tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50620505191299292022024-03-09T21:46:32.989-05:00See the StarsKrystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-21873745630709925922016-12-05T06:00:00.000-05:002016-12-05T06:00:04.370-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnwcDq4OGkdlydtKwg1US5_l0euq7yaIZEkT744Qd3yRMLcNRFCDD68r3Txcy2i3wxkmthVgUhV9pvc2uZzrG9cugZRNUpq7AwBIQG7prhGo56mgvMRNgc4noCu4t0z-7Jon8btu6kzU/s1600/sketchbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnwcDq4OGkdlydtKwg1US5_l0euq7yaIZEkT744Qd3yRMLcNRFCDD68r3Txcy2i3wxkmthVgUhV9pvc2uZzrG9cugZRNUpq7AwBIQG7prhGo56mgvMRNgc4noCu4t0z-7Jon8btu6kzU/s320/sketchbook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">I'm very excited to announce that our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from a seventh grade writer. CURIOSITY KILLS is Science Fiction.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">***</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The air was light and crisp, the wind lightly flowing through the trees, gently shaking the leaves which slowly moved their way down to the soft dirt ground. The mood slowly departed to let the sun take over the sky. Purples, pinks, oranges and reds all painted the sky like a brand new canvas waiting to be framed. Axel sat patiently on his smooth wooden windowsill seat. He waited for the perfect time for the sky to set in its place.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bingo.” With his notebook in hand, he very gently and gracefully colored a picture of the sky in all its beauty. He grabbed all different kinds of colors form the new pencil set he bought from the store. He had finally saved up enough to buy the best pencils in town. Many of the townspeople would tell him that it was a waste to</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">buy pencils when he could spend his money on something more useful and important. He was very talented, though many people did not approve. He didn’t listen, though. He made quite a good profit by selling all of his artwork, proving to people that it wasn’t a waste. Despite always being busy helping his mother around the house, he usually found time to relax and draw.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a while, Axel finished his drawing, satisfied with his work. He sat at his windowsill for a little while longer, watching the sun climb up the sky and the white, puffy clouds roll in. He then stood up, put his notebook on the seat, and walked over to his mirror. He was quite the handsome boy, just like his father. His raven black hair was slicked back and curling a bit on the ends. Crystal blue eyes, like his mother’s, shone like large diamonds on his white pale face. He had broad shoulders and a strong voice. A strong voice he faked 80 percent of the time only to impress the girls his age in the town. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Axel ran his bony fingers through his hair, making it messier than it already was. Even though he went to bed pretty early the previous night, he was still exhausted. The clanking of pots and pans, and the sound of running water could be heard coming from their large marble-based kitchen. The delicious smell of pancakes and bacon came wafting up the stairs and into his bedroom.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">***</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I see some really great imagery here. The smooth windowsill seat tells me that Axel probably sits there a lot. I wonder what draws him to the sky, why he draws that in particular. If people don't like the fact that he draws so much, what do they want him to do instead? And who is he talking about? Family? Neighbors? Town gossips? If the townspeople don't approve of his art work, who is he selling the drawings to? I'd love to hear more details about why you opened with this particular image and what it has to do with the rest of the story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I would cut the part about Axel looking in the mirror and find more organic ways to work his description into the story. It doesn't have to be on the first page. One or two details should suffice right now. I particularly like the line about the voice he uses to impress the girls. That tells us more about his character than any physical description. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In all, I see some wonderful work here. Thank you so much for sharing it with us!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="background-color: white; color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="background-color: white; color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"> t</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">o see what they thought of CURIOSITY KILLS.</span></span>Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-59257422588719897112016-08-01T06:00:00.000-04:002016-08-01T06:00:32.323-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: OHIO, 1863<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmm9jXrLAZ4ZjcFcBYwZpEV8P0B3raxS6G2VCAGJu8wWWWDO9y6zR1BDSa1KuofTVTxIq9-ADaWC73iKm0GzKC3C5d1kpNAOmFKlRNRodbCThdSriL0m2_lgSH8atGG18r1WdmTLmjw9I/s1600/M+Guthrie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmm9jXrLAZ4ZjcFcBYwZpEV8P0B3raxS6G2VCAGJu8wWWWDO9y6zR1BDSa1KuofTVTxIq9-ADaWC73iKm0GzKC3C5d1kpNAOmFKlRNRodbCThdSriL0m2_lgSH8atGG18r1WdmTLmjw9I/s320/M+Guthrie.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">Our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Melissa Guthrie. OHIO, 1863 is Young Adult Historical Fiction.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">***</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Hewitt Town, Ohio<br />
July 4<sup>th</sup>, 1863<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Henry Clemmons opened
his eyes just as acid bubbled up from his stomach. He bolted upright, grabbed a
pail from beside the bed, and retched into it. The room spun. Henry sprawled
back into the mattress. He rolled into a ball and moaned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Ah,” a voice said.
Calm. Gentle. “You’re awake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">On the other side of a
doorway stood Lincoln Hewitt. Link, as Henry knew him, was bent over a long
board made of poplar wood, dressed in the same dark pants Henry saw him in the
night before. His feet were bare, stained black. His dark hair, the color of
ink, was brown with sawdust. A cigarette burned between the first fingers of
his right hand, the scent of tobacco heavy in the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Did you sleep at all?”
Henry asked. He climbed from the bed and looked down, his nakedness a stark
reminder of the night before, gin in his mind and clothing lost piece by piece.
He found his drawers tossed over a trunk at the end of the bed and pulled them
on. He looked back to find Link watching him, a small smile on his lips which
he moistened with the tip of his tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Link’s eyes were his
most notable feature. Never before had Henry met a person, male or female, with
eyes like his. Link eyes were the color of sky after a snowstorm, cold and
gray. An ash fell from the cigarette and landed dangerously close to his toes.
Fire burned in Link’s eyes, sometimes bright as dawn and sometimes smoldering
like embers, always burning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“The Welk baby died last
night,” Link straightened and took a drink from the tin mug that seemed
permanently affixed to the middle finger of his right hand. Dark circles ringed
his eyes. His shoulders were loose and slouching. He wiped sweat from his brow
with the back of his arm and looked around the shop as if he were surprised to
see slants of daylight coloring the workshop’s dark corners. “Pull yourself
together and eat something for breakfast. The Widow up the way brought biscuits
and I found some berries.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Henry cleared his throat
and attempted to moisten the inside of his mouth, as if just the thought of the
widow’s dry, crumbling biscuits, produced in mass quantities, was enough to
make swallowing a chore. Link brought the old woman meat and provisions from
town and she repaid his efforts with biscuits best suited as doorstops.
“There’s goats milk as well, if you are so inclined. Should you add the milk to
the biscuit, perhaps it will be more palatable.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“You really want me to
eat, don’t you?” Henry asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Can’t have you wasting
away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“What’s the catch?”</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">***</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I think you have some great details in here - the permanently attached mug, the biscuits suited as doorstops, etc. I'd like to see those details blended into the scene to show a clearer picture of what's going on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Link is bent over a piece of poplar wood. He has sawdust in his hair and stained feet. I'm not sure why though. What is he doing with the wood? Is he busying himself to avoid looking at Henry or something else?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Henry got drunk and lost his clothes the night before. How? Did he and Link spend the night together or was it something else? Based on the way he describes Link, I think it's the first, but I'm not sure.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Henry wakes up in a bed. Is it his bed or Link's? Or someone else's? Is it a nice house in the city or a wooden cabin in a rural area?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">You have a great start here. I think if you use your details to focus in on the action, everything will become much clearer. Thank you so much for sharing your work with us!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: black; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"> t</span><span style="color: black; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">o see what they thought of </span><span style="color: black; font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">OHIO, 1863. You can find Melissa on Twitter as </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">@MelissWritesNow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"></span><br />
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Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-79339233655709424742016-07-18T20:23:00.001-04:002016-07-18T20:23:28.415-04:00SMASH & GRAB by Amy Christine Parker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmM4muPPuDH1pYD94ELUOPsHZPH4eHCZmR2eZD7AxgcMR-bhcNaZNUwqDcSs6D6rdeuQXNFoVmuQ9H-rYPvaGUMtVdzioAebU8L-fQUYGKtimKhO9vESh2I5VtidKaY8hPyDf3m7fRJk/s1600/Smash+%2526+Grab+Pick+Your+Heist+Crew+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmM4muPPuDH1pYD94ELUOPsHZPH4eHCZmR2eZD7AxgcMR-bhcNaZNUwqDcSs6D6rdeuQXNFoVmuQ9H-rYPvaGUMtVdzioAebU8L-fQUYGKtimKhO9vESh2I5VtidKaY8hPyDf3m7fRJk/s320/Smash+%2526+Grab+Pick+Your+Heist+Crew+%25283%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In honor of the release of Amy Christine Parker's smashing new novel SMASH & GRAB, I have been tasked with creating my own crew if I were to pull of a heist. So here goes.<br />
<br />
If I were to pull off a heist, my crew would consist of:<br />
<br />
Amy Christine Parker - I would need her to plot/plan the heist, because obviously, she has already done it.<br />
My husband - He would be in charge of setting up and running all of the tech needed, because I would never plan a heist unless it was ultra high tech.<br />
My mom - She would be my getaway driver, because she is a much better driver than I am. Seriously, I drive like an 87 year old grandma.<br />
<br />
In case you're interested in planning your own heist, you may wish to read her book and pick up a few pointers.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">LEXI is a rich girl who loves a good rush. Whether it’s motorcycle racing or BASE jumping off a building in downtown Los Angeles, the only times she feels alive are when she and her friends are executing one of their dares. After her father’s arrest, Lexi doesn’t think twice about going undercover at his bank to steal the evidence that might clear his name. She enlists her hacker brother and her daredevil friends to plan a clever heist.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">CHRISTIAN is a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. The local gang has blackmailed him and his friends into robbing banks, and he is desperate for a way out. When the boss promises that one really big job will be the last he ever has to do, Christian jumps at the chance for freedom. In fact, he’s just met a girl at the bank who might even prove useful. . . .</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">Two heists. One score. The only thing standing in their way is each other.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Here's the link for <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Smash-Grab-Amy-Christine-Parker/dp/0553533827/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1468887601&sr=8-1&keywords=smash+%26+grab">Amazon</a>.</span></span>Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-89756571194851986212016-05-04T06:00:00.000-04:002016-05-04T20:14:49.638-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: EVERGREEN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim4nQb4fvC6a3As-2jzega3DLmC_mQojBhP8gzy37adSK6MU-d9niWhuFUPpUe2eehDPuEclQ6CoIO_Utn5rx8nbD69lzmrvb_TaBhWFxZXgD0Lk-DzFldLVuhuBDncHMYI-TvLyjLjDw/s1600/CHentz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim4nQb4fvC6a3As-2jzega3DLmC_mQojBhP8gzy37adSK6MU-d9niWhuFUPpUe2eehDPuEclQ6CoIO_Utn5rx8nbD69lzmrvb_TaBhWFxZXgD0Lk-DzFldLVuhuBDncHMYI-TvLyjLjDw/s320/CHentz.jpg" width="292" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our second submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Christy Hintz. EVERGREEN is YA Contemporary.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">***</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Everything looks perfect. Strings of
red lights drape across the ceiling and dangle from the center of the
gymnasium, cloaking all the dancers in crimson.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Everything sounds perfect. The music
is upbeat, the bass a perfect volume, not that crass loud overbearing beat that
makes everyone's ears bleed and heart hurt. Not like last week's
prom at East High--which naturally I crashed to be sure I didn't overlook any
details. Nope, my prom is nothing like that. Everyone is
laughing and having a good time. I circulate, smiling at my
classmates, nodding at their dress and accessory choices. The food
table is topped off. The chaperons are keeping their distance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">I approach a girl standing at the foot of the
bleachers. I tap her bare, brown shoulder. "Where have you
been?"</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">She's wearing a strapless, short black dress,
one electric blue heel and one emerald green heel. Her nails are
each painted a different color of the rainbow, and today her eyes are a natural
brown. A thick strand of her black hair matches the electric blue
shoe.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Bathroom." She turns
toward me. "I sat on the seat and everything."</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Ew." I fumble through my
purse.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"What are you looking for?"</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Sanitizer." I hand her a bottle.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">She doesn't take it, but asks, "And what,
pray tell, shall I do with it?"</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">I steer her toward the hall. "Spread
it on the back of your thighs."</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She ducks out from under my hands and moves back
toward the dance floor, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">laughing. "You really are crazy. Remind
me again why I love you."</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Why wouldn't you?" I put
the sanitizer under her nose for one last try.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">She shakes her head and I return it to my purse
with a huff.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"I promise to wear sweats to sleep in
later. My germ-covered legs won't touch anything in your
house."</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"What about <u>our</u> toilet
seats?" I watch as a girl in a mermaid dress takes the last water bottle
from the refreshment table.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Man. I'll shower when I get
there. Okay?"</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Fine." I gesture to the transformed
gymnasium. "It's all fantastic, right?"</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Beyond."</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black;">Ms. Fulton, the only teacher not charmed by my
straight A+ average and over-abundance of extra-curriculars is glaring at me
from ten feet away like something's gone amok. All the other
teachers patted my back and congratulated me on successfully orchestrating the
prom-week festivities, parade, and dance. Not her.</span><span style="color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">***</span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I love the contrast between the two characters. I love how you show the narrator is extremely OCD as opposed to telling us. Her friend's description gives us great insight into her personality as well. </span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are just a few things I think will improve the page. </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The food table is topped off, but a few lines later, someone takes the last water bottle. Besides the water disappearing too quickly, I don't think the narrator would ignore that and keep talking to her friend. She'd fix it or delegate someone to fix it straight away.</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I approach a girl ..." Can you say her name? It's first person, and judging by their exchange, they're best friends. She wouldn't think of her friend as "a girl."</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'd also like to see a transition between their conversation and Ms. Fulton, even if it's just her friend gesturing toward the teacher or looking in her direction.</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm not sure what the novel is about, but I think that's okay. You've set up the characters well, and I think it will be fun when the narrator's perfect world is knocked askew. Thank you so much for sharing your page with us. Good work!</span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;"> t</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">o see what they thought of </span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">EVERGREEN. You can find Christy on Twitter as @ericaandchristy and visit her blog at http://lynneawest.blogspot.com/</span></span></o:p></div>
Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-30359314117115634592016-05-02T06:00:00.000-04:002016-07-31T23:05:56.817-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: OVERLAND<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1X8rWQsRBuVpp1g4J-RSdKeqbsolT49E2AaHRZiqllVt6Jn85Ysvf3JH26Vh5TbB-eC5-AuD72euIoStUqk3XdehLGfOqUjJ8uSo56v3xch88uek8j7ebaN0j-c7YHR21N15IoUjaEk/s1600/Alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1X8rWQsRBuVpp1g4J-RSdKeqbsolT49E2AaHRZiqllVt6Jn85Ysvf3JH26Vh5TbB-eC5-AuD72euIoStUqk3XdehLGfOqUjJ8uSo56v3xch88uek8j7ebaN0j-c7YHR21N15IoUjaEk/s320/Alaska.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">Our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Kristen Zayon. OVERLAND is a Young Adult Post-Disaster Adventure.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was a seemingly innocent thing, that first flicker. We were sitting in the Anchorage airport waiting for our flight home to Cordova when it happened. The lights trembled once, twice, then went out completely. If it hadn’t been daytime, the blackness would have been absolute. There were none of those emergency back-up lights shining in the corners, no glow from someone’s iphone. Anything electrical or computerized was just finished. We heard what sounded like a few distant explosions, then an eerie silence. We looked at each other and around at the other passengers. Everyone was stabbing fingers uselessly at their phones, laptops, the kiosk computer terminals. A murmur of voices rose, as everyone began to speculate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some of the airport personnel arrived with good old-fashioned battery powered or crank operated flashlights. The intercoms weren’t working either, or the little cars they sometimes drive around, so they were busy hoofing it from gate to gate, letting everyone know as much as they did, which was not much. There appeared to be a blackout that was at the very least spread across the Anchorage Bowl and Matanuska-Susitna Valley, and was most likely statewide. Perhaps it went even further. Nobody knew because communications were gone along with everything else; even old school land lines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">We hung out in the airport for a few more hours, until the time of our flight had come and gone. Eventually, someone announced that all flights were cancelled for the day, or until the power came back on. We left the airport to go back to the hotel we had just checked out of that morning. We had to walk, because anything with a motor was simply not running. Something major had happened, we knew. Power outages don’t affect cars. Solar flare? Nuclear bomb? We noticed smoke rising in several spots over the inlet, and remembered the explosions we had heard immediately after the outage. The planes. They had all crashed. I started feeling sick to my stomach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">We were in Anchorage for the state cross country running meet. For the first time ever, both the boys and girls teams had qualified, so we’d taken the ferry to Whittier and made the short drive to Anchorage. There were seven guys, six girls, and two coaches for the three day trip. By the time we were supposed to return, a storm had moved in to Prince William Sound, cancelling the ferries, so we had to book flights back to Cordova. This was always a hazard in Alaska when traveling in remote areas. Then we couldn’t all get on one flight at such short notice – it’s a small plane – so eight kids and Coach Ron were on the first flight, while the rest of us waited for the next one with Coach Casey.</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">I like this premise. It's eerie, and I really want to know what disabled everything. I think if you add more specifics, you can make it even more foreboding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">- Do a search for the word "was" and take it out whenever you can. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 48px;">That will take away some of the passive feeling of the piece.</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 48px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">- Tell us what is, not what isn't. ie "none of those emergency back-up lights ..." With this statement, I can't tell if the lights are in the corners, but not working, or are just not there. Tell us what's there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">- "I started feeling sick to my stomach." Can you make this more specific? Tell us what it feels like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">- Show more details so we can really be immersed in the setting. When you talk about the cars they drive in the airport, can you show what happened when one stopped? Did the driver fiddle with some switches? Did he get out and kick it? Anything with a motor was not running. Are the streets filled with abandoned cars? What are the people doing? Are they panicked or are they quiet?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">- I don't think we need all of the details of the track meet yet. Take us from the narrator feeling sick to their friends on the crashed planes. Name someone, and make the narrator feel the loss of that person.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 25.6px; text-align: justify;">I found myself really engaged in your first page, and I wish you lots of luck! Thank you so much for sharing your work with us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;"> t</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">o see what they thought of </span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">OVERLAND. You can find Kristen on Twitter as @AKLibraryChick</span></span></div>
Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-38931935840283787442016-01-04T05:00:00.000-05:002016-01-04T05:00:06.634-05:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: SWEPT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6Vp27dSQ8PKOY4xkdku2OUeo-x0Eu72H2kHWW8-ib62uwsRBjtoVj0KKCiH1TtEFfXwAKJWg7UTdT-AT48GLe25GKlOFAShVjvPXF919gV2kpvs1yOjPfwJhscYtd16ObCMEkTAy8sc/s1600/Christian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6Vp27dSQ8PKOY4xkdku2OUeo-x0Eu72H2kHWW8-ib62uwsRBjtoVj0KKCiH1TtEFfXwAKJWg7UTdT-AT48GLe25GKlOFAShVjvPXF919gV2kpvs1yOjPfwJhscYtd16ObCMEkTAy8sc/s320/Christian.jpg" width="214" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: justify;">Our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Christian Bensing. SWIFT is a Middle Grade Fantasy.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bobby Conrad used every last ounce of his brain power in an attempt to somehow stop the marathoning minute hand of Mrs. Winkey's clock from reaching its destination, but its will was unstoppable, silently cheered on by the eager eyes of his classmates. Three o'clock, the end of the school day, had come despite Bobby's best efforts to forestall the dreaded moment when he would have to leave the safety of the classroom and enter the unsupervised, terrifying world seventh graders of his minimal stature and reputation had to face on a daily basis. If only Mrs. Winkey's algebra test, which looked to Bobby as if it were written in Egyptian hieroglyphics, had not racked his brain to the point of delirium, maybe he could have stopped that clock through sheer concentration and enjoyed the serenity of 2:59 for a few more precious seconds. Instead, the minute hand ticked forward with one more click. The bell rang, and his classmates scattered. Bobby faced the fact that he had to go home, his own virtual prison. The only thing worse was getting there.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Bobby slowly shuffled through the classroom door to the bustling hallway. He took one last look at Mrs. Winkey, who seemed to take great pleasure in dishing out deliberately dramatic red slashes across the test she held in her hands. Her eyes went from the test to Bobby, then back to the test and back to Bobby again. It was as if she had to restrain the corners of her crooked mouth from forming a smirk. Winkey's eyes continued this dance as her head swayed sideways, back and forth in disapproval. Bobby knew deep in his heart she was grading his test. He impulsively looked at his feet as metal locker doors crashed closed behind him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">“Crap,” was all he could say in a hushed tone as he found a break in the hallway traffic and exited the room with the cartoon-like vision of a sneering Mrs. Winkey engrained in his brain.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Bobby navigated his way to his locker and waited for the hallway to clear before he dared open it. He slowly gathered his books and stuffed them into his backpack. The backpack had seen better days and already had more stitches in it than Frankenstein's monster after a car accident. A new tear had developed which required repair, and Bobby could clearly see his recently acquired library book, <i>Strange Tales of the Weird</i>, peeking out one of its sharp, new corners. The sight of the book made him forget all about the bloodied math test and Mrs. Winkey's mocking features. He had gone to great lengths to secure this book, having stalked its very first borrower, Randy Reinhold, the entire first week Randy had it, waiting for its return to the general circulation. When that rat Randy had renewed the book for yet another week, Bobby almost lost his mind. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">First thing, this page reminds me of <i>The Neverending Story.</i> Is it anything like that? Because that would be awesome! And if not? Still awesome!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now, onto my comments. As I was reading the first couple of paragraphs, I found myself wondering about the fantasy aspects. Then, I got to the part about the book, and I was very intrigued. I also wondered why he was dreading for the bell to ring when he was looking forward to the book. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You might have more impact if you started with the book details, then went on to describe his struggle getting home, etc. That would also help eliminate the telling that's happening in the first couple of paragraphs, and you could show us instead. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 25.6px; text-align: justify;">Thank you so much for sharing your work with us! It's a great start!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;"> t</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">o see what they thought of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">SWIFT.</span></span></div>
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Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-91364815532410595112015-11-04T05:00:00.000-05:002016-01-03T21:24:23.779-05:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: THE OLD DAYS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Our second submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Mary Livingston. THE OLD DAYS is a short story aimed at an adult audience.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Some people claim they have a vivid recollection of themselves in their mother’s womb and claim they can tell you, in detail, the usually elusive experience of birth. They see themselves a little ball of flesh, floating in darkness. The volcano erupts, the walls heave violently and close tightly around them. One solid shove and they are forced into the world of things to come. I must confess that I have no such recollection, but I can remember my parents before they were my parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">He used to steer her down the streets of the past when she was just a baby. And who would have thought that he would be steering her baby one day. Certainly not him, for he was busy. Busy maintaining his freedom to be wild, strutting like a male peacock, knowing the attraction of his brilliant color. Busy trying to spread two dollars on as many girls, as many drinks and as many laughs as he could. Seven years his junior, she was busy then writing in her diary, while he had already read </span><span style="color: red;">(Since she's writing, it seems like this word should be "written" instead of "read.") </span><span style="color: #222222;">that chapter in the book. Today, he says, “I was waiting for your mother to grow up.” And everyone smiles and slyly glances at everyone else, knowing that those laughing blue eyes in that devilish Irish face were looking anywhere but into a baby carriage. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">I remember about a year before the “big war” was over. His number came up. His family said, “Thank God that no good son of a …is leaving.” They cackled and chuckled to cover the dull ache in their guts. For people feel sad when a while </span><span style="color: red;">(wild?)</span><span style="color: #222222;"> animal is on the verge of becoming domesticated. The battle in the streets was common to them. But this new battle was foreign to them. And although they had slackened the line attaching him to them years ago, they now held tightly onto their end. They gave him a party, as people will do, on the night before he was to go. But, true to his leprechaun nature, he didn’t go anywhere, </span><span style="color: red;">(I'm not sure how this makes him like a leprechaun.)</span><span style="color: #222222;"> except to sleep with a smile on his face. And if they all hadn’t been so hung-over, they would have killed him. When he was out of sight, they would commiserate in humor about the boldness of his nature. In his presence, they would mumble their disapproval, look everywhere but at him, and stifle an urge to grin. </span><span style="color: red;">(It sounds like he was drafted. How did he get out of that?)</span><span style="color: #222222;"> Today, he winks while opening a beer and says, “I had a lot of parties when I went into the army”. She moves her eyes without moving her head to look at him, and when he looks away, she smiles and he knows she is smiling.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">In those days, she was totally and wholeheartedly obsessed with the smile of the boy in the grocery store. And the boy on the corner. And the boy…Mind and eyes mesmerized by the silver screen, she would lick the last bit of her sundae as she </span><span style="color: red;">("She" here refers to the mom. Do you mean that? If so, can it be clearer?)</span><span style="color: #222222;"> and Astaire finished their dance. He </span><span style="color: red;">(Here, "he" refers to Fred Astaire since he was the last named male.)</span><span style="color: #222222;"> was her older brother’s friend and another piece of furniture in the mishmash that was her home. And though they were so close, she could lean slightly to the right and touch him; in those days, she was looking past him into her own reality. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I think there is some really beautiful imagery here - the peacock, spreading the two dollars, the parties when he didn't go into the army, etc. It shows so much about the characters without telling. You just have to be careful that it doesn't become confusing. For example, the last line in the first paragraph mentions a baby carriage. However, since both the mother and her baby are referred to as babies earlier in the paragraph, it is unclear who the baby in the last sentence is referring to. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 25.6px;">In the last paragraph, the shift from her obsession to local boys to Fred Astaire is a bit awkward. In both of those instances, it</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> might help to cut down on some of the images and pick just a couple that really bring the point across.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 25.6px;">I also had pronoun confusion in a couple of places. A bit of rewording can clear those up. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 25.6px;">I like how he was wild and she was completely uninterested and would love to see what ultimately brings them together. Keep working on it, because I think you have a wonderful talent for words. I felt completely immersed in the time.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you so much for sharing your work with us!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;"> t</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">o see what they thought of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; line-height: 22.88px; text-align: start;">THE OLD DAYS.</span></div>
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Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-70036177466410837942015-11-02T05:00:00.000-05:002015-11-02T05:00:02.843-05:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: BROTHER WOLF<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Today's First Impressions is a bit different. BROTHER WOLF is an MG contemporary novel originally released in Portugal. The author is Carla Maria de Almeida and the illustrator is <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">António Jorge Gonçalves. The novel is now being translated into English by Lyn Miller-Lachman. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Lyn states, "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Along with writing my own fiction, I'm a translator of children's books (and other materials) from Portuguese to English. I'm applying for a grant, due November 16th</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">, to translate a novel for older middle grade readers by the Portuguese author and journalist Carla Maia de Almeida titled Irmão Lobo (Brother Wolf). I'm somewhat limited in how much I can change the original text, but there are ways I can tweak it to appeal to both the grant committee and tween readers, so I'm looking for suggestions."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I once believed I was madly in love with Kalkitos. But that couldn’t be, because I was eight years old at the time and Kalkitos was the same age as Fossil, my much-older brother. He could have almost been my father, and something about it didn’t seem right. Actually, a lot of things didn’t seem right.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">First of all, according to Blanche, I was the one born “out of time.” I began to believe this before I could put the feeling into words. I’m fifteen now and almost ready to start my own life, but I still don’t understand all the things that happened to me.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When I was eight years old, time was the microwave oven’s red numbers, always changing and blinking in the dark kitchen.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Time was Blanche running around like a crazed chicken, beginning at daybreak when she woke me and helped me get ready for school. She would glance at her cellphone and say, <i>We don’t have time right now. We don’t have time.</i> She’d keep running throughout breakfast, leaving crumbs of toast all over the floor like Hansel and Gretel. The crumbs never led us to a house of chocolate, and the next day they were sucked up by the vacuum cleaner.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Cold, rain, sunshine—those were the seasons of time. Jackets, boots, hats, gloves, scarves, sandals, t-shirts, shorts—all ways of dressing for the seasons. I understood. It was easy to figure out.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The same way, when Grizzly Bear sat on the sofa in front of the television and said between clenched teeth, “We are living in ungovernable times,” I knew whether this was good or bad by the way he changed the channel. Bored, <i>zap</i>. Annoyed, <i>zap, zap</i>. Enraged or worse, <i>zap, zap, zap</i>.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now, I know. I wasn’t born out of time. I simply didn’t understand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Because in the end, I went to school like the other kids, I wore sandals in summer and a hat when it turned bitter cold. I had a home, like all the kids. In this home lived Blanche, Grizzly Bear, Fossil, and Miss Kitty—my family. My parents and my older brother and sister. It wasn’t possible that they all lived in time and I lived outside of time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But there were things that didn’t seem right.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">First off, I love the way time is described. From the seasons to the crumbs, the descriptions are stunning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm not exactly sure what Lyn is able to change here, but these are the things that jump out at me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- Fossil, I'd like to see a definite age instead of "much-older."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- The line, "I'm fifteen now ..." seems out of place. If it can be cut, the line before it, "I began to believe this ..." is a much better lead in to the discussion about time. Her age can be inserted later into the line, "Now, I know."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">- "I simply didn't understand." What didn't she understand?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Other than that, I feel like it's pretty well polished. If I picked up this book, I would keep reading simply because of the lyrical writing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you, Lyn, for bringing this challenge to us this month. You can visit Lyn's website at <a href="http://www.lynmillerlachmann.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">www.lynmillerlachmann.com</a>. And here's a piece on Irmão Lobo: <a href="http://www.lynmillerlachmann.com/a-journey-to-the-ruins/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">http://www.<wbr></wbr>lynmillerlachmann.com/a-<wbr></wbr>journey-to-the-ruins/</a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;"> t</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">o see their thoughts on BROTHER WOLF.</span></div>
Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-49763478829075247912015-10-07T05:00:00.000-04:002015-10-07T05:00:00.606-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: THE BOOK OF LOST RUNES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px;">Our third submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Mason Matchak. </span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 22.88px;">THE BOOK OF LOST RUNES is adult fantasy.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The last man Shiloh ever wanted to see again stepped onto her airship.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Shiloh looked him over, wondered just how much ten years had changed him, and hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with him for long enough to find out. “Lord Figaro,” she said, “welcome aboard, and thank you for choosing a Caldwell Company flight.” The greeting was a habit, and helped Shiloh keep bitterness out of her voice. She resisted the urge to check her schedule to make absolutely sure he was on it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Lord Edwin is fine,” he said, smiling at her, his teeth bright against his dark brown skin. “Lord Figaro is my older brother.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, Shiloh recalled. Edwin was the second son of the Brinmaar branch of House Figaro, and his elder brother must have taken over the merchant house’s business sometime in the past decade. When last they met, Edwin wasn’t ‘Lord’ of anything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“As you wish, Lord Edwin,” Shiloh said, forcing her voice into the practiced politeness she reserved for enduring difficult customers. She did check her schedule then, tapping a few carved glass buttons on the runewoven bracer she wore on her left forearm. The bracer was emblazoned with Caldwell Company’s red and gold logo, which clashed with the pale blue dress Shiloh wore, but there was little she could do about that. After a moment, a few gleaming words appeared in the bracer’s largest crystal, confirming that Lord Figaro had indeed made a reservation for the evening. There was no destination listed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That wasn’t common, but Shiloh had dealt with wealthy folks who liked to think they were traveling incognito before. She tucked a strand of her bangs back behind one ear; most of her wavy blonde hair was tied back in a simple ponytail that reached her waist, but she wore her bangs loose. “Where do you wish to travel today, Lord?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lord Edwin glanced around the small airship as though it was his own. He stood a bit over six feet tall, only a little taller than Shiloh herself, and wore a dark blue suit with beige trim, in what Shiloh figured must be the height of local fashion if he was wearing it. His hair was tightly curled and trimmed close to his head, and she guessed he wore the neat mustache and goatee because he thought it made him look dashing, the same reason he wore a short, curved blade at one hip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sons of merchant families all seemed to have some of the same traits, no matter where they came from or how powerful their families were. Or weren’t. Shiloh frowned at another old memory, then waited by the airship’s wheel for Edwin’s reply.</span></div>
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Great start! I love the character descriptions. You've shown a lot of their personalities through their clothing and hair styles. There are just a couple of things that I think will bring tension to the story and help pull the reader in even more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You did a wonderful job of showing that Shiloh doesn't like Edwin (the way she checks to see if he's really supposed to be there, the way she has to force her voice). However, I'd like a hint of <i>why</i> she doesn't like him. Were they a couple? Was it business? Giving that hint will add another layer to the tension.</span><br />
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If Edwin wasn't Lord of anything the last time they met, why did she address him as such? If she doesn't address him as Lord, and then he insists, then that adds extra impact to the sentences that follow.</span><br />
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Is Edwin the only passenger? Are Shiloh and Edwin the only people on the ship? If so, mention it. That will add more tension as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In all, you have a very interesting beginning. You've put a lot of questions in my mind (Where is he going? What happened in the past? Did he know it was her ship?) that would keep me reading. Thank you so much for sharing your work with us!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">Make sure to head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;"> t</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">o see what they thought of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; line-height: 22.88px;">THE BOOK OF LOST RUNES.</span></span></div>
Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-67773100189689473812015-10-05T05:00:00.000-04:002015-10-05T05:00:03.724-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: A LUMINOUS APPARITION'S RESOLVE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43vHsRm7alLIavYSSBde8qeR5Wc8grKoG9PmhDVIKCqP70wc6tNpsrmriqB01dRkHO2sN0HSqAE8wIdHayzrZw-scXiRd2E76JfLfg1LuK9LDQvtbZXyngK_ExuysWUTdT64RZJoxtOQ/s1600/nathan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43vHsRm7alLIavYSSBde8qeR5Wc8grKoG9PmhDVIKCqP70wc6tNpsrmriqB01dRkHO2sN0HSqAE8wIdHayzrZw-scXiRd2E76JfLfg1LuK9LDQvtbZXyngK_ExuysWUTdT64RZJoxtOQ/s320/nathan.jpg" width="265" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.88px;">Our second submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Nathan Koronkiewicz. </span><span style="color: #222222;">A LUMINOUS APPARITION'S RESOLVE is a YA Fantasy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;">***</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Life had begun in an instant, had changed over time and it was bound to change once more. This change would send shockwaves throughout the universe shattering everything and rewriting the path of history, as we knew it. Not one species would be safe from the wrath to come. From the midst of Garrett’s good intentions was the birth of a force of pure evil.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“A Hero, a mystical person, someone who sets the criteria of what is righteous. Each culture, each world, we all have someone who has once reached this title. Yet, why is it that my race has no one to call a hero of their own?” Looking out across my blank canvas, the pathways were as sleek as ever, the reflection of the stars below glimmering. My eyes drifted downwards, and I looked upon a lone planet in the emptiness of space.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Taking my brush, I had painted the scene, which had unraveled before me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sword and shield in hand, the man stood next to a flag of his people. His face filled with anguish and gratitude as he looked out across the battlefield. None of his comrades had remained, but in the distance, a flag of an empire was burning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“A sole survivor, huh? He managed to accomplish his goal, but what was his price? Was it worth the blood spilt from the war to achieve freedom? I suppose it was for his people that he set out for victory.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My feelings were mixed on the matter; I was intrigued by the concept known as heroes. <i>How could it be that something known as ‘heroes’ existed in almost every world? But, each of these heroes differed from one another, their morals, their personalities and what they set out to accomplish. Is there some sort of connection between all heroes? Are they somehow drawn towards this concept? I don’t quite understand it, but if I could, I’d strive for it as well.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I grasped my painting and took one last look at it. It was the birth of a hero in action, a marvelous scene, which depicted only one kind, the hero of war. I had come across many types of heroes in my time, but I had never witnessed a war hero. If I had to guess, it was a near perfect depiction to add to my collection.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To me, this scene seems to be about the concept of a hero and the MC's depiction of one in a painting. I loved the MC's thoughts, how there can be different types of heroes and what drives each of them. He/she seems to be a collector of heroes, which I find really interesting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Here are a few suggestions on how you can make the opening clearer.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- The first paragraph doesn't seem to tie in with the rest of the scene. Go straight to heroes and the painting.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">- Where is the MC? He/she seems to be in a spaceship, looking down on a devastated planet - "</span><span style="color: #222222;">My eyes drifted downwards, and I looked upon a lone planet in the emptiness of space." </span><span style="color: #222222;">Bring in some more details to ground the reader in the setting. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222;">- "Taking my brush, I painted the scene ..." Take out the "had." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222;">- I'm a little confused about the quotes. Is the MC speaking to someone or just saying the thoughts out loud? If the MC is not speaking out loud, then take away the quotation marks.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">This is a good beginning, and I see some really interesting concepts in there. Thank you so much for sharing your work with us! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">Make sure to h</span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">ead over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;"> </span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">to see what they thought of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; line-height: 22.88px;">A LUMINOUS APPARITION'S RESOLVE.</span></span></div>
Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-83381574197911512172015-10-02T05:00:00.000-04:002015-10-02T05:00:04.726-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: CURSE CURSE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwBPzbnu9LusS0WPVm1cEAs9Rxr6In_WCBQ5gEKhdD2CmPPRkUo5ert8djd5JCAA4BQmdIL0VIV3EPVInOOMP8_LZw8tALabSMg2TS4ZstXT1IBYwJzrfs0S9xFZ1yIUUK62Zs2BtxRo/s1600/BioPic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwBPzbnu9LusS0WPVm1cEAs9Rxr6In_WCBQ5gEKhdD2CmPPRkUo5ert8djd5JCAA4BQmdIL0VIV3EPVInOOMP8_LZw8tALabSMg2TS4ZstXT1IBYwJzrfs0S9xFZ1yIUUK62Zs2BtxRo/s320/BioPic+2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Angelo Michaels. CURSE CURSE is an upper MG Magical Realism novel.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">SEEA</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">CHAPTER 1</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;"> I
knew the imposter wasn’t my sister. Genuine or not, her appearance, her
mere presence suggested that my sister might’ve still been alive. There
was no explanation in the discovery, no means to an end. My sister was
still missing even though the doppelganger was recovered. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">There
were small tells, like Siena pulling on the wrong side of her razor straight
black hair or tapping her left foot, instead of right, when annoyed. I
could see right through her because she didn’t have her defensive shield in
place—her innate, inanimate ability to control her environment with her
commanding personality. Always the boss since she followed me out of our
mother twenty-two minutes after I arrived in the world. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">Siena
was always playing catch up. Picking up on skills like walking, talking
and writing, slightly before me—pushing her way to the front, barreling me over
in the process. It was easy for her because I was the timid, shy
introvert. She spoke for both of us, made the decisions and I just
followed along. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">Surviving
in her wake, but never thriving in her shadow.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">Even
now, entering adulthood at 18, the sea of time between then and now seems to
have been absorbed like a sponge. Those critical years of discovery, both
of body and principle, meld together until they become one journey, one
thought. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">All
these years later the pain of losing Siena is still as fresh, the fear still as
raw as the night she went missing. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">The
night of our 13<sup>th</sup> birthday I was scared, petrified at the
thought of never seeing Siena again. Dragging around my half self for the
rest of my days, the other half vanished, stolen in the night. If she was
dead than I didn’t want to live. The world would cease to exist without
her in it, but the globe continued to spin in the void so she must’ve been
alive, somewhere out there.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">I
thought my mother, Genieve Grace, being a psychic, would’ve sensed Siena had
been replaced when she returned. Astrologist is her professional
title. Genieve gives Reading, lays tarot cards and plots star
charts. Her ability stems from a heightened intuition bordering on
premonition. She calls it the Wave because it rolls over her, compressing
her thoughts until one trumps the others.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">That’s
why when Siena went missing I thought Genieve would’ve been more helpful.
More insightful in locating her and more cognizant, upon Siena’s return, that
she wasn’t my sister. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222;">I
knew it, and not just because she was my twin, but because we’re Witches. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 9.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">This is a great start. I love some of the details, like how Sienna is the leader, even though she's younger, and why the mother should have sensed the switch, but didn't. There are a few things, however, that I feel will tighten the beginning and bring forward the most important parts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Since this is MG, you might want to cut the part about being 18. Telling a story from that far in the future can bring the story into young adult or even adult territory. The story happens when they're 13. Keep it there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I would cut or reword the line about Siena always playing catch up. It's more like the narrator is playing catch up, even though she's older.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">The opening line feels strange to me, and I'm trying to pinpoint why. I think it's because Siena is actually the main focus of the chapter, so I feel like Siena should be the main focus of the opening line. More like, "My sister was replaced by an imposter," although I'm sure you can come up with something better than that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Thank you so much for sharing your chapter with us! I love the idea, and I think you have a good grasp of how to show interesting details.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">Make sure to check out Angelo's website at </span><a href="http://www.am-author.com/" style="color: #1155cc; line-height: 18.4px;" target="_blank">WWW.AM-AUTHOR.COM</a>. <span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">And head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.88px;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.88px;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.88px;"> to see what they thought of CURSE CURSE.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">
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Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-31090170437675362792015-08-03T06:00:00.000-04:002015-08-03T06:00:06.207-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: GOODNIGHT SWEET PRINCE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzXykWXcCuqgBqxLJclc3jQ_xRT3iHczVskgHAxClEor5XaxZ78q7XCF6EqQeSDxC3g-fPwVu7utR0L1_VOu3W1ZgooM5kNJaXhlSdhL1jdgnzoHsKcJfUPiT9clpmG0QajnjvY30mWc/s1600/Maria.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzXykWXcCuqgBqxLJclc3jQ_xRT3iHczVskgHAxClEor5XaxZ78q7XCF6EqQeSDxC3g-fPwVu7utR0L1_VOu3W1ZgooM5kNJaXhlSdhL1jdgnzoHsKcJfUPiT9clpmG0QajnjvY30mWc/s1600/Maria.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Maria Ann Witt. </span></span><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">GOODNIGHT SWEET PRINCE </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">is a YA contemporary novel. It is a re-imagining of Hamlet.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">***</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Five hours into the ten hour flight from Copenhagen to Detroit most of the first class passengers were asleep. Harm tried. Seat reclined, headphones on, eyes closed, music playing, pushing ‘next’ repeatedly before accepting that next was never any better. He switched over to replay the voice mail message from three days ago.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Harm, they’re talking about a new contract. Whatever you do, don’t sign anything without talking to me first. And don’t let Mars sign anything either. Call me when you get a chance.</i><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Listening to Dad’s voice, he could picture him—gray hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and kind, serious expression. He hadn’t called back. Between late night shows, and later night parties, and sleeping it off, there hadn’t been time.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Christmas. That was the last time he’d talked to Dad in person. Lied to him. How was everything going, was he getting enough sleep? <i>Sure, </i>Harm said.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Touring is tough, I’m proud of you.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad had toured a year before quitting his band and becoming a wildly successful songwriter. He clapped a firm hand on Harm’s shoulder. “Good grades, last report. That’s important. Gotta think long term.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The tutor must have taken the tests. All Harm did was scribble his own handwriting on the papers and get a recap of what he’d learned. The formalities of being a minor in show business. Dad knew a lot about the business, but he didn’t seem to know that.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The last time he’d seen his dad and he’d lied. It hadn’t bothered him then, but now, it felt like someone was strangling him. He gasped and sat up, arms flailing defensively.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You okay?” Mars asked. Next to him, his younger brother’s seat was upright, his skinny arms and shoulders tense under his tight black leather jacket, as he turned his phone over and over in his hands.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Can’t sleep.” Harm said, shoving his headphones off. He thought about the Ativan in his pocket. He was trying not use them. Didn’t trust Mom and her doctors. So easy to get hooked on stuff.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mars nodded, and turned toward the window, even though the plastic shade was closed. His phone vibrated with a loud hum, and he jumped and almost dropped it.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“The funeral’s <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1735707291" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Monday</span></span>,” he said, checking the message.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Huh,” Harm said. “Guess Paolo canceled Oslo for nothing.”<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We couldn’t have done anything. . . ”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“He didn’t know that!” Harm’s voice came out harsh in the steady hum of the plane, and he dropped it back to a half-whisper. “All he knows is the show must go on. Dad was in the hospital and we were out there shuffling. We should have been on this plane yesterday.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I </span><span style="color: #222222;">absolutely</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> love this idea and at first read-through, I had trouble coming up with notes for it. As is, it's mostly picky things.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">The main thing is, I feel like it's slightly out of order. I want to know his dad is gone sooner. Somewhere between "Listening to Dad's voice ..." and "Christmas."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">"He hadn't called back." I had a bit of pronoun confusion there. Better to say his name. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">When he said dad became a wildly successful songwriter, does he mean he's Harm's songwriter?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I love that he lied the last time he saw his dad. It's a great bit of character detail.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I was also confused by the last three paragraphs. Maybe reading further would have clarified, but here are my thoughts. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">- Oslo was canceled. That sounds to me like they had time to get to see their dad. It seems like not canceling a show would elicit the comment, "We couldn't have done anything ..." Not the other way around.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">- "He didn't know that." Who's he? Paolo or dad? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">- I'm also not sure what "out there shuffling" means. Screwing around? Performing?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;">In short, great job! I want to read this, Maria!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Make sure to check out Maria's website at </span><a href="http://nevermindwastingtime.blogspot.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">http://nevermindwastingtime.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com/</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">. </span><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">And head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="color: black; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"> to see what they thought of GOODNIGHT SWEET PRINCE.</span></span></div>
Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-18637598602945484062015-07-06T18:01:00.001-04:002015-07-06T18:01:09.298-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: DREAMKATCHER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCesye_mVcp5DYfXRxevBsZ6YodzcNmqISy-7NTuuUvKFjXXJABgWF8sK03wWulbYWGYEGWkN5S0-OvF_4jZhvTpO_b_PtpxBtRP8siBngidV-wM_UaLqUGNU7wDneuEx8zKbBNL3RDEg/s1600/IMG_0280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCesye_mVcp5DYfXRxevBsZ6YodzcNmqISy-7NTuuUvKFjXXJABgWF8sK03wWulbYWGYEGWkN5S0-OvF_4jZhvTpO_b_PtpxBtRP8siBngidV-wM_UaLqUGNU7wDneuEx8zKbBNL3RDEg/s320/IMG_0280.JPG" width="195" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Our second submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Stacie Dempsey. DREAMKATCHER is a YA novel.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>Chapter One</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>I woke with a jolt of familiarity. There was a memory digging footholds into my brain trying to resurface. The imagined stench of a charred experiment gone wrong lingering in my nose. Behind my still closed eyes I can see the outline of the old brick laboratory, black against the waking sky, flames escaping through its windows and matching the sky’s intensity. My heart pounds as I try to make my way back in. Heat sears my cheeks just as tears come flooding down to cool them. Their trapped cries resonate in my ears as a lone thought repeats in my head… I have to save them.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>This dream clings to my consciousness, hanging like a low fog. A fog that a thousand suns couldn’t lift. There’s only one way to rid these terrible thoughts from my mind, something I should have done last night. I reach for the BAND on my wrist, knowing what I will find before I see it there. Blank screen, battery dead.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>As I stumble across the room, limbs still heavy with sleep, my body begins convulsing with sobs. Overwhelming pain takes over and threatens to pull me back into the abyss of depression. It’s as if each sob slices into my soul, fracturing it until I’m spread thin enough to be carried away by the morning breeze. Wrapping my arms around myself I attempt to pull the pieces of me back together long enough to reach the port.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>Racing the last five feet to the wall, I hold my wrist against the port ready to evict the nightmare from my mind. The glass panel glows red, confirming it’s dead battery and my failure to sync. As the BAND charges the panel slowly changes from red to yellow and finally green. The sync begins and I can feel my thoughts flowing out of me like a stream. It’s as if a dam has been released and is washing away these painful memories that infest my sleep.</b></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Four years later and still the same nightmare plagues my thoughts. The same feeling that I should have done more, I should have tried harder to get them out. The same feeling of guilt for having survived.</span></span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"> </span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>This latest episode marks the second time this month I’ve forgotten to keep my BAND charged. Gram will be furious when she finds out. “Our BAND’s are meant to relieve the burden the day’s thoughts have on our soul. Without a proper sync each night we won’t be able to make it through the day”. It won’t be the first time I’ve received this lecture. Taking one last deep breath, I pull myself together and head downstairs to face Gram.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">First, I find the BANDs absolutely fascinating. Those devices feel not far removed from our phones and other idevices. How many people "plug in" to the internet as the last thing they do before bed and the first thing they do before they get up? That said, there is a stigma about starting a novel with waking up from a dream. It's disorienting because the reader is trying to get a feel for the character and his or her reality. Dreams distort that reality, so the reader isn't getting a true picture at the start. Is there a different way to begin that tells us more about the BANDs?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Second, I have a couple of picky notes regarding tense and wording. The first two sentences are past tense, while the rest is in present tense. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also, <b style="color: #333333; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">"Racing the last five feet to the wall," </b><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">is in contrast with the other physical descriptions of her since she seems incapable of running in the previous paragraph. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last, I love this line, "<b style="color: #333333; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">It’s as if each sob slices into my soul, fracturing it until I’m spread thin enough to be carried away by the morning breeze."</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think this a wonderful idea, and I'd love to read more of it. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Make sure to check out Stacie's website at </span><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><a href="http://www.smocussmocus.blogspot.com/">www.smocussmocus.blogspot.com</a></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">. She is also on Facebook at </span><span style="line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/smocussmocus">www.facebook.com/smocussmocus</a></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">. And head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.8800010681152px; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.8800010681152px; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"> to see what they thought of DREAMKATCHER.</span></span>Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-56355718168560556242015-07-01T06:00:00.000-04:002015-07-01T06:00:09.422-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: TEMPLE BEYOND THE SEA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Mark Murata. TEMPLE BEYOND THE SEA is New Adult historical fantasy.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">***</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>To be a priestess, the walk had to be flawless—the smooth heel-to-toe motion beneath the woolen robe that would soon be spattered with blood. Iphi had practiced this walk for two years, knew it was perfect, knew the ceremonial dagger at her waist was not bouncing from the motion. <i>Sheathed at my navel, the center of life.</i> Her slippered feet continued their smooth whisper on the stone floor of the temple, taking her through the darkness to the sunlight that shone through the linteled doorway, where the victims waited outside.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>At the doorway itself she paused, heavy stonework on either side, the scents of life and fresh air greeting her. She had no need to blink—though the veil that hung in front of her eyes was thin and gauze-like, its deep-set purple shielded those same eyes from the sudden change in lighting. Iphi made the pause purposeful, foreboding. The whiteness of her face would sharply contrast against the darkness of her eyes, dimly glimpsed through the veil. Arms outstretched, she stood ready to receive the sacrifices lying on the altar. Any supplicant standing directly in front of her would have seen her framed by darkness. And further on, in the interior of the temple, hints of the image of Artemis herself showed—a pale statue in the same posture, lit by hungry flames.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>The pause also gave Iphi time to contemplate this, the last phase of her training. She would ascend to the priesthood by performing human sacrifice. The dagger rested easily against her waist.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>Her lips parted. There was no need for a last glance at any polished bronze mirror. The red on her lips was perfect, the same as the whiteness of her face. She stiffened her belly for the pronouncement, her voice deep and confident.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><i><b>The goddess will have her sacrifice</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><i><b>Virgin am I, who serve her</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><i><b>All you who stand here, adore</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b>Silence greeted the words. If any worshipers had been present, they would be murmuring in awe and fear. As it was, only two guards from the palace stood in the place for worshipers—no one else occupied the temple grounds, bordered by sharp cliffs that dropped off on either side to the sea below. Beyond a heath a few young women watched in rapt fascination, hoping the distance would keep them from being rousted out by the spear butts of the guards. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">***</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">First off, I thought this was an amazing beginning. The image of a blood splatted robe, the knife, and the sacrifices all promise an exciting beginning. As such, I don't have many suggestions for plot and character, but I do have a few notes.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">This is written in third person. However, a few of the phrases place the action firmly inside Iphi's head. For example, "</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">The whiteness of her face would sharply contrast" can easily be replaced with "sharply contrasted." This takes it out of her head and makes it active instead of passive.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">I'm also unsure of why her speech is formatted the way it is instead of with quotes. Of course, it could simply have gotten formatted strangely through email, but if not, it's something to consider. As it's shown above, it looks more like a thought or even a different scene.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">The last paragraph takes me out of the story a bit. At this point, I don't feel it's important to state what would happen if other people were there. I want to know instead about the people that <i>are </i>there. Perhaps it's listed later, but I'd like to know how the sacrifices are reacting. They are the other characters listed in the beginning of this scene.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Thanks so much for sharing with us, Mark. Based on this beginning, I would definitely keep reading!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">Make sure to check out Mark's website at </span><a href="http://suburbanfantasy.blogspot.com/" rel="noreferrer" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;" target="_blank">http://suburbanfantasy.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com/</a>. <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">And head over to both </span><a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #3366cc; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px; text-decoration: none;">Mainewords </a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;">and </span><a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/" style="background-color: white; color: #3366cc; font-family: Arial, serif; font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px; text-decoration: none;">Dianne's blog</a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.3000001907349px; line-height: 22.8800010681152px;"> to see what they thought of TEMPLE BEYOND THE SEA.</span></span></span>Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-63246099792845724092015-06-09T20:28:00.000-04:002015-06-09T20:45:31.651-04:00The Pink Snow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Small Child has written and illustrated his very first book. It is a spellbinding meditation on weather and how it affects us all.<br />
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The Pink Snow by Small Child</div>
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It was a sunny day.</div>
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It was spring and there was a house. </div>
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Then pink snow fell.</div>
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Then it was morning.</div>
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It was very sunny.</div>
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<br />Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-84922497056282112712015-06-03T06:00:00.000-04:002015-10-19T20:34:58.089-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: SILHOUETTE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our second submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Shannon Cortazar. SILHOUETTE is a YA fantasy.<br />
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***<br />
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<b>We were invaded the day we buried my brother. It was autumn, crisp and bright. “A good day for a burial” I heard someone say behind me. A tragic death, such a shame, the voices went on and on. Clucking their tongues as if rationalizing his death would make it okay. The coffin bore the mark of the Throne, a twisting tree within a circle and a three pointed crown above. That same mark was branded on his wrist when I took a peek at him lying still on white satin.</b><br />
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<b>They’d sent a note thanking us for our cooperation in these “changing times”. It was signed by Elin Grayl, the new leader of our Nation. </b><br />
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<b>The coffin was a token of their gratitude, to ease our financial burden, they said. I thought it was ironic, since they’re the ones who killed him.</b><b> </b><br />
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<b>A few hours later chaos broke out. From my bedroom I saw a quick purposeful momentum come from each of the hundred or so legion. They were </b><b>herding everyone they could find. Before I knew it I was sitting between my parents tearing through town in my dad’s pickup truck, heading for the mountains flanking our crumbling community. And it’s here I sit, waiting for the next onslaught.</b><b> </b><br />
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<b>I’ve learned that counting calms me before a kill. One, focus on my target. Two, steady my breath. Three, account for the wind.</b><b> </b><br />
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<b>Four, don’t hesitate. Aim between the eyes.</b><b> </b><br />
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<b>I don’t worry about the snap of the bow, just the direction which the arrow will soar. If it were an animal, I’d quiet my release. But the human boy daring to enter our village is too dumb or too careless for me to bother. He’s just another threat, I tell myself. One I won’t think twice about killing.</b><b> </b><br />
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<b>I wait, watch him. He isn’t moving like someone who’s controlled. From this distance, at least a hundred yards, I can’t see the Thrones mark on his wrist.</b><b> </b><br />
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<b>But they’re clever, so I wait.</b><b> </b><br />
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<b>To my left I can see a lone magpie land on the thin branch of a birch tree. One for sorrow, I think it goes, the rhyme I learned years ago. It’s appropriate; since we live in a suffocating state of sadness. Tufts of snow fall to the frozen ground below him as he sits perched with his eyes darting around. Until they land on me. I refocus and clear my mind, ease the tremors in my arm.</b><br />
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<b>“You have to kill him Noelle.” A voice behind me whispers.</b><br />
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***<br />
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While her brother's funeral is a good opening image, I feel like you have an even more powerful opening further down - <b>I’ve learned that counting calms me before a kill. </b>Wow. You learn so much about her character in that line. Give us that first. Wait until later to tell us about her brother and how she got to the mountains.<br />
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The description of the boy, or rather what he didn't look like, drew me in. I know she has doubts by the way she counts. His lack of a mark and the way he moves give her more doubts. I love how you show that.<br />
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I also love the magpie and how she uses it to convey how everyone is feeling. I would like to see why his stare make her refocus though. She is stalling when she is looking at him. What is it about his eyes that puts her back on task?<br />
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Then, the last line. Wonderful. I want to know who's saying this. I want to know the rules. I want to know more.<br />
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In all, it's a great opening. Thanks so much for sharing, Shannon!<br />
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Make sure to check out Shannon's website at <a href="http://slcortazar.wordpress.com/">slcortazar.wordpress.com</a>. She is also on Twitter under @SLCortazar. And head over to both <a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/">Mainewords </a>and <a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/">Dianne's blog</a> to see what they thought of SILHOUETTE.<br />
<br />Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-15877025665633088462015-06-01T06:00:00.000-04:002015-06-01T06:00:08.218-04:00FIRST IMPRESSIONS: WILD GINGER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our first submission for First Impressions this month comes to us from Valerie Hobbs. WILD GINGER is a contemporary MG novel.<br />
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<b>There were times living with her parents when Elizabeth “Lizzie” Lessing has had to be the grownup, or at least feels as if she does. Like right now on the Big Island of Hawaii as their tiny rental car passes a sign on the side of the road. “Hey, you guys,” she says. “We’re driving into a volcano. Did you see that sign?”</b><br />
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<b>Her mother laughs. “Not into it, honey. Not exactly. Nothing to worry about.”</b><br />
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<b>Lizzie thought about the day her sixth grade teacher, Mr. Sylvester, did his amazing volcano imitation. “Kaboom” he cried, leaping into the air, sending them all into shrieks and fits of laughter. “Is it active?”</b><br />
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<b>Lizzie’s father, too big for their rented car, hulks over the steering wheel. “Kilauea is an active volcano all right,” he says. “If we’re lucky we’ll get to see some lava.”</b><br />
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<b>Her parents are crazy. Always chasing after some new “folly,” Lizzie’s grandmother says. But nothing seems to work. Lessing Cake and Coffee had attracted only flies. Lessing Laundry went belly up when a fancier one opened on the next block. There were penny stocks and bubble gum machines, a dog washing service and Mack Of All Trades home repairs. Her father finally took a job as a manager at Burger King but lost it in a week.</b><br />
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<b>And now there is this new thing her mother had spotted on a real estate flyer. “Old plantation house surrounded by lush vegetation, perfect for a bed and breakfast”. The flyer had no picture.</b><br />
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***<br />
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I love the set up of this - the failed businesses, her crazy parents. That information, along with the flyer with no picture, brings to mind an image of a ramshackle house better than any description ever could.<br />
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I do have a couple of suggestions though. While the page as a whole is delightful, I'm wondering if you could pack more punch into the opening line. Right now, it's passive and a little bit clunky. Instead of saying she feels like the grownup, I'd love to see <b>how </b>it makes her feel.<br />
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I also feel like the flashback to her sixth grade class isn't necessary here. I'd like to stay in the car and get to know Lizzie and her parents a bit more. The image of her father and how he doesn't fit in the car is perfect.<br />
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In all, this book definitely sounds like something I would pick up off the shelf and read. Thanks for sharing, Valerie!<br />
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Make sure to check out Valerie's website at <a href="http://www.valeriehobbs.com/">www.valeriehobbs.com</a>. And head over to both <a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/">Mainewords </a>and <a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/">Dianne's blog</a> to see what they thought of WILD GINGER.<br />
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<br />Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-501172694607921452015-05-25T15:31:00.001-04:002015-05-25T15:31:46.448-04:00Writing and Re-WritingMemorial Day. No school. No work. So naturally, a sinus infection decided to grace me with its presence. With the family at Universal, I decided to use my free day to get some writing done. I wrote all of one page and thought, <i>Well, this sucks</i>. Every single word was boring. Tedious.<br />
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I gave up on writing for the afternoon. Maybe I just needed to rest. But then I came across this while scrolling through Twitter.<br />
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<a href="http://maggiestiefvater.com/blog/red-rage-ocean-longing-literary/">http://maggiestiefvater.com/blog/red-rage-ocean-longing-literary/</a><br />
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I've read it before. It made sense then. It made even more sense today. Readers don't need a list of what's happening. They need to feel what's happening. With that in mind, I went back to my manuscript. My MC, Ellie, is flying through space on her way to a distant moon.<br />
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This -<br />
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<i>She didn't care much for the stars anyway. There was too much blackness out there. The pinpoints of light made it worse.</i><br />
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Became this -<br />
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<i>Ellie's skin itched every time she looked at the stars. The sharp pinpricks of light stretched through the blackness, ready to scratch those daring enough to gaze upon them. </i><br />
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And as much as she hated the stars, she longed for the trees that would soon come into view. The words needed to illustrate her relief. So this -<br />
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<i>Ginormous trees raced beneath them, a forest fifteen stories tall and strong enough to support an entire city in its branches. </i><br />
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Became this -<br />
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<i>Just when Ellie couldn't stand it any longer, the shuttle broke through the moon's atmosphere and the trees came into view. Roofs, walkways, and pipes jutted from the treetops, where the city lay nestled fifteen stories in the air. The emerald leaves were the size of blankets, and Ellie wanted to wrap herself in one. She smiled because she knew it was possible.</i><br />
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It's not perfect yet. It's only a rough draft after all. But if I can remember to delve more into the feeling of the scene, I'll know I'm moving in the right direction.<br />
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<br />Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-22169511710263093572015-05-11T20:39:00.000-04:002015-05-11T20:41:42.901-04:00First Impressions<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Beginning June 1st, I will be joining <a href="http://diannesalerni.com/blog/">Dianne K. Salerni</a> and <a href="http://mainewords.blogspot.com/">Marcy Hatch</a> with their First Impressions critiques. This is where we (kindly and constructively) critique the first page of your work on the first Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of every month. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have a book that you're interested in submitting? <b>We still have one spot open in June.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To submit a first page, send an email to Dianne at dksalerni@gmail.com with First Impressions in the subject line and your first page pasted in the email (not attached, please). Please don't forget to identify yourself, so we know it's not spam.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>FAQs</b> -- </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. How many words is "a page?" ~ 350-400</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Should I send my prologue or first chapter? ~ Send whatever you would query an agent or editor with</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Will you rip my work apart? ~ No way. We are nice people and we try really hard to be helpful and kind! :)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. Can I send you the first page of the book I'm promoting? ~ This service is really intended for authors who are currently revising a manuscript. If you'd like to promote a published or soon-to-be-published, finished work, contact Marcy's other blog, <a href="http://unicornbell.blogspot.com/">The Unicorn Bell</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I look forward to reading your work!</span>Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-45662350217287742242015-04-01T20:55:00.000-04:002015-04-01T21:30:38.354-04:00YA Scavenger Hunt - Team Purple<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hi, everyone! Welcome to the YA Scavenger Hunt! Go to the YA Scavenger Hunt page to find out all about the hunt. There are EIGHT contests going on simultaneously, and you can enter one or all to win sets of signed books! I am a part of the <span style="color: #674ea7;">PURPLE TEAM</span>.<br />
<br />
If you'd like to find out more about the hunt, see links to all the authors participating, and see the full list of prizes up for grabs, <a href="http://yascavengerhunt.blogspot.com/p/prizes.html">go to the YA Scavenger Hunt page</a>.<br />
<br />
SCAVENGER HUNT PUZZLE<br />
<br />
Directions: Below, you'll notice that I've listed my favorite number. Collect the favorite numbers of all the authors on the purple team, and then add them up (don't worry, you can use a calculator!).<br />
<br />
Entry Form: Once you've added up all the numbers, <a href="http://yascavengerhunt.blogspot.com/p/enter-here.html">make sure you fill out the form here</a> to officially qualify for the grand prize. Only entries that have the correct number will qualify.<br />
<br />
Rules: Open internationally, anyone below the age of 18 should have a parent or guardian's permission to enter. Entries sent without the correct number or without contact information will not be considered.<br />
<br />
<b>Now for the fun stuff!</b><br />
<br />
I'm hosting Stephanie Keyes, and today she is sharing a deleted scene from her novel THE STAR CATCHER.<br />
<span style="font-family: arial, sans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Kellen and Cali will battle bewitched armies and unknown foes as they fight to stay together. Will Kellen embrace his immortal destiny? Or will his world, and the man he is fated to become, be destroyed by The Star Catcher?</i></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>Deleted Scene</u><br />
<br />
In an instant, I'd left Alistair's and arrived in the rear of a pub in Boston. Ironically, the place was only a couple blocks from Gabe's Law School, but it wasn't Gabe that I'd come to meet. Walking around the side of the building, I straightened the collar on the coat I didn't need and shoved my hands into my pockets.<br />
<br />
The moment I stepped into the pub, a warm blast of air rushed me. Pushing through it, I surveyed the joint. License plates from all fifty states hung in neat rows on the walls, interspersed with random car parts and the unmistakable odor of fried food. I didn't see him. I must be early.<br />
<br />
“How many today?” the hostess asked.<br />
<br />
My eyes darted to her blue ones. She was petite, some might even say pretty.<br />
<br />
Another pair of blue eyes haunted me, though and I needed to get this meeting over with so I could get back to them.<br />
<br />
"Just two.”<br />
<br />
"Sure,” she said, her Bostonian dialect making the word sound more like shore.<br />
<br />
She directed me to a table next to the fire. Warmth licked up my left arm as I took a seat.<br />
<br />
Old sports awards with minuscule patches of rust on them, pennants from local teams, and framed newspaper clippings reign in this are of the restaurant.<br />
<br />
My fingers grew numb then, a tingling running up my arm. He'd arrived. Roger stood at the door, appearing uncertain, so much less the bully he'd once been. Covered in Arawn's magick, my senses screamed warnings at me. I pushed my concerns down.<br />
<br />
Arawn was dead.<br />
<br />
I’d killed him.<br />
<br />
And this time I knew it would stick.<br />
<br />
"Kell," Roger said, as he made his way over to me a nervous smile on his face. He held out his hand.<br />
<br />
I took it. "How've you been?” I shook his hand. It took a second for the rush of magick to leave me and blast into Roger. The magick that would purge him of Arawn's power, yet still leave him oblivious to the horrors that he'd endured at the Lord of the Underworld’s hand.<br />
<br />
His eyes flashed out of focus for a moment, his hand squeezing mine for just an instant before he let go. He blinked, an empty expression crossing his face. In a millisecond he appeared healthier, stronger, without the influence of Arawn on him. It worked. Just like Calienta said it would.<br />
<br />
“Why don’t we grab a chair?” I drop back into my seat by the fire.<br />
<br />
“Sure.” Roger snaps out of it, pulling out his wooden chair, which squeals in protest against the rough, brick floor.<br />
<br />
A waitress showed up at our table, then, a wide smile plastered on her face. "Can I get you gentleman something to drink?"<br />
<br />
"A Pepsi," I said, more out of habit then interest. I’d never need to drink anything again. Of course, some traditions are too amazing to end entirely.<br />
<br />
"Same for me." Roger leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his gut. "I was surprised that you wanted to meet today. I didn't know you were back in town."<br />
<br />
“It’s just for today. I have to drive to Yale to pick up some paperwork. I’m flying back on the afternoon flight out of Logan.” It was so bizarre to be sitting there having a normal conversation with Roger. It’s possible we’d never actually had a conversation that didn’t involve insulting one another. Beyond that, what would he think if he knew the truth about me, about what I’d become? How would Rog react if he knew I’d just teleported from London in the bat of an eye?<br />
<br />
Probably not well.<br />
<br />
“Flying where?”<br />
<br />
A sudden stab of pity for Roger swamped my veins. “Back to Ireland. I live there now. Remember? Since Gran died?"<br />
<br />
“Yeah. I forgot about that for some reason.” Roger shuffled in his seat. "The thing is, that I feel like I've done something really terrible to you and I-I can't remember it."<br />
<br />
I let out a slow breath. If only he knew how he'd tormented me as a kid. Yet, that had been the influence of the Changeling blood in his body. He probably never would have done those things otherwise—at least if the Roger sitting before me was any indication. Who was to say, though?<br />
<br />
"It's cool." I tried to answer the way Gabe would. “We all make mistakes.”<br />
<br />
Roger sighed, still appearing worried. "I read the letters from Mom."<br />
<br />
"Oh." I guess I’d understood that sooner or later Roger would read the letters. The letters our mother had written when she'd been Stephen's prisoner at the mental institution in Scotland. It wouldn't have been easy for Roger to find out that Mom hadn't died when we'd been told, but instead suffered for eleven long years. I got that. Hadn’t I done through the same thing?<br />
<br />
Still...when I sent those to him, I never imagined we’d actually discuss them.<br />
<br />
Honestly, I’d never expected to meet up with my brother again.<br />
<br />
"I didn't know. All those years...I thought I knew him," Roger said.<br />
<br />
That makes one of us.<br />
<br />
"I can't believe he's gone. That they’re both gone," Roger said. He wiped his eyes on the heel of his hand.<br />
<br />
I couldn’t, no didn’t, respond, and we sat in silence for a while, our own memories taking up ghostly chairs at the table until our waitress returned to take our orders.<br />
<br />
"I have to go away for a while, Rog."<br />
<br />
"Yeah?" Roger sat up straighter. “Why? That’s a shame. I mean...it’s been ages.”<br />
<br />
He frowned. “Hasn’t it?”<br />
<br />
I’ll really have to get used to him being...nice. "It has. I'll give you my number, okay?”<br />
<br />
Part of me wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep in touch with Roger, but he was my brother. Maybe I didn't want my mortal contacts to lapse, the way Cali's had with Rowan? Although the circumstances were different, it would have been easy to forget about mortal time.<br />
<br />
"That’s cool. Where are you going?" He asked. “I mean, technically, you don’t need to tell me.” He frowned, as if sensing how off our relationship was.<br />
<br />
"Well, the thing is, I got married."<br />
<br />
Surprised crossed Roger's face. "What? You're only..."<br />
<br />
I knew he's been about to say seventeen, yet I no longer looked seventeen—probably more like in my early twenties. Although becoming immortal had healed my body from the damage that the amulet had caused me, not everything returned to normal. There was nothing for it. Reaching out with my mind, I planted a memory of my wedding in Roger's mind.<br />
<br />
Roger shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should have realized that you'd be going on your honeymoon soon. Where's Cali?" He looked around, his face appearing confused.<br />
<br />
And no wonder? I'd given him the barest hint of information.<br />
<br />
"Meeting me at the airport," I said. “She’s visiting a friend right now, otherwise she would have come with me.”<br />
<br />
The waitress arrived, setting a plate down in front of me. She placed another before Roger. We'd both ordered the same thing: Bacon Cheeseburgers.<br />
<br />
"Why do I feel like I'm not going to see you for a long time, Kell?" Roger asked, before taking a bite of his sandwich. "I don't want you to disappear on me or anything, the way some guys do when they get married."<br />
<br />
I stared at my brother. What if we could be brothers? Real brothers who hung out and got along and fought... Maybe he didn't have to be someone I detested? After all, he didn’t know what he'd done. He would never have to.<br />
<br />
"Nah. It’s just a trip.”<br />
<br />
Roger nodded, taking another bit of his sandwich. I did the same, enjoying the taste, though I didn't need to eat. "So tell me about school," I said, between bites. Roger’s face lit up as he described the course he’d started taking that term. He had a lot of make-up work, but the school had understood with Stephen’s death and all. As he spoke, I realized something. Maybe I didn't have to say goodbye to my mortal life,<br />
entirely?<br />
<br />
Perhaps there were a few things still worth salvaging.<br />
<br />
More than a few.<br />
<br />
© 2015 Stephanie Keyes and Inkspell Publishing<br />
<br />
***<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcleE0pmNbETqqzCgDvtwU77Rhyphenhypheny4eQR07u6HYeiI-Bszt7px8RjoNo9no5Bw5yo4aYstp3b3lOEfQ5RWuK6C1TpLxeNVLb5Iz6sBsG_XnG9AwTz2cQBGtMSb38DPKZLONb2Ku5HSpS0/s1600/steph12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcleE0pmNbETqqzCgDvtwU77Rhyphenhypheny4eQR07u6HYeiI-Bszt7px8RjoNo9no5Bw5yo4aYstp3b3lOEfQ5RWuK6C1TpLxeNVLb5Iz6sBsG_XnG9AwTz2cQBGtMSb38DPKZLONb2Ku5HSpS0/s1600/steph12.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span data-sheets-userformat="[null,null,515,[null,0],[null,2,14277081],null,null,null,null,null,null,null,0]" data-sheets-value="[null,2,"L.S. Kilroy lives near Boston with her significant other, his son, and two feisty cats. When she is not writing by day as a senior copywriter or by night as a spinner of stories, she loves being creative in the kitchen, belting out show tunes, traveling, entertaining friends, reading, and scouting out vintage finds at consignment shops. Her next project is a compilation of her short stories and she is also working on some treatments for television and film.\n\n "]"><span data-sheets-userformat="[null,null,515,[null,0],[null,2,10027263],null,null,null,null,null,null,null,0]" data-sheets-value="[null,2,"Stephanie Keyes grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and spent years traveling and working as a Corporate Trainer before she made the decision to pen her first novel. As a teen, her family always accused her of having an \u201coveractive imagination.\u201d Now, she\u2019s encouraged to keep her head in the clouds and share her world with readers. \n\nKeyes is the author of the YA Fantasy series, The Star Child, which currently includes The Star Child, After Faerie, The Fallen Stars, The Star Catcher, and The Last Protector, all from by Inkspell Publishing. The Star Child has topped the Amazon best-seller list several times since its 2012 release. The Fallen Stars was a 2013 semi-finalist in the Kindle Book Awards. The Star Catcher was just listed as a finalist in the 2014 Dante Rossetti Young Adult Novel Awards. Steph writes YA novels because she\u2019s a hopeless romantic who lives to believe that Magick truly does exist. She is hard at work on a new YA novel."]"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stephanie Keyes grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and spent years traveling and working as a Corporate Trainer before she made the decision to pen her first novel. As a teen, her family always accused her of having an “overactive imagination.” Now, she’s encouraged to keep her head in the clouds and share her world with readers. <br /><br />Keyes is the author of the YA Fantasy series, The Star Child, which currently includes The Star Child, After Faerie, The Fallen Stars, The Star Catcher, and The Last Protector, all from by Inkspell Publishing. The Star Child has topped the Amazon best-seller list several times since its 2012 release. The Fallen Stars was a 2013 semi-finalist in the Kindle Book Awards. The Star Catcher was just listed as a finalist in the 2014 Dante Rossetti Young Adult Novel Awards. Steph writes YA novels because she’s a hopeless romantic who lives to believe that Magick truly does exist. She is hard at work on a new YA novel.</span></span></span><br />
***<br />
Purchase links for her wonderful books are located here. I hope she writes at least <span style="color: red; font-size: large;">9</span> more of them.<br />
http://www.stephaniekeyes.com/the-star-child-series/the-star-catcher-3/<br />
<br />
And make sure to check out her website here.<br />
http://www.stephaniekeyes.com/<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
For the next step in the scavenger hunt, check out <a class="in-cell-link" href="http://eeholmes.com/yash" style="font-family: arial, sans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" target="_blank">http://eeholmes.com/yash</a>Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-36874993919033647422015-03-05T10:51:00.001-05:002015-03-06T11:35:57.708-05:00Life ... PausedFebruary 2015. It was one of those months when life forced me to just take a break.<br />
<br />
It started off pretty well. I left my job and applied to be a substitute teacher. This would give me more time to write as well as the chance to help out at Small Child's school. The group that hires substitutes told me it would take a maximum of two weeks to get everything done. Great! I settled down for a week of writing, and I finished a draft I had been working on for a year!<br />
<br />
I was proud of myself. I was Accomplishing Things!<br />
<br />
Then, on February 6th, I went to the Coastal Magic Convention in Daytona. I had a wonderful time at the first panels that morning. I had a great lunch with some author friends.<br />
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<br />
I went for a walk on the beach. And then this happened.<br />
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I missed two steps behind the hotel and fell. I broke my left arm, sprained my right wrist, pulled a bunch of muscles in my ribs, and busted up my left leg. The convention was lovely. The souvenir was not.</div>
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I was useless for the next week or so, but soon began to heal. One day, I woke up and my ribs no longer hurt. While my arms still hurt, I was able to open doors and drive. I was ready to rejoin the human race.</div>
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And then, on February 25th, I got a call from my husband's work that he had fallen from an 8 foot ladder. He fractured his skull in two places and sprained his right wrist (yes, the same one that I sprained). His left eyelid looked like someone had glued a large purple grape on top of it. He spent 6 days in the hospital, so I spent 6 days in the hospital. Thankfully, no surgery was required, and he is expected to make a full recovery. But there are doctor appointments ahead for both him and me. There is medication to administer, both during the day and at all hours of the night. There is a long road ahead of us.</div>
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I've thought about writing. I've thought about my Bookish Delights vlog that I have started, but is not ready to upload. I've <i>thought </i>about them, but that's it. Life needed me to take a break, so that's what I've done. I've rested. I've recharged my batteries. I've read (<i>Blue Lily, Lily Blue</i> by Maggie Stiefvater and <i>13 Little Blue Envelopes</i> by Maureen Johnson). This is what I have needed to do.</div>
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The Drown family will be back and kicking soon. But for now, we are paused.</div>
<br />Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-72999308749155789692015-02-23T19:58:00.001-05:002015-02-23T19:58:31.471-05:00Bookish DelightsBack in October, I had this idea that I would love to open a cupcake shop/used bookstore called Book Delights. However, I have no idea how to run a business like that, nor do I have the time to invest in such an endeavor. So, I decided to do it online instead.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal. I will create a book-themed cupcake, make a You Tube tutorial showing how I did it, then upload process pictures here.<br />
<br />
I plan on having the first episode, themed around Alice in Wonderland, up this week. But for now, here are a few cakes that I've made in the past for Small Child's birthday. For these cakes, I used store bought icing. For the cupcakes, I plan to use a combination of homemade sculptable frosting and other items.<br />
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This was my first attempt in 2012.</div>
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This was my most recent attempt last year.</div>
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<br />Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-68210869649724650642014-12-29T10:01:00.000-05:002014-12-29T10:01:49.943-05:00I'm Dreaming of a Humid Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZw43GPOogrSYLyV2sE6c3dUG7R1a5IhcuU4Dhk2BVTyVEeMdVpZ5Fta4bTAe7WctQA5mZtpfZOwj-A4Re2QIBC9e_LIvW0PCxjhfK_OrkpfMPqIxnO81ysveHRD1EooAnGxh2ZO44Tgo/s1600/Christmas+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZw43GPOogrSYLyV2sE6c3dUG7R1a5IhcuU4Dhk2BVTyVEeMdVpZ5Fta4bTAe7WctQA5mZtpfZOwj-A4Re2QIBC9e_LIvW0PCxjhfK_OrkpfMPqIxnO81ysveHRD1EooAnGxh2ZO44Tgo/s320/Christmas+house.jpg" /></a></div>
<i>Let it Snow </i><br />
<i>White Christmas </i><br />
<i>Jingle Bells </i><br />
<i>Sleigh Ride </i><br />
<i>The Christmas Song </i><br />
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All of these songs bring to mind an image of a cold, snowy Christmas. It's become the ideal that people wish for, but it's something that so few people ever get. Living in Florida, I know that I am far more likely to get a humid, sticky Christmas rather than a white one, and hearing the songs year after year makes me a little sad that I will never achieve the ideal. Sure, people try. A plastic "ice skating" rink pops up in Celebration every year. You can find "snow" (soap bubbles) falling at Celebration, Disney, Universal, and a host of other places around here. But it's just not the same in shorts and flip flops.<br />
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And if you think about it, you know that a white Christmas is not the norm. Heck, half the world celebrates Christmas in the summer time. This makes me wonder where the idea came from in the first place. Did it come from songs? Paintings like those done by Norman Rockwell? A Visit From St. Nicholas? A Christmas Carol? Who was the person who got everyone dreaming of a white Christmas? Any thoughts?<br />
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/alinssite/8329836580/in/photolist-dG5Ad5-7xwfLh-959SzR-4cb9kE-dDmHa6-h4VYDW-4pMGcm-qxeEDe-95Apy2-q3PEF7-7qjmix-4pHExM-dBczPx-dzPwdT-h4XeoF-dBi2Tu-k2CZDw-quEWAZ-92EgYG-93h1hu-iVtWps-8YiUFs-929m9v-7rHQZo-7qnPi2-95uERK-95vq75-95v1gk-5Q8qy2-7pnXJ2-95vda1-dBi7Fq-95uEKK-95sbbt-dExdSV-95v2B5-7qohxC-7rHRhS-csPoad-95wEGE-w7d9e-w7aHD-95naXy-dBczJe-7prQFw-iD95s6-7ry1HB-7pGUii-w7dGo-dBcx7k/">Photo</a>Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-48357649995617466442014-02-21T16:28:00.002-05:002014-02-21T16:28:31.294-05:00Locally Grown Words Book Fair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5O925ytEGJ0j5J8XIN-MKHILIpVRkbIDFSeREUx01qqbesjtlQ9IHVMNzf3x-riOorNPoALzcTailBiQXaOa4MAZhZEnnBAGyFjUguHHiC8roptABsGAV5pIY6YuGV4nbtL_A5r5HFLw/s1600/1513329_695544537136102_622040567_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5O925ytEGJ0j5J8XIN-MKHILIpVRkbIDFSeREUx01qqbesjtlQ9IHVMNzf3x-riOorNPoALzcTailBiQXaOa4MAZhZEnnBAGyFjUguHHiC8roptABsGAV5pIY6YuGV4nbtL_A5r5HFLw/s1600/1513329_695544537136102_622040567_n.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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Back in December, my critique partner, Amy Christine Parker, and I got to participate in the Locally Grown Words Book Fair. It was held in an absolutely adorable little place called the East End Market that features locally grown food.<br />
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And here's the best part, next month a bookstore is going to open up in the <a href="http://eastendmkt.com/">East End Market</a>, expanding the idea to local authors. It's called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bookmark-It/457499917689946">Bookmark It</a>, and Kim, the lovely and gracious owner will have my books in stock. If you're in the Winter Park area, check it out.Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5062050519129929202.post-57714840754089515352013-10-29T15:44:00.000-04:002013-10-29T15:44:12.426-04:00Polk Authors and Illustrators FestivalEarlier this month, I got to participate in the Polk Authors and Illustrators Festival. Small Child joined me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzcXr7LgObg8551LpWvXgdzL0NvKTyMOiInmF1-7FI-ZtepmAy7RgX4kk-TwN5TiHhtjzDhZ7EGcyQD84NMVNM-yKjuVWOHcZmj8hmNDL3CtuAzTwVSwWJPYdhHG29xrN-wAdAtlhLnM/s1600/PAIF+10-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzcXr7LgObg8551LpWvXgdzL0NvKTyMOiInmF1-7FI-ZtepmAy7RgX4kk-TwN5TiHhtjzDhZ7EGcyQD84NMVNM-yKjuVWOHcZmj8hmNDL3CtuAzTwVSwWJPYdhHG29xrN-wAdAtlhLnM/s320/PAIF+10-13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was a blast, because it was also a Halloween fest. The zombie makeup table was right beside me. Plus, there was a dog show, so I got to see all of the adorable little dogs in costumes running around.<br />
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Of course, the event carried with it the inevitable learning lesson. I set up my table and was smiling at the passersby. My husband took Small Child off in his stroller to find some food. They hadn't been gone five minutes when my first customer approached and wanted to buy a copy of Spirit World. She had a $20. I had change. In my wallet. In the stroller. <br />
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Head desk.<br />
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Ah well. It was still an enjoyable experience, and next time, I will make sure to have my change in the same box as my books so this does not happen again.<br />
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What about you? Do any of you have learning experiences from events that you'd like to share?Krystalyn Drownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12895353579071997640noreply@blogger.com0