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:
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:
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.