Stories I’m Writing

TITLE: Sparrowfall

GENRE: YA Science Fiction

WORD COUNT: 80,000 words

STATUS: Editing

BLURB: Weird events occur when sixteen year old Sparrow speaks. Objects disappear. Reappear. Change substance. An overactive imagination or something more sinister? And where does that cute guy she’s crushing on fit in to the mystery?

When she investigates her past, she learns she’s part of an experiment developing humans capable of destroying matter using only their words. But Sparrow possesses power they never expected. She must elude the government and the lab that designed her, both of whom will stop at nothing to get her under their control. With a rogue assassin also targeting her, Sparrow has to find someone she can trust. Otherwise, she might not stay alive long enough to discover her true purpose.

EXCERPT: But Aubrey won’t be sidetracked. She squeezes my arm as we meander toward our shared locker. “You should ask Thomas to watch movies with us tonight.”

“What if he says no?” We stop in front of the locker, and I spin the combination.

“He won’t.”

I tug on the locker door. Jammed. “But how do I get the courage? I feel like such a dork every time I’m near him.”

“I don’t blame you.” She pulls out a tube of lip gloss. “He’s pretty cute.”

Cute? Come on. He’s hot.” I twist the lock again. A tingle, like an electric current, shoots up my spine as I pull on the stuck locker door. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

Aubrey holds up her mirror. “Hmm?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Open already.” The air shimmers like a mirage. A metallic tang fills my mouth while the tingle becomes a fiery throb centering in my throat. The locker flies open, and all its contents tumble on the floor. My legs tremble, and I almost sink to the floor with the effort of remaining standing. I grab the locker door to steady myself, but the tremor passes as quickly as it came. What the heck?

Sparrowfall visual


TITLE: Beyond the Stars, Past the Moon a retelling of the fairy tale East of the Sun, West of the Moon 

GENRE: Science Fiction, short story for an upcoming anthology

WORD COUNT: 8,000 words

STATUS: plan to indie publish it in an anthology

BLURB: Astrid makes the mistake of landing on a derelict moon base above a planet with a corrosive atmosphere. Inside the base lives Milos, a lonely young man who always wears his space suit and a reflective helmet. The base seems familiar, like from a memory or dream. What isn’t Milos telling her? And why won’t he show her his face?

Milos waits for the one destined to break his curse. When Astrid arrives, he realizes she’s everything he’s dreamt about for the last five hundred years. Can he make her care for him when she can’t see who he really is? And what if the sorceress who imprisoned him wakes up and destroys them both?

EXCERPT: When I’m sure we’re going to implode, the pod goes motionless, and the noise ceases. Except for Spark who continues to yip. I open my eyes cautiously. There’s a red glow through the window. Are we inside the base?

I glare at Spark. “Shush.” She whimpers, turns in a circle and flops down to rest her pointed chin on her paws. I undo my harness. “Tegan, what’s the atmosphere like?”

“Full suit recommended, though Spark will be unaffected. It appears the lower deck of the base is safe, but the upper levels have a sulfur reading of—”

“Enough already.” I jam my helmet on. The seal hisses. The recycled air reeks of rubber and artificial twilberry. Lovely. “What about life forms? A simple yes or no will suffice.”

“Yes. One. Male. Sentient. Though…strange.”

“What?”

“I can’t get a reading on species, but he is bipedal.”

“And hopefully friendly.” I’ve met others from different species and cultures, but never on my own. What if he’s hostile? Whoever tractor-beamed me into the base could easily blow me up, flood the hangar with radiation if he wants to salvage the pod for parts, or gas me if he wants to keep me alive to sell me to space pirates. But if that’s going to happen, I’d rather be out in the open than trapped in my pod.

I tighten the blade strapped to my thigh. Made from a sliver of freshum crystal, the knife will slice through anything. Dad fashioned it for me, setting my birthstone—a fiery-red star opal—in the hilt. He said it matched my hair. And my temper.

Beyond the Stars, Past the Moon


TITLE: The Two Queens of Kyrie Winner in the YA category of the 2015 First Impressions and the 2016 Genesis contests for ACFW.

GENRE: YA Fantasy

WORD COUNT: 80,000 words

STATUS: Complete revision in process

BLURB: Sixteen-year-old Tyrzah inherits an ancient bracelet that awakens a prescient gift within her. When her older sister, the newly-crowned Queen Samara, makes a treaty with the neighboring country Rhüghia, Tyrzah foresees the disastrous consequences. Her warnings go unheeded, and the high priest uses the ensuing chaos to further entrench the worship of the stars. The Nal, leader of the Old Ways, secretly anoints Tyrzah as queen, charging her to lead the people back to the Maker. Torn between saving her sister and saving the kingdom, Tyrzah must develop her emerging talent, dismantle a dangerous cult, and forge powerful alliances. Because only one queen can rule Kyrie.

EXCERPT:

“Shhh.” Father shakes his head, and we both look at the curtains drawn around the alcove where Samara still murmurs her prayers. “Your mother wanted you to have it.”

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t it be Samara’s?” Even as I protest, I pick up the bracelet, tilting it so the emerald catches the light with a green flash. A powerful surge sweeps through my wrist and forearm. I inhale sharply and almost drop the bracelet. The contact is painful but exhilarating. As the pain intensifies, my fingers curl around the bracelet. My hand glows golden. My bones are on fire.

The air crackles with energy, and my hair lifts off my scalp. I close my eyes.

Oil lamps blaze. People crowd the room. My fingertips smooth over the embroidered gold figures on my deep blue silk gown. I glance behind me at the empty throne.

“Put the bracelet in the bag.” The quiet words shatter my vision. I’m back on the bed, sitting next to Father. “In here.” He fumbles for the box.

I don’t want to obey, but he’s insistent. Finally, I pick up the velvet sack in the box and slip the bracelet inside. The sensation fades. My hand returns to its normal color. The bracelet hums for a moment then falls silent.

“I’m sorry,” Father runs his hand over his face. “I should’ve given it to you before.”

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