Ah, The Writer's Voice! If you're here for that, please continue below to read my query and first 250 words. If you're not here for that, well-- the candy's on the house, the writing is free of charge, and you don't have to pay for my rants and rambles, either.
Without further ado:
Query:
The town of Lonesome Falls has
lost its legend, and seventeen-year-old Lyddie Belle Jones is determined to get
him back.
Thirty years ago, Boone Tucker
showed up out of the desert, an orphaned seven-year-old boy with more than the
usual amount of human abilities. He dug up the mountain that shaded Lonesome
Falls, planted the forest that fed it, and sprung the river that watered it. He
even drove Solomon Slade and his band of outlaws out of town—and then
disappeared.
It’s been twenty years since
anyone’s seen Boone Tucker. But all the good he did is beginning to unravel. The
people of Lonesome Falls grow desperate as the river dries up, the forest dies,
and the mountain starts to rumble. To make things even worse, Solomon Slade has found his way back.
When Lyddie's father goes missing while on a quest to save
the town, she decides to find their lost legend, bring him back, and make
him fix it all. But the biggest flaw in her plan, one that might destroy her
town—and her heart—is something she’d never considered: Boone Tucker wants
nothing to do with Lonesome Falls.
THE LEGEND OF LONESOME FALLS is a
75,000-word young adult western fantasy told in the vein of the great American
tall tale.
First 250 Words:
A Confession
They said it
was seven breaths from the top of Lonesome Falls to the tumble of boulders at
the bottom. I figured most people who went this way only used one.
The wind up
here was fierce. My skirts whipped around my legs, plastering them together. I
leaned into it just to stay upright, though I kind of wished it would blow me
away altogether. What waited at my back wasn’t any better than what waited in
front.
"Go on,”
Slade said, waving his pistol at me.
I teetered
closer to the edge. Just behind me and to the left, the Lonesome River used to
spring from a thick cut in the rock that ran deep into the heart of the
mountain. It was dry now, but I couldn’t help wondering if I would have had a
chance. If the water would have broken my fall.
I was about
six feet from the edge. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Mrs. Haversham would
have had a conniption if this were one of the novels we were studying in
school. But this was very, very real. As real as the rock beneath my bare feet,
the wind biting at my face, the roar of the empty space where the water used to
flow behind, next to, and before me.
Three
steps, six feet, seven breaths.
You’ll have
to forgive a girl for getting a tad philosophical in a situation like this.
I glanced
at Slade. He stayed put, under the shelter of the cliff wall adjacent to the old
spring.
