Book Bites

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Welcome, everyone, to the NestPitch 2015 Secret Agent Round! Our teams have worked tirelessly over the last several weeks to polish our pitches, whittle our words, and create the most pleasing array of selections we possibly could.

Speaking of pleasing arrays, my team and I would like to extend a special welcome to all of the Secret Agents who are taking the time to visit us today. We were up early to prepare a small spread that we hope will help energize you during your blog hop. Please help yourselves.

It's only breakfast...not a bribe in any way﻿

Just like the comments section for the duration of the Agent Round, the buffet will be closed to the public and under strict moderation for twenty-four hours, beginning May 11th at 8:30 a.m. EST. (1.30pmLondonUK Time, 10.30pmMelbourneAustralia EST) After that the comments section will re-open to all, but the food will probably need to be thrown away.

We are #TeamBasketCase

﻿

This event would not have been possible without the guidance and support of NestPitch creator Nikola Vukoja, who worked, at times quite literally, around the clock to make it a success. The NestPitch parent blog is full of details on exactly what went into #NestPitch2015. We dug MUCH deeper this year, our Mentor and Slushie teams read far beyond the first 300 words to ensure that quality was the theme of each and every manuscript we selected. We fought, yes. Cried, and threw things, but in the end every NestPitch team ended up with a list that we could present with pride, confident in its potential.

I, personally, could not have done any of this without the dedicated support of my Slushies, the incredible Heather M. Bryant and the exquisite Kristy Shen (who recently had her own shiny new MG novel published, available to buy here.) These ladies have been THE BEST team members I could have asked for, they really went above and beyond. Follow them on Twitter, read their words, and be secure in the knowledge that they are just generally kickass chicks in every possible way.

Okay! Now, without further adieu, allow me to present the moment you've all been waiting for...

As a parting note, I'd just like to say that it has been an absolute honor to read the words of so many talented writers, engage with the other teams, and be a part of such a supportive and loving community. We all had each others' backs, Mentors, Slushies, and authors alike, throughout this entire process, and my thanks to everyone involved. I loved being a part of it.

When Mikey's parents stick him with relatives so they
can go have fun, his impetuous behavior causes problems. His disastrous schemes to set things right transform the lives of the strangers he's grown to love.

If your MC was an Easter Egg, what
flavor would s/he be?:

I’d be sandy cheese flavor, because that’s
what the stuff between my toes tastes like.

Excerpt (first 300 words):

Hitting
what you want with a rock gives you the best feeling in the world. After you
throw it, your mind steers the rock right to where you wanted it to go, as if
you had super powers. It feels so good that you want to do it over and over
again, and it feels so easy that you think you can.

Just
because you can do something, though, it doesn't mean you should do it. If you
pick the wrong target, throwing a rock can also give you the worst feeling in
the world. You won't just break a window--you'll break and ruin everything
else, too, including your own heart.I
learned that the hard way.That means I
actually did it.

Don’t
worry though, because I'm really good at inventing plans to solve problems.
It's my specialty. I'm so smart that I can even invent more plans when my first
plans go wrong. That happens a lot.

My
name is Mikey and this is my story. It's filled with smooth rocks, slimy worms,
and sticky mud, and is crawling with hairy spiders, smelly pigs, boys acting
like pigs, and girls with pigtails. If you don't like these things, maybe you
should go read a book about nice clean fairies, but then you'll miss out on all
the fun.

Chapter
2

"Welcome,
welcome, welcome!" Aunt Millie literally sang as she swung open the
squeaky screen door. She looked as happy to see me as I was mad to be there.
Her friendly, sparkly blue eyes didn't help. Nothing could.

"Hello,
Millie," Dad said as he popped out of the car. "Good to see you, and
thanks for letting Mikey stay. He's really looking forward to it."Mr. Not Telling the Truth opened the trunk
and grabbed my bag.

35 Word Pitch: After the cook’s beat down and the
mess hall's incineration, Megan, shoplifter extraordinaire, must learn to trust
her posse of unlikely new friends. It’s that, or rot in juvie for something
they didn’t do.

If your MC was an Easter egg, what
flavor would she be?

Caramel—nice
and sticky, just like my shoplifting fingers!

Excerpt (first 300 words):

Diamond
studded perfection is why I’m here. They were beautiful, tempting, and worth
enough to pay more than one utility bill. But definitely not worth the twenty-thousand
questions cranking from this shrink’s mouth.

She
doesn’t look like any mother I’ve ever seen, although she insists I speak
freely, consider her a mother figure. It’s the lack of wrinkles around her eyes
and the way her teeth click that annoying stick of gum in her mouth that give
her away. She’s not old enough to be someone’s mother. Definitely not a mom,
not that I have much to compare her to.

“Megan,”
she says, twisting the black ball-point pen between her finger and thumb. “If
you don’t talk to me, then there’s nothing I can do for you.”

I cross my
arms over my chest. Part of me wants to talk, tell her I only pocketed the
diamond earrings to pay the light bill and put some groceries in the cabinets.
But I know better than to say that. Hinting at Mom’s unfitness will only land
me a cozy foster family. No thanks. I’ve kept my life a secret for the last
four years, since Dad died when I was twelve. And that’s exactly how I intend
for it to stay.

My eyes
lock on my fidgeting hands. The pretty, non-mom scratches her pen across the
notebook on her fancy desk, and I really hope she’s no mind reader, filling
that paper with all my secrets. She can write whatever she wants about me, it
won’t change who I am, or what I have to do to survive. That part of my brain
has already adjusted to the choices I make, choices that keep me alive, Mom
alive. No amount of words in a file can change that.

35-word Pitch: A girl with
OCD, raised in an isolated religious sect, trades favors with a vengeful
migrant worker to save her dying brother’s life. Gated meets The Butterfly
Clues with a dash of Eleanor & Park.

Whether
I’m stabbing them with a kitchen knife or they’re burning in a house fire. Whether
it’s me or a disease or a natural disaster doing the killing. It happens every
day in the dark corners of my obsessive mind.

Though
I’m ninety-nine percent sure I would never act on these thoughts, for a few
seconds I see myself suffocating my six-year-old sister instead of helping Mama
wrestle her into the kitchen chair. While the Attendants stand by, waiting to
fill a vial with Theresa’s blood, I blink four times to make the image retreat.

“Let
me go!” Theresa shouts, bucking like a wild animal.

Her
bare foot wallops my gut. For a second, I can’t breathe.

“Theresa
Marie Thomas, you cooperate right now,” Mama says in a voice that could freeze
the sun. “The Healer is watching you.”

My
sister must be more scared of Mama or The Healer than the needle because she
stops thrashing. Once the tip pierces the crook of her arm, her hazel eyes
widen. The thin red stream shooting up into the glass is beautiful, though it
seems wrong for the blood to leave her body.

After
we release Theresa, I avoid Mama’s eyes and mouth a prayer, then tap the back
of the chair four times. Not because I want to, but because I can’t stop
myself. That way it won’t be my fault if Theresa tests positive.

Sarah’s
next. Nearly nine, she’d rather live with nonbelievers than let anyone see
she’s scared. She jumps into the seat, jaw clenched and lips mashed together.
When the vial’s full, she pivots toward me, beaming.

35-word Pitch: No one knows 16-yr-old Charlie’s
the school’s Advice Doctor, prescribing chocolate and music in her coveted cure
kits. But when her best friend turns in a symptom sheet for betrayal, Charlie’s
perfect remedy is revenge.

If your MC was an Easter egg, what flavor
would she be?

I would be
a red velvet Easter egg, the same flavor as the pancakes my dad’s boyfriend
always makes.

Excerpt (first 300 words):

Charlie

It was only last week
that I’d overheard Penny Hill spilling her guts in the girl’s D-wing bathroom,
and the acoustics in there are fabulous. Through the whole of her weeping, I
couldn’t stop thinking about Joan Jett and how she was way too badass to care
if people talked behind her back. She would have given them the finger and
lived her life.

Unfortunately, Penny
Hill was not a kick-ass female rocker, and she did care if people talked about her. That’s what the black box in
my lap was for, a package filled with books and music and other ways to help
her move on.

“How well do you know
Penny?” Luke asked, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. He stayed well
within the speed limit as we passed Taco Bell and headed to the Valley.

“You’re not supposed
to use real names,” I said.

Luke smiled, the
dimple in his cheek only a shadow in the dimness of the car. “You know we mute
real names.” He flicked a glance at the video camera secured on his dashboard.
“We’re almost there, black box at the ready.”

“For the record,” I
say to the camera, “this excursion is brought to you by Joan Jett and all the
other girls out there who are through putting up with shit—”

“Language. I have to
mute that, too.”

“Bad Reputation”blared on the speakers, and I sang
along in my throatiest rocker voice until Luke laughed.

Luke was the only one
who knew about my double life. I needed a partner in crime, so he’d agreed to
be my chauffeur. I’d also agreed to let him film tonight: a documentary
featuring me as the emotional doctor, prescribing various forms of cheer to
people after life had knocked them on their asses.

35-word Pitch: A leg breaker wants out of the mob, but to earn freedom he must
kill a rival drug lord and save a kidnapped girl while dealing with shadows of
the past in his abusive hometown.

If your MC was an Easter egg, what flavor would he be?

Coffee—seemingly bitter on first taste, but quickly turns into an
addiction.

Excerpt
(first 300 words)

The apartment door was a cheap, brown, six-panel
hollow core with a dirty peephole and colorfully articulated graffiti that
would make a priest blush. But, Jake Caldwell was no priest. The door would
splinter off its hinges with a swift kick from his boot, just like the previous
dozen he’d kicked in over the years. Still, it would be easier if Carlos just
opened the door so Jake pounded again.

He waited, listening for sounds of movement over
barking dogs and crying babies in the units behind him. He felt conspicuous in
the littered hallway with the Glock at his side. Even in this shitty
neighborhood, a guy his size with a gun would warrant an eventual call to the
cops. Shadows flickered across the bottom of the door – Carlos staring out the
peephole. A stupid move. If Jake were here to whack the guy, he could just
shoot him through the door. As it was, the worst Jake planned to do was break
his kneecaps.

“Open the door, Carlos,” Jake said. No answer, but the
shadow remained.

Jake sighed and stepped back. With his good leg, he
exploded forward, driving his heel just above the knob. The lock assembly
collapsed against the splintered wood and the door burst open. Carlos cried out
as the door cracked his face, his wiry frame collapsing to the floor. He landed
on his ass, holding his nose. Blood poured through his fingers and onto his
stained, white t-shirt. Jake entered the apartment which reeked of cigarettes
and fried onions, shutting the remains of the door behind him. Carlos pushed
back toward a kitchen stacked with crusted plates and glasses, his wide eyes
fearful.

With the gun trained on Carlos, he walked to the
kitchen, grabbed a dirty dish towel and dropped it in the bleeding man’s lap.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Last night I had the distinct honor of inducting five extremely worthy authors into NestPitch 2015, and the grass-lined madness that is Team Basket Case. After weeks of submissions, spreadsheets, and slapping hands, my teammates Heather, Kristy, and I have a dynamic group of authors to introduce to you! We will be working with them for the next few weeks to get those submissions razor sharp, so there's no peeking on pages just yet, but I can tease you a little bit to get the ball rolling.

So here, in no particular order, is our team!

MIKEY GOES TO MAINE

MG/HumorChristopher Equinox LITTLE BLACK BOXYA/ContemporaryCindy R. WilsonTHE KOSHERSYA/ContemporaryAmy SmeadSUN AND BONEYA/Psychological ThrillerHeather DavisPOOR BOY ROADAdult/Mystery/ThrillerJames L. WeaverI think it's really important to note just how many outstanding entries passed through our hands, and how difficult it was to narrow our selections down to just five. My slushies (ask them, they'll tell you!) worked tirelessly with me to discuss all of the submissions, and, guys, this was hard. NestPitch has an absolutely outstanding pool of talent this year, and everyone who entered should be extremely proud of themselves.

On May 11th I will be posting
each author’s entire Pitch, so you can appreciate them properly!

You can also go to the Nestpitch Blog
where you'll find a link to all the blogs, as well as a complete Title,
Category/Genre & Author list.

Be sure to check in before May 11th
because that clever Nik is running Unmask the Agent again this year, and I
promise to update you on the details!

(There’s a $20Amazon Voucher up for grabs
and you don’t need have submitted to Nestpitch, all you need is a bit of a
detective spirit and to know your (our) agents!)

For now Team Basket Case is going to retreat to our cave of solitude and get cracking on edits, but be sure to visit the other mentor blogs to check out the other teams (even though, ya know, our team's the best ;)