundred years, creak under my weight.

The milk sloshes inside the bottles as if it were on the top shelf of
a too-cold refrigerator. Oh, good. It’s not completely solid.

Just to be sure, I check an apple from the box at the foot of my
bed—even better. And the potatoes—nice. Maybe all will be well. I
don’t want to lose our farm’s entire winter store barely into
November. Last year it was almost March before that happened.

Fifteen hours and fifty-eight minutes more.

I turn off the old lamp Mom gifted to me when the storeroom became my
bedroom. They were my sixteenth birthday presents. It was the best
gift anyone could ever give me—my own space. Well, sort of. I have to
share a room with perishables, but so what? I only have to worry about
that during the winter. The summer’s a-whole-nother story.

In the kitchen, it’s exactly as I anticipated. My parents listen to AM
radio, the steady tick tick tick of the electrical fence interrupting
the morning show with DJ Dan. The only other noise is the burble of
the coffee pot on the wood stove and Mom’s cards flicking onto the
table.

I press my feet into my muck boots and shrug into Mom’s oversized wool jacket.

I’m turning the doorknob when my father speaks. “Not going to say
‘morning,’ are you?”

“Good morning,” I say, chastising myself for the slip.

“It doesn’t mean anything now that I had to tell you to say it.”

“I’m sorry.”  My voice is soft, little.  It’s not my real voice; it
doesn’t belong to me. He inspires this voice; it belongs to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says.

“To milk the goats.”

“How many times have I told you not to mumble?”

Mom stops dealing the cards to the piles on the table.

“Sorry,” I say.  “I was going to milk the goats.”  I put more force
behind my words, but they still come out tight.

“Look at me when you speak to me.”

My eyes dart up to meet his.  I don’t want to stare into the green we
share, but I have to.  I can pretend I’m stronger than he is.  This
time, my words carry.  “I was going to milk the goats.”

He turns back to his coffee, Mom’s cards flick onto the table, and I
escape to the barn.

Fifteen hours and fifty-three minutes.



Chapter Two



“Dodge,” I call. The saanen frisks her way through the pen and greets
me with a nuzzle.

I bat her through the doorway and laugh. “I know what you want, you old nanny.”

Instead of going to the milking stanchion like the other goats do when
it’s their turn, she persists.

One Easter, that’s all it took. Unbelievable.

Her nose presses against my pocket, knocking me against the wall.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I say. “Patience is a virtue.”

Patience lifts her head from her grain.

“Not you, silly.”

As soon as I unwrap the egg and Dodge satisfies her addiction to cheap
chocolate, she jumps on the stanchion like the good little goat she
is.

Thank you, Dodge. I won’t miss the bus today.

My head rests against her belly, soaking in her soft warmth. She may
be annoying and stubborn, but she’s always happy to see me. I guess
I’d be too, if someone came bearing chocolate and relief.

I work the bag balm into Dodge’s swollen teats, at the same time
liberally applying it to my own hands. It doesn’t matter. My hands
chap and my knuckles splinter by the time I finish milking.

My parents aren’t in the kitchen when I set the bucket of milk on the
stovetop and turn on the gas.  I light a match and hold it to the
burner until the flame spits.  Then I stopper the sink.

The heat from the woodstove behind me entices me, summons me, but I
ignore it to skim the hair and dirt from the milk.  The milk’s
temperature rises. Burned hair and animal stink fill the air, and I
fight down my gag reflex. The milk is nearly done.

I remove the steaming milk from the flame and place the bucket in the
sink to cool.  My movement is too quick. The cold water splashes.

I step backwards, but not fast enough. The water runs down my front
and onto the floor.  I inwardly curse my clumsiness and grab a towel
from the formica countertop.

After mopping the spilled water, I turn back to the cooling milk.
This time I curse aloud.

“Crap.”

1st 5 Pages Jan. Workshop Rev 2: Brockett

Name: Tina Brockett
Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Title: My Lullaby  


My fingers danced on the steering wheel as I willed the traffic to move. I had less than twenty minutes to get to the depot, make it through security checks, and board the train. If I could get to the other side of town, and speed down Greenhouse Row’s alley, maybe just maybe, I’d make it in time. 

Daddy, please hold on. I’m coming. 


I slammed on the breaks, and screamed at the idiot in front of me. “It’s green. GO. What are you doing?  


This was the worst time of day to go through downtown. With my bad luck, of course it had to be lunch hour, when all the hungry workers packed the streets. For miles either way, office buildings, lavish Twelver temples and standard issue apartments lined Vegas Blvd. Used to be high-end casinos and hotels, but Twelver Law made it illegal to gamble within the Zones.


I felt bad for yelling at the guy, when an ambulance sped by. Or was it the memory of Grandma’s call? 


Welita had sounded so worried, her broken English harder to understand than usual as she told me Dad had fallen at work. She said he was in critical condition and to come right away. Why hadn’t I done something? I’d had “the dream” and then seen his face the minute my eyes opened. I should’ve called him, warned him.

Sirens wailed, and brought me back to the present, as another ambulance passed by.


I shook the crows from my mind. 


I’d only ever remembered two dreams. One in the woods with a boy in the shadows, and a fairy singing the lullaby my dad wrote the day I was born. In the other, crows squawked from a lone tree in the middle of a barren desert. Bad things happened when I had that dream. The last time that image came to me, Abuelito had died.  

Mother said my visions were a gift from the devil. Even though I knew better, I’d ignored them. What if Daddy died, because of it? Why, had I let Mother’s overzealous preaching and fear get into my head? 

I’d had that dream before, and no one died. I had to believe that Daddy would live to see another day. That he would not leave this earth before I made it to him.   


After crossing the Blvd, I took the first left into the alley. Crap. A patrol car sat in the middle of the road that split the acres of greenhouses in half.


“Slow it down, Katrina,” The officer yelled as I passed. 


“Yes, sir. Sorry sir,” I yelled from my open Jeep and then mumbled to myself. “Great way to fly under the radar, Kati.” 


They all knew Mother. As Secretary of Defense, she was their boss. If he stopped me, I’d never make the next train. Or any others that day, if he called it in to headquarters. 


I drove the speed limit until he was out of sight and then punched it the rest of the way. 
 

The front parking lot of the depot looked full, but the small one in the back was where I was headed. I parked beside a large truck, in case Mother sent someone to look for me. I hoped with it concealed, it would take her longer to figure out what I’d done.

I climbed out with a glance at the clock. Seven minutes to get through security, get a ticket, and board the train. I had to take the Express to L.A. I had no other options. No one, not even the Zone idiot, would dare drive across the desert. 

When I reached the front entrance, out of breath and dripping sweat, I cursed the August heat in the Vegas/Henderson Zone. I missed the lazy summer days by the beach in the L.A. Zone. 

With my shoes removed, I stepped onto the travel belt that transported me through the first metal detector tunnel to the check-in station. Nothing beeped. I searched the screen above for what time the Express left for L.A., as I stepped up to the guard. Five minutes until departure. Resting my arm on the counter, to steady my hand, I gave my resident card to the gold and blue uniform. Maybe he wouldn’t even question why I was there without Mother.

After a cursory glance at my ID, his eyes met mine, and the smile disappeared. When his forehead creased, I felt for my crowning cloth. Had I forgotten it in my rush to leave the house? 


Nope. The large crème colored triangle with twelve diamond-shaped gems was right where it should be, properly placed to cover half my forehead then wrapped around the back to conceal my long hair. All Twelver girls wore them. Mine had an insignia to establish my status as a Prime daughter. 

“What’s this, Katrina?” He leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. “Is that some new fashion statement you kids are wearing?”


“Sir?”


The gold curly-cue in the middle of the cloth told people I was better than them. They had to show me an added bit of respect. I didn’t want to be above anyone else, and as a matter of fact, felt the opposite. I don’t know if it’s because I had a non-Twelver, alcoholic dad, or because at home they treated me like a slave rather than part of the family, but I’d never been good enough. 


 “Colored eyes, what’s next?” The guard chuckled as he shook his head.  


Crap, crap, crap, I forgot to put my brown contacts in. Mother insisted I always wear them while in public. Shoot. I’m dead. What do I say? 


“Yeah, they’re the coolest, aren’t they?”


Maybe the strange green eyes and red hair I’d been born with, that Mother made me hide behind brown contacts and brown hair so that I didn’t look different, was what made me feel that way.  
 

The guard laughed, “If you say so. He leaned to the side. “Lady Prime Ramirez coming, or are you with your father today?”


I hated it when people referred to Carlos as my dad, but when we’d moved, I stopped correcting them. In Henderson only a few people knew the truth, and the others never asked. Even though I had the surname Callaghan, while the rest of my happy little family went by Ramirez, no one seemed to make the connection that Carlos wasn’t my real dad.

“Neither. I’m traveling alone today.”


The guards’ brows slammed into a V as he shook his head.
 

“I’m fifteen and have my driving permit. You can’t stop me.”


“I meant no disrespect, but Lady Prime Ramirez knows better than anyone how dangerous the lines are. Why, we had an attack just last week.” 
 

“She’s busy. I can’t wait.” Too many stupid meetings to take me to see my dying dad. Whatever. I wasn’t scared to go alone. 


“Your mother gave you permission to travel without her?”


“Of course she did. My real Dad’s in the hospital. I must get to L.A. right away.”


When I’d called Mother at work, she told me to wait until she got off work. Even after I told her I’d felt horrible all morning, like when her dad died. That just made her angrier, and she gave me a direct order not to go. Forget that. I disobeyed her. What choice did I have? 
    

The guard picked up the phone.

 The gig was up. I should’ve known he’d call Mother.

1st 5 Pages Jan. Workshop Rev 1: Perinovic

Name: Jenny Perinovic

Genre: Young Adult Gothic Romance

Title: A Magic Dark and Bright

I hadn't seen the ghost who haunted the woods behind my house since the night she watched my brother die.

I used to catch glimpses of The Woman in White from my bedroom window. She glowed in the moonlight, a pale wraith in a white dress that curled around her ankles and twisted in an ancient breeze that didn't touch the pine trees around her.

I pressed my palm flat against the screen and waited, like I had almost every night since the accident. My brother, Mark, used to tease me about my interest in her. My overactive imagination, he called it. Or my delusional obsession, when he was being mean. "Watch out, Amelia," he'd say, throwing his hand to his chest. "She's going to lure you out into the woods and steal your soul."

But that was before. Now they were both gone.

"Come on," I whispered, like I could summon her with my words. I rested my head against the window frame and yawned as the big grandfather clock in the hallway chimed once. Nothing stirred outside--the row of trees that bordered our yard stood still under the light of the full moon, black branches stretched towards the sky. There wasn't even a breeze to flutter the gauzy curtains that hung around my windows.  The woods were empty.

Everything was empty.

I slid out of bed. It was pointless to keep looking; if she hadn't shown up by one, she wasn't going to show up at all. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when the corners of my brain went fuzzy from exhaustion and the entire world around me was dark, I wondered if I wanted to see her too much, wondered if my wanting scared her away. And then I'd think how absurd that was, scaring away a ghost.

I made my way down to the kitchen carefully, avoiding the third step from the bottom of the stairs that always groaned underfoot. I made myself a glass of chocolate milk with the light turned off, moving from cabinet to refrigerator to sink by memory. I didn't want to wake my mom; she didn't need to know that I still wasn't sleeping. I may have told her--and Dr. Everhart, the therapist she and my uncle had forced me to see after the accident--that the nightmares had stopped. And they had, as long as I didn't let myself sleep.

I settled myself back into bed and picked up the remote. Nothing but infomercials and Seinfeld reruns would be on TV at this hour--I'd learned that the hard way. Luckily, I had an entire stack of Mark's movies to work my way through. Most of them were things I never would have watched before: slasher flicks and raunchy comedies, mostly, but they made me feel closer to him.  I switched the TV on and paged through the menu until I found the place I'd left off the night before.  

Outside, tires crunched on gravel and twin beams of light flashed in the window, momentarily blinding me. I frowned and set the remote down. Our street was a dead-end; it was rare enough that a car would drive by our house during the day. I crossed to the window over my desk, the one that overlooked the side of the house. I pushed aside the curtain and peered outside. Our driveway was dark.  But there was a car pulling into Ms. MacAllister's driveway next door.

The porch light switched on at the same moment the driver killed the engine. Ms. MacAllister stepped outside.  She ran a hand over her shoulder-length dyed blonde hair before she cast her gaze up, toward my window, like she could somehow sense that I was watching. My heart slammed against my ribs and I let out a squeak. I pressed myself to the wall next to the window, even though the room behind me was dark and I was almost positive she couldn't see me from where she stood. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Sometimes it was easy to almost believe the stories that everyone in our tiny town of Asylum, Pennsylvania, had about Ms. MacAllister, who lived alone in the crumbling mansion next door and sold herbs and crystals and who knew what else from her shop along the riverfront.

You're too old for that stuff, I told myself.  Ms. MacAllister wasn't a witch, anymore than I was.  

Witches didn't exist.

Then again, ghosts weren't supposed to exist, either. And I'd seen the Woman in White enough times to know that people were wrong about that.

The sharp crack of a car door slamming echoed like a gunshot. Voices, one low and deep and one higher, carried across the still night, but they were too faint for me to understand what was being said. I gathered my courage and lifted the curtain again.

A guy, tall and thin, stood next to the car, a bag slung over his shoulder. Ms. MacAllister met him on the bottom step and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.  He pressed a kiss to her cheek and laughed. He turned and gestured at the car, and for whatever reason I was surprised to see how young he was--maybe only a little bit older than me, with a mop of brown curls and thick, black framed glasses that glinted in the yellow light.

I watched them climb the stairs together, and I watched the door shut behind them and the porch light go out. I chewed on my lip and waited for a moment longer before I drew the blinds closed over that window. I turned back to my bed and reached for the cord for the window that faced the woods. I yanked the cord and scanned the trees one last time.

And there she was.

She flickered between the trees, her long white dress twisting in a non-existent breeze, her feet hovering over the ground.

I froze, almost afraid to breathe.

She was there.

And if she was there, maybe, just maybe…

Any thought I had in my head evaporated as she left the cover of the woods and floated above the grass along the tree line. She stopped, her entire being flickering like a projection of an old-time newsreel,  moonlight dancing across pearl-white skin. She raised her arm and pointed. Pointed straight at the MacAllister House.

I clapped my hands to my mouth and the blinds crashed down over the window. By the time I had stopped trembling enough that I could lift them again, she was gone.

1st Five Pages Jan. Workshop Rev 1: Moreno

Name: Maria Moreno

Genre: Young Adult-Mystery/Paranormal

Title: In Your Wildest Dreams 

When I was 14-years-old I read my obituary and it went like this:

“Ms. Montesino is survived by her parents George and Elena. She was a freshman at Celebration High School. She was loved and will be missed dearly.” 

On the Saturday of Labor Day weekend I felt life leave my body. That night I went out with my best friend Jordania and her then boyfriend, Andrew. “Pleaseeee. You know my parents won’t let me go without you,” said Jordania as she was straitening her blond hair in front of her bathroom mirror. 

“I don’t know Joey. I hate feeling like everyone thinks I’m your creepy little third wheel.”

“Ugh, stop it with the pity party! You know no one thinks that. Come on. I’ll buy your dinner.”

“Fine! I said rolling my eyes and crossing my arms. “But you still owe me!”

“Whatever. I don’t even feel bad because I know you like going.”

It’s true. I actually didn’t mind tagging along because it meant that I could go to “The Point.” The point is located on the tallest clearing in our town and it is divided by a two-lane street. One side overlooks the lake while on the other is the woods. It was here that I imagined myself going on my first date and having my first kiss.

I liked to suck in the smell from the pine trees and the nippy air from a fall in central Florida; It put a smile on my face and made me feel like anything was possible. It was exhilarating to see so many kids together at one place besides school. As I scanned the groups I couldn’t help but look for one face in particular: John B. He was Andrew’s close friend, but I had yet to see him at the point. 

On this particular Saturday most people had already paired off, so I fell asleep in the back of Andrew’s van while Jordania and him took a blanket and went into the woods.

I was awoken when I felt a gentle rocking movement and then a small slide back as if the car was put in reverse. “Hey. Jordania? Andrew? Back already?” I said as I removed my ear buds and sat up. No Answer. Silence.

My stomach dropped when I looked around and saw that no one was in the van with me. The car lurched back again with a little more force. “Oh my god,” I thought. “This car is going to roll off the cliff and into the water with me in it if I don’t get out now!”

I jumped for the side door, and kept pulling at it, but it wouldn’t budge because the child safety lock was on. Frantically, I tried to climb over the center console in order to reach the front passenger door. As I did so, the weight from my sudden movements shifted the car back and propelled it into its quick descent down the hill. I held on to the headrest for grip, but I felt a hot pain when I hit my face on the headrest knocking out four of my front teeth and making me unconscious.

The pressure from the water forcing its way into my nostrils and mouth woke me up. “Ughhh, I’m still in the car.” I sat up, but I still felt dizzy from hitting my head. I knew that I still had to exit the car. Again, I tried to climb over the center console, but the resistance from the water was making it impossible. All of my movements felt like they were in slow motion. My eyelids got heavy and I felt the rising and falling of my chest slowly coming to a stop.

I let myself fall back into the seat. “Don’t. Freak. Out.” I thought. “Count to ten.”  

“1, 2, 3….4….” In that moment my spirit peeled away from body and I felt it rise up. As I began to exit the world, I felt weightless and I looked down and saw myself from below. My pudgy body was hovering slightly over my seat, my hands raised and my hair was floating all around me in the green murky water like a mermaid. For the first time ever I saw myself and thought I looked pretty.

There wasn’t a tunnel of white light to follow, but I soon found myself in a sterile empty room. I couldn’t see my body and I didn’t feel safe or at peace. Rather I felt an empty void where my heart was and it was soon filled with hopelessness, anxiety, guilt and anger.

This must be limbo.

On the floor was the Central Lakes Gazette and it was there that I saw my obituary. Just to the left of all two inches of my life, was last year’s equally plain yearbook photo showing a round-faced girl. The purple background making my hazel eyes look a mere brown. The only thing that has always been magnificent about me is my long Pantene Pro-V style brown hair.

I kept staring at my picture and I felt a tremendous lump well up in my throat. I wasn’t sad for the people I left on earth. I was sad for myself. The little girl in the picture would never get to grow up.

I silently pleaded to be given my life back to have the opportunity to live it. Right then an opening in the room appeared and I went through.

My eyes opened wide and I found myself submerged back in the water in the lake. Outside of the window I could see dozens of sparkly lights. I couldn’t tell if it was stars in the sky, but then I saw them moving towards me. “Rescuers!”    

I finally had my adrenaline kicking in and I made it over the console. I looked for anything that I could use to break the window. I opened the glove compartment and there it was: a red emergency window breaker.

I slammed it once against the window. Nothing. A second time. Nothing. I screamed in anguish, but only bubbles came out. I hit it again with all my might and finally the window shattered and the glass shards floated around me. More water began to pour into the vehicle while I struggled to get through.

I wanted to go in the direction of the lights, but I could no longer see them. Panicked I let out another wail with more bubbles going upwards. “UP! The bubbles are going up!” That must be the direction of the surface.

I swam up with all my strength, but my eyes were getting heavy again. “Take a break and count to five.”

“1..2..3…” then a hand gripped my arm and I felt it push me to the top of the lake. I let myself rest.

I woke up to a pair of oily lips suctioning onto mine. I gagged and threw up what seemed like a galloon of lake water. Gabriel, the only chubby guy on the swim team, was performing mouth-to-mouth, while John B. had his hands on my stomach pumping out the water.

I sat up and Gabriel instantly put his arms around me. “Clara, lay back down. You could be really hurt.” 

I laid there on the ground running my tongue through the gaps where my front teeth had been.

Gabriel put a blanket over me. “Cool. My first kiss and he wasn’t even cute.” I thought while looking up at him.

All the kids who had been at the Point were now gathered around me in a circle. “Don’t worry, Clara. Help is on the way.” “Gosh, Clara you’re so lucky to be alive.” All their faces were indistinguishable and their words of comfort were nothing more than incessant noise.

The only face I could focus on was John B’s. Where had he come from? Also, if those lights hadn’t been searchlights what were they?