NaNoEdMo

I'm sure you've all heard of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), but with all the work I've been doing with my latest manuscript, Knights of Avalon, I wasn't able to join in. That's probably for the best, because I'm more of a turtle than a hare: I write a few paragraphs a day, every day, without fail. Even when I have an entire day devoted to writing, I'm happy if I can write more than a single page in a sitting.

Though I haven't been trying to write a whole novel in a month, I was hoping to have my edits done by the end of November. Well, like many NaNoWriMo participants, I won't be meeting my self-imposed deadline, but I'm not going to sweat it. I edited a huge chunk of my book in November, I'm almost done, and most importantly, I feel that the edits I made were good ones. In the end, that's what matters.

So I am now declaring December to be NaNoEdMo, National Novel Editing Month. Oh yes, the latest round of edits shall be completed by the end of December! And if I fail in my mission, I shall wrap myself in bacon and throw myself into a pit of ravenous ferrets. I'm serious, I'm getting this done, because those ferrets don't mess around when they're hungry.

And you never know, maybe NaNoEdMo will catch on with other writers, because if you write a novel in a month, you're going to need AT LEAST a month to edit. Or if you're me, you'll need about four months, on average. Let's face it, I'm like those Comcast turtles.

And Now for Something Completely Different

Still working on putting 'Knights of Avalon' into first person. I wish I could do the re-write faster, but there's a lot more to it than just switching pronouns. I also have to make sure I'm writing in the main character's voice. That's the fun, if time-consuming, part, because I love my main character and the way she thinks.

So while I re-write, I thought I'd discuss some other topics, like what I'm going to wear for Halloween. This is vitally important! Did I mention that I have to go to a Halloween party and I have no idea what to wear? OK, after much deliberation, I've pretty much settled on a costume, but I thought I'd share all the other ideas I had.

Being short on cash and sewing skills, I was forced to improvise. As I mentioned on my Twitter feed, I do have a lovely Renfest outfit, but I wore it last year with a pair of fairy wings and I didn't want to repeat the costume.

Here were my other ideas:

1. A doll from Dollhouse. I could be Lima, the doll no one ever sees on the show. I'd dress up in a pair of pajamas and wander around with a blank look on my face, saying things like, "Did I fall asleep?" and "I always try to be my best."

2. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Come on, she's awesome! I already have a black robe and some white lace and I always wear my hair in a pony tail, all I'd need is a judge's gavel.

3. Slacker Ninja, the mysterious assassin who's too lazy to leave the house. All I'd need is a bathrobe, slippers, and some nunchucks.

4. Pandora. I love me some Greek mythology and I collect boxes. The only reason why I didn't end up going with this idea is that I'd have to buy or make a Greek tunic. That said, if I was going to do it, I'd walk around with my box, making a big show of resisting the temptation to look inside. Then I'd ask other people to take a look and if someone did open the box, maybe I'd have a Jonas Brothers CD or Hello Kitty in there, basically something to represent all the evils of the world. :-)

5. Katniss Everdeen. What, you're saying you don't know who she is? Then you've been missing out! I almost went with this idea too. I have some brown pants and thanks to my Ren garb, I do have a flowy green shirt. All I'd need is a bow and arrow, paint some blood on my face, and maybe have someone with a video camera following my every move. If people asked me who I was, I'd make them sit down and read The Hunger Games.

6. Crazy cat lady. I have lots of toy cats. I figured I'd stick one on my head, a couple on my shoulders, etc. Voila! Instant cat lady! Except Halloween is all about being something you're not.

6. Rabbit tamer. This is what I've decided on. So I have a Monty Python Rabbit of Caerbannog, complete with giant fangs. I have lots of kitty carriers because I do animal rescue. I have a brown trench coat and an Indiana Jones-style hat. I bought myself an Indy-style whip. OK, it's going to be a little like Lara Croft, but I'm going to run around, warning people not to let the rabbit out of its cage and once it does get out, I'm going to make a big show of it going for my neck and me having to fight it off with my whip. Sure, it's silly, but that's the fun of it. I might also bring my stuffed Cthulhu for the occasion.

How's My Writing? Call 1-800-Do I-Suck?

I kid. I kid. I know my writing doesn't suck, it's pretty good, I just want it to be better.

Here's the first two chapters re-done in first person (prologue has been removed and chapter two is in a separate post below). I wasn't very sure about it at first, but I think I just might like the POV change.

--

A call at two in the morning was never a good thing. “Justine, sweetie, wake up.” And now I was getting one. It was dark. Not early morning, crack of dawn dark. More like middle of the night, what-is-my-mother-doing-there-standing-over-me-in-her-pajamas dark. I couldn’t see her face, but the clock told me it was 2:13am. This wasn’t going to be good.

“What is it?” I wriggled out from under the covers, trying to get my bearings. My mother clutched a phone in one hand. No, this wasn’t going to be good at all.

“It’s Mrs. Martinez. She wants to know if you’ve heard at all from Gwen tonight.”

“What? Why would…” It took me a moment to get it. Something had happened to my best friend. I was suddenly wide awake and reaching for the phone. “Mrs. Martinez? Hi, it’s Justine. What’s going on?”

I had known Mrs. Martinez for over ten years. The lady was unshakeable. She never raised her voice, never lost her cool. Not even that time Gwen and I had come home covered from head to toe in mud when we were little. She had just stared at us in horror, burst into laughter, and grabbed the garden hose. Now her voice wasn’t much more than a hoarse whisper. I had never heard her like this. “I’m sorry to wake you up,” she said, as polite as ever, even as her voice trembled. “No one’s heard from Gwen since 11 o’clock. She went out with her boyfriend then on the way home, her car broke down. We can’t find her, or the car. We were hoping…”

“I haven’t heard from her. Not since around 7pm,” I said, trying to break the news to Mrs. Martinez as gently as possible, even as I tried to process the news that Gwen was missing. “But I’ll help you find her. Where was she last seen?” I rolled out of bed and headed to the dresser. My mother was glaring at me. I ignored it. Something had happened to my best friend. I had to go out and try to find her.

Mrs. Martinez hesitated. “I know you want to help, Justine. You’re as afraid as we are. I understand, but it’s 2 in the morning and there’s just not that much you can do right now.” Bullshit. There was plenty I could do. But my mother was standing there, arms folded across her chest, staring me down.

Mrs. Martinez’s voice cracked for a moment before she pulled it together. “Keep Gwen in your prayers and we’ll let you know when we get some news, and call us if you do hear from her.”

“I’ll do that,” I promised. “Can you at least tell me where her car broke down?” I was already formulating a plan in my mind.

“Justine, I know you too well to tell you that. If we hear from her we’ll let you know. Could I talk to your mother?”

I handed the phone back to my Mom, listening in while I turned on the lights and rummaged through my drawers for some clothes. My room was up on the second floor of our family’s Cape Cod, painted in a tropical blue with Bruce Lee posters on the walls and a neon purple chair in the corner. Gwen sometimes joked that I must have been color blind, but I just liked it that way. Who said colors needed to coordinate?

“It could be something as simple as her cell phone running out of power,” I heard my Mom say, practical and level-headed. Then again, it wasn’t her daughter that had gone missing. If it was, my Mom would be kicking down doors and interrogating suspects to get her kid back. For a moment, I wondered if perhaps my mother was right, maybe Gwen would be giving her parents a call anytime. But no, I knew better. Sure, Gwen and I had had our adventures, but Gwen didn’t stay out late without checking in. Gwen didn’t forget to call. My best friend was in trouble.

“Hang in there, Gabriela,” I heard my Mom say. “She’ll probably be calling any minute.” No, Gwen would never scare her parents like this, she would’ve found a way to contact them. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

My mother hung up the phone and arched an eyebrow at me. I was standing there, my clothes piled in my arms. “You’re not going out,” she said, and I knew she meant it. My Mom wasn’t exactly a big lady, she was skinny, about 5’5”, with curly brown hair and a narrow face, I wondered sometimes if we were related, but somehow she always loomed larger in my imagination.

“I’m supposed to go back to sleep? Gwen would never stay out till two in the morning, especially on a school night, and she’d never not check in. She could be hurt, or kidnapped…” I didn’t know if I’d win this battle, but for Gwen’s sake, I had to try. She was out there, in trouble. The more people she had searching for her, the better.

“Or she could be someplace without cell phone service, getting her car fixed,” my Mom said. I usually wasn’t annoyed by her logic. “I know this isn’t like Gwen,” my Mom softened her tone a little, “but you can’t launch a one-woman search operation for her. Which is what I know you’re planning to do. Try to get some sleep and we’ll see what the situation is in the morning. We’ll help however we can, but Gwen’s two hours away and you running around South Jersey in the middle of the night isn’t going to do anyone any good.” It could do Gwen some good.

“You promise you’ll wait?” my Mom asked.

“She’s in trouble, I know it.”

“You don’t know that, Justine.”

I looked my Mom up and down. Maybe we were related after all, she was as stubborn as I was. I leaned against the dresser, pissed off. I wasn’t eighteen yet. Hell, I wasn’t even seventeen. I couldn’t do as I pleased, and there was the chance my Mom might’ve been right. If I disobeyed her on something this big, I’d be grounded for weeks, and then I’d never be able to help Gwen. Not to mention, she’d be watching to see if I snuck out. “OK, we wait until the morning then we’ll see.”

“I know it’ll be hard, but try to get some rest.” My Mom touched my cheek. I was fighting off tears. Tears of frustration that I hadn’t won this round. “You can keep the phone by you if you like.”

“OK,” I said, swallowing hard. “But in the morning, I’m going down to Avalon.”

Thankfully, my Mom didn’t disagree with me. Or we might have had an epic battle then and there. “Hopefully Gwen’ll call her parents and you won’t need to.”

The moment my Mom stepped out of the room, I dialed Gwen’s cell. It went directly to voice mail. I tried sending a text message next. No reply. I really don’t know what I was expecting. I would’ve tried her boyfriend next, talk to him about what had happened, where Gwen had last been heard from, but I had never met him, I didn’t even know his last name, much less his phone number.

I turned off the light and stared out the window at the moonless night, wondering where Gwen was right now. Deep down, I knew it was bad. Gwen wasn’t going to be returning my call tonight. That didn’t stop me from keeping my phone by my side. First thing in the morning, if Gwen hadn’t turned up safe and sound, I promised myself I’d drive down to Avalon and tear the place apart looking for her.

Knights of Avalon - 1st Person POV - Chapter 2

Morning. I blinked my bleary eyes, watching the sun filter in through the windows. Gwen had never called. She had never turned up. It was as if she had vanished off the face of the Earth.

I sat cross-legged on my family’s blue couch in a sleep-deprived haze, my long brown hair tucked into a messy bun to keep it out of my face. I was clutching a steaming hot mug of coffee in my hands like it was a life preserver. On any other day, in any other situation, my mother would have made some comment about the coffee. I had started drinking the stuff early, when I was just thirteen. My Mom had warned me that it would stunt my growth. Of course, once I hit my growth spurt, she switched to shooting me disapproving looks. This morning though, we had other things to worry about.

I held the coffee up to my face, breathing in the steam. Then I gulped it down. I needed to be alert and if it was going to take a heart-stopping dose of caffeine to keep me awake, then so be it. I watched my mother pace back and forth as she talked to Mrs. Martinez on the phone. She was a blur to me. My whole world right now was a blur. I didn’t have my contacts in and I was as good as blind without them.

I might not have been able to see much of my mother’s expression, but I could hear what she was saying and I knew it wasn’t good. My Mom had done a full 180 from last night. She had given up on trying to convince Mrs. Martinez that Gwen would be checking in any minute and was now trying to comfort her. “It’ll be OK,” she kept telling Gwen’s Mom in a whisper. Mrs. Martinez must’ve been crying. I told myself crying wouldn’t help. I needed to do something. “We’re here for you. Anything you need,” my Mom said. “I think Justine would be more than OK with coming down to help. She can be there this afternoon if you like.” Now I was wide awake, and reflecting on how awesome my Mom could be.

My Mom hung up and walked over, sinking into the chair across from me. Despite her insistence last night that there wasn’t much to worry about, the dark circles under her eyes told a different story. “I assume there’s no way I can convince you to go to school?”

No way in hell. I had never skipped school, but I had never had a friend go missing. I shook my head, ready for the question. “I haven’t missed a single day this semester, and how could I concentrate on my schoolwork anyways?”

As it turned out, my Mom didn’t need a whole lot of convincing. “I figured as much,” she said with complete understanding. “Here’s the deal,” she said, leaning forward. “Gwen’s parents have checked the hospitals, talked to all her friends, and filed a report with the police. There’s been no word from her since last night. The police have recommended that her parents blanket the area with fliers in the hope that someone’s either seen her or knows something about her disappearance. I know you’re worried sick, and so am I, but so far there’s no evidence of foul play. The police just think it’s best to be aggressive in the search for her. If you want to help with handing out fliers, you can take today and tomorrow off from school. With the three-day weekend coming up, that’ll give you five whole days to help look for Gwen. Hopefully you won’t even need all that time. How’s that sound?”

There was always a deal with my Mom, but she was fair. Still, I could see what she was doing, channeling all of my fear and anger into something she thought would keep me safe. For some reason, my Mom seemed to think I’d try something risky. It’s almost as if after sixteen years on this planet, my Mom knew me. “That sounds good,” I said, managing a weak smile. She had given me five full days to search for Gwen, I’d work with that.

“I’ll write you a note, but you need to be back in school by Tuesday,” my Mom continued. “Mrs. Martinez said you’re welcome to stay in their guest bedroom if you like. Or you could stay with your father…”

I screwed up my face, as if my coffee had suddenly turned into acid.

“Or you could stay with the Martinezes,” my Mom said. She came over and gave me a kiss on the head. I hugged her back. Moms really did have a way of making things a little bit better. “It’ll be OK,” she promised me. “When you go down there, you’ll call right away if there’s any news about Gwen?”

“Sure,” I said. “Do they have any better idea of what happened last night? I mean, where was Gwen last seen, things like that?” I was trying to play it off like it was an innocent question, my brown eyes all wide and sad.

My Mom loomed over me, her lips pursed into a thin line. “You’re not the police, you are not to act like the police. You stay out of their way and do whatever you can to help Mr. and Mrs. Martinez out.”

“I know,” I said, glancing away.

“I mean it,” she said. “We’re worried sick about Gwen, we do not need to be worried about you as well.”

“I understand,” I said, letting out a little sigh. Of course, the best way to help Mr. and Mrs. Martinez was to find Gwen. I just couldn’t be stupid about how I did it. The whole plan was to make things better, not worse, but first, I needed to find out where my best friend had disappeared. “Would it really hurt though if I visited where Gwen was last seen? If I didn’t cause any trouble? Just poked around?”

Sometimes, much to my sleep-deprived surprise, the direct approach worked. My Mom gave in, a little too easily I thought. “Well, you’re going to find out anyways, but on one condition: You get some rest before you head out on the road. You got, what, three or four hours of sleep last night, max?”

Probably more like two and a half. It had been a hard night. I had fought off sleep for as long as I could, and when it finally came, I kept on jerking awake, thinking I had heard the phone ringing. Given how my eyelids were fluttering closed, even with the dose of caffeine, my mother’s demand wasn’t a bad one. “OK, one way or the other, I’ll make myself take a nap before I go,” I told her.

Her condition met, my Mom finally seemed satisfied. She perched on the edge of the chair’s armrest as she spoke. “Do you know where Stone Harbor is?”

I nodded. Gwen had taken me there before. It was just south of Avalon.

“According to Gwen’s boyfriend, she called and said her car broke down on 96th Street. Don’t make me regret telling you that. You hear me, Justine?”

“All I’m going to do is take a look. I need to see for myself,” I said. Four hours ago, everything had changed. My best friend, one of the only friends I had in the entire world, had gone missing. I had to find out what happened.

I jumped into the shower, the warm water only succeeding in making me more sleepy, not less, and got dressed. I wasn’t a big fan of the educational institution known as ‘high school,’ so I wasn’t too broken up about missing a day or two. I enjoyed the learning, especially history class, it was the other kids that I despised. I had forever been branded ‘the fat girl’ by my peers. The fact that I kicked ass in cross country and had a black belt in jujutsu didn’t seem to count for much in my basketball and football-obsessed school.

Well, fuck those kids. I wasn’t fat. I was just big, and I was OK with that. My family was Polish, my last name was Kwiatkowski, but I must have had a great-great-grandmother in my family tree who was a Viking warrior. There wasn’t much else to explain how I had gotten to be 6 foot and built like a linebacker. Well, there was my father, who was 6’2” and built like a linebacker, but I didn’t want to dwell on the thought that I might take after him. When I had been younger, I had been tormented mercilessly by the other kids, except for Gwen, who always stood up for me, but the cross-country helped with the weight and the jujutsu took care of the bullying. I now knew from personal experience that you couldn’t shove an entire kid into a locker, but you could bash their heads into one if they were picking a fight with you. Or if you saw them trying to bully another student. I went from being “the fat girl” to “the mean fat girl,” with most of the kids in my school now keeping their distance, and I liked that arrangement just fine.

I came back downstairs to find my mother had spread out a huge breakfast on our white kitchen table. My Mom was far from an expert chef, mac n’ cheese with orange powder was a fairly regular staple of our diet, but the breakfast looked good. “Eat, sleep, then get on the road,” my Mom said, concern clearly etched upon her face. I could tell she was still in shock about everything that had happened, then again, so was I.

I sat down and piled eggs, bacon, and several wedges of cantaloupe onto my plate. Part of me just wanted to get going, but my Mom was right, I needed to take care of myself before I could help look for Gwen.

“Mornin’,” my little sister Rachel said with a yawn as she shuffled into the kitchen wearing fluffy purple bunny slippers. Poor kid. She was so cheerful and innocent. She hadn’t heard about Gwen yet and I didn’t know how to tell her.

Three years younger than me, Rachel was like a trimmer, cuter version of myself. With big brown doe-like eyes, she was also far more adorable than I had ever been. Rachel took one look at the breakfast spread laid out before her then one look at the tired and worn expressions both me and my mother shared and knew something was up. “What’s wrong?”

“Gwen didn’t come home last night,” my Mom told her as gently as she could. “No one knows where she is. Hopefully all this worry is for nothing and she’ll turn up soon safe and sound.” I was so thankful my Mom was there to explain it.

Rachel took a moment to let the news sink in, perhaps wondering if it was all a dream and she had never really woken up. “Gwen? Missing? She wouldn’t run away…”

I offered a solemn nod of my head. Rachel was a smart kid, she picked up quick. “Yeah, which is why we’re all worried. But like Mom said, hopefully she’ll turn up OK. I’m going down for a few days to help hand out fliers.”

Rachel pulled out a chair and stared at the piles of food, having lost any appetite. “She’s missing?” she repeated to herself. “How worried are you?” she turned and asked me.

Shit. I think I visibly winced at the question. How worried was I? Part of me couldn’t believe this was happening, the other part of me wanted to scream and hunt down whoever did this to Gwen. “Really worried,” I said, trying to sound as if I wasn’t scared out of my mind.

“But it’s too early to be leaping to conclusions,” my Mom said, leaning in to give Rachel a hug. “I’m sure Gwen will turn up.” My little sister made a big show of trying to avoid the hug, complete with a roll of the eyes for good measure. Ah, to be thirteen years old again. It wasn’t that long ago.

Rachel glanced over. “Gwen has to know you’ll be looking for her. I bet that makes her feel better.” I didn’t know what to say to that. I just shrugged my shoulders and looked down at my breakfast. Maybe Gwen was counting on me, if she was, then I couldn’t let her down.

“Think you might run into Dad while you’re down there?” my sister asked after a pause, realizing that if I was headed down to Avalon that I’d be close to our father’s place.

“Wasn’t planning to,” I said. “With everything going on, it’s not really a good time.” I could have said a lot more, but I did have it in me to be diplomatic when I needed to. I didn’t want to upset my sister, especially not today.

“Well, if you do, tell him I say ‘hi,’” Rachel said, ever the optimist. My little sister didn’t hold grudges quite the same way I did. At the moment though, that was the farthest thing from my mind. I had to figure out what had happened to my friend.

Knights of Avalon: Prologue

I'm leaning heavily towards dropping the prologue. I like it, and lots of people have told me they like it too, but in relation to the rest of the manuscript, it's fast becoming superfluous.

--

He had told her not to run from them. Now Gwen was running for her life. She kicked off her heels and raced down the street. There’d be people there, even at this time of night.

As she ran past shuttered shops, she screamed for help, her voice echoing off the empty buildings. There wasn’t anyone here. It was only 11 o’clock. Why wasn’t anyone here?

She stopped in front of a diner, an unplugged neon sign advertising it was open 24 hours. Gwen tugged at the doors, pounded on the windows. The diner was dark, plates full of food left sitting on the counter in front of empty chairs.

Gwen tossed a glance behind her. They were coming. They had never hurt her before, but now she wasn’t so sure. They could see her. They were hunting her.

She fumbled for her cell phone. “Come on, come on.” No signal. “Come on!” It had to be them. This always happened when they were near.

So get away. Gwen ducked into an alley and hit send the moment her phone came to life. She scaled a low brick wall as the phone rang. If he wasn’t there, she’d try Justine.

She counted the rings. One, two, three. On the third, he picked up.

“Tejaun!” Even Gwen was surprised by how desperate she sounded. “I’m in Stone Harbor, off 96th Street. The shadows, they’re hunting me!”

She never got to hear his response. The phone died again. The shadows floated through the air, trailing after her.

Then before her, salvation, and stylish salvation at that. A man getting into a green Porsche. Gwen waved her arms, calling for help.

Her knight in shining armor, the man ran to her aid, meeting her half way. He was tall and handsome, with green eyes, a dark beard, and as it turned out, a British accent. Tejaun would have been jealous.

“Please! Help! Someone just tried to mug me!” Gwen lied. It was more believable than the truth. Ordinary people couldn’t see the shadows. She looked over her shoulder, they had stopped their approach. That was the good news. The bad was that they were taking on a solid form. She had never seen that before. They stood in a semi-circle at a distance, silently watching. Gwen fought off a wave of panic.

Her rescuer glanced at the shadows and smiled. “We’re so happy to have you back, Lady Guinevere.”

Before the shock could even register, the man grabbed hold of her and dragged her back to the car. Gwen jabbed the man in the solar plexus with her elbow and twisted her body to make him lose his grip.

The man chuckled with amusement, not even flinching. “You’ve gotten bold after all these years, m’lady.”

Gwen felt tears run down her cheeks as she continued to struggle. It wasn’t any use but she had to try. The parking lot was empty. Even if Tejaun had gotten her message, he couldn’t get here in time. Her hand slid down to her phone again, this time trying to dial 911 if she could get a signal. Maybe the police wouldn’t be able to see the shadows, but they’d certainly be able to see her kidnapper.

Her would-be rescuer spun her around to face him and snatched the phone out of her hands. “Come now, m’lady,” he said, throwing Gwen’s last hope for escape against the pavement, the cell phone shattering into pieces.

He shoved her into the car, binding her hands behind her. “Don’t be afraid. I have no doubt some knight will come to your rescue very soon. In fact, we’re counting on it.”

Knights of Avalon: Chapter 1

A call at two in the morning was never a good thing. “Justine, sweetie, wake up.”

Justine felt her Mom’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her from her dreams. She opened her bleary eyes to find her Mom standing there in her pajamas, the room bathed in shadows, the alarm clock showing it was 2:13am. One look at her mother’s face and Justine was sitting up in bed. “What is it?” she asked, glancing down to the phone her Mom clutched tightly in one hand.

“It’s Mrs. Martinez. She wants to know if you’ve heard at all from Gwen tonight,” her Mom whispered, covering the receiver as she explained the situation to Justine.

“What? Why would…” It took Justine a moment to get it. Something had happened to her best friend. She suddenly found herself wide awake and reaching for the phone. “Mrs. Martinez? Hi, it’s Justine. What’s going on?”

In all the time Justine had known Mrs. Martinez, and she had known her for over ten years, she had never heard her raise her voice, never seen her upset. Gwen’s Mom was unflappable. Now she barely recognized her on the phone. “I’m sorry to wake you up,” Mrs. Martinez said, as polite as ever, even as her voice trembled. “No one’s heard from Gwen since around 11pm. She went out with her boyfriend, Tejaun, then on the way home, her car broke down. We can’t find her, or the car. We were hoping…”

“I haven’t heard from her. Not since around 7pm,” Justine broke the news to Mrs. Martinez. “But I’ll help you find her. Where was she last seen?” Justine rolled out of bed and headed to the dresser, ignoring her mother’s withering glare.

Mrs. Martinez hesitated. “I know you want to help, Justine. You’re as afraid as we are. I understand, but it’s 2 in the morning and there’s just not that much you can do right now.” Her voice faltered as she struggled to hold it together. “Keep Gwen in your prayers and we’ll let you know the moment we get some news. Just let us know if you do happen to hear from her.”

“I’ll do that,” Justine promised. “Can you at least tell me where her car broke down?”

“Justine, I know you too well to tell you that,” Mrs. Martinez said as gently as she could. “We’ll keep you updated. Could I talk to your mother?”

Justine handed the phone back over to her Mom. She listened in while she turned on the lights and rummaged through her drawers for some clothes. Her room was up on the second floor of her family’s Cape Cod, painted in a tropical blue with Bruce Lee posters covering the walls. Gwen sometimes joked that Justine must have been color blind, but Justine just liked it that way.

“It could be something as simple as her cell phone running out of power,” she heard her Mom say, practical and level-headed. Then again, it wasn’t her daughter that had gone missing. If it was, her Mom would be kicking down doors and interrogating suspects to get her kid back. Justine tried to tell herself that her Mom was right, that it was a misunderstanding, that Gwen would be giving her parents a call anytime, but she knew better. Gwen didn’t stay out late without checking in, Gwen didn’t forget to call. Her best friend was in trouble.

“Hang in there, Gabriela,” her Mom said. “She’ll probably be calling any minute.” No, Gwen would never scare her parents like this, she would’ve found a way to contact them. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

Her Mom hung up the phone and arched an eyebrow as Justine bumped the dresser drawer closed with her hip, her clothes piled in her arms. “You’re not going out,” her Mom said in no uncertain terms. Justine’s Mom wasn’t exactly a big lady, sort of the opposite of Justine. Her Mom was skinny, about 5’5”, with curly brown hair and a narrow face, but somehow she always loomed larger in Justine’s imagination.

“I’m supposed to go back to sleep?” Justine asked. “Gwen would never stay out till two in the morning, especially on a school night, and she’d never not check in. She could be hurt, or kidnapped…” She couldn’t really fight with her Mom, Justine knew she wouldn’t win, but she had to try.

“Or she could be someplace without cell phone service, getting her car fixed,” her Mom said. “I know this isn’t like Gwen,” her Mom conceded, softening her tone a little, “but you can’t launch a one-woman search operation for her. Which is what I know you’re planning to do. Try to get some sleep and we’ll see what the situation is in the morning. We’ll help however we can, but Gwen’s two hours away and you running around South Jersey in the middle of the night isn’t going to do anyone any good. You promise you’ll wait?”

Justine slumped against the dresser. If she disobeyed her Mom on something this big, she’d be grounded for weeks, and then she’d never be able to help her friend. “OK, we wait until the morning then we’ll see.”

“I know it’ll be hard, but try to get some rest,” her Mom said, touching her cheek. “You can keep the phone by you if you like.”

The moment her Mom stepped out of the room, Justine dialed Gwen’s cell. It went directly to voice mail. She tried sending a text message next. No reply. Maybe try the boyfriend, but Justine had never met him, she didn’t even know his last name, much less his phone number.

She stared out the window at the moonless night, wondering what could have happened. Deep down, she knew it was bad. Gwen wasn’t going to be returning her call. That didn’t stop her from keeping the phone by her side. At the first crack of dawn, if her best friend hadn’t turned up safe and sound, Justine would drive down to Avalon, where Gwen now lived, and tear the place apart looking for her.

Knights of Avalon: Chapter 2

The next morning, Justine sat cross-legged on her family’s blue couch in a sleep-deprived haze, her long brown hair tucked into a messy bun to keep it out of her face. In her hands she clutched a steaming hot mug of coffee like it was a life preserver. On any other day, in any other situation, her mother would have made some comment about the coffee. When Justine had started drinking the stuff a few years ago, her Mom had warned her that it would stunt her growth. Of course, once Justine hit her growth spurt, her mother switched to merely giving her disapproving looks. This morning though, Justine and her Mom had other things to worry about.

Justine listened in to her mother’s conversation with Mrs. Martinez as the morning sun filtered in through the windows. She couldn’t hear what Gwen’s Mom was saying, but she knew it wasn’t good. Still no word from Gwen, still no sign of what had happened to her. It was as if she had vanished off the face of the Earth.

Her Mom’s tone of voice had changed too. She had given up on trying to convince Mrs. Martinez that Gwen would be checking in any minute now. “It’ll be OK,” she kept telling Gwen’s Mom in a gentle whisper. Justine knew Mrs. Martinez must’ve been crying. “We’re here for you. Anything you need. I think Justine would be more than OK with coming down to help. She can be there this afternoon if you like.” Justine glanced up, taking a moment to reflect on how awesome her Mom could be.

Her Mom hung up and walked over, sinking into the chair across from Justine. Despite her insistence last night that there wasn’t much to worry about, the dark circles under her eyes told a different story. “I assume there’s no way I can convince you to go to school?”

Justine shook her head, ready for the question. “I haven’t missed a single day this semester, and how could I concentrate on my schoolwork anyways?” There was no way Justine was going to let her Mom talk her into going to school, not when her best friend was out there in trouble.

As it turned out, her Mom didn’t need a whole lot of convincing. “I figured as much,” she said with complete understanding. “Here’s the deal,” she said, leaning forward. “Gwen’s parents have checked the hospitals, talked to all her friends, and filed a report with the police. There’s been no word from her since last night. The police have recommended that her parents blanket the area with fliers in the hope that someone’s either seen her or knows something about her disappearance. I know you’re worried sick, and so am I, but so far there’s no evidence of foul play. The police just think it’s best to be aggressive in the search for her. If you want to help with handing out fliers, you can take today and tomorrow off from school. With the three-day weekend coming up, that’ll give you five whole days to help look for Gwen. Hopefully you won’t even need all that time. How’s that sound?”

Justine knew she wouldn’t get a better deal from her Mom, but she could see what she was doing, she was channeling all of Justine’s fear and anger into a safe activity. For some inconceivable reason, Justine’s Mom seemed to be afraid Justine would do something risky. It’s almost as if after sixteen years on this planet, her Mom could predict exactly what Justine would do. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, truly grateful. “That sounds good.”

“I’ll write you a note, but you need to be back in school by Tuesday,” her Mom continued. “Mrs. Martinez said you’re welcome to stay in their guest bedroom if you like. Or you could stay with your father…”

Justine made a face, as if her coffee had suddenly turned into acid.

“Or you could stay with the Martinezes.” Her Mom stood up and gave Justine a kiss on the head. Justine was too tired and too worried about her friend to squirm away. “You let me know if there’s any news about Gwen, OK?”

“I will,” Justine said. “Do they have any better idea of what happened last night? I mean, where was Gwen last seen, things like that?”

Her Mom pursed her lips into a thin line and leveled her gaze at Justine. “You’re not the police, you are not to act like the police. You stay out of their way and do whatever you can to help Mr. and Mrs. Martinez out.”

Justine looked up at her mother with big, innocent brown eyes.

“I mean it,” her Mom said. “We’re worried sick about Gwen, we do not need to be worried about you as well.”

“I know,” Justine said with a little sigh. The whole plan was to make things better, not worse, to find her friend and not muck up anything else in the process. “Would it really hurt though if I visited where Gwen was last seen? If I didn’t cause any trouble? Just poked around?”

To her surprise, her Mom gave in. “Well, you’re going to find out anyways, but on one condition: You get some rest before you head out on the road. You got, what, three or four hours of sleep last night, max?”

As far as conditions went, that wasn’t a bad one. Justine wanted to head out on the road right away, but she couldn’t help her friend if she fell asleep at the wheel and had an accident. “OK, one way or the other, I’ll make myself take a nap before I go,” Justine promised.

Her mother finally seemed satisfied. “Do you know where Stone Harbor is? It’s just south of Avalon. According to her boyfriend, Gwen called and said her car broke down on 96th Street. Use that knowledge for good, not for evil. You hear me, young lady?”

“I’m just going to take a look. I need to see for myself,” Justine said. Four hours ago, everything had changed and her best friend, one of the only friends she had in the entire world, had gone missing. She had to find out what happened.

Justine jumped into the shower and got dressed. She wasn’t exactly a big fan of the educational institution known as ‘high school,’ so she wasn’t too broken up about missing a day or two. She liked the learning just fine, especially history class, it was the other kids that she hated. She had forever been branded ‘the fat girl’ by her peers. The fact that she excelled in cross country and had a black belt in jujutsu didn’t seem to count for much in her basketball and football-obsessed school.

Justine’s family was Polish, her last name was Kwiatkowski, but she must have had a great-great-grandmother in her family tree who was a Viking warrior. There wasn’t much else to explain how Justine had gotten to be 6 foot and built like a linebacker. Well, there was her father, who was 6’2” and built like a linebacker, but Justine didn’t like to dwell on the thought that she might take after him. When she had been younger, she had been tormented mercilessly by the other kids for being fat, but the cross-country helped with the weight and the jujutsu took care of the bullying. With the exception of her ex-boyfriend Steve, nowadays most of the kids in her school steered clear. She liked that arrangement just fine.

Justine came back downstairs to find her mother had laid out a huge breakfast for her on their white kitchen table. Her mother was far from an expert chef, mac n’ cheese with orange powder was a fairly regular staple of their diet, but the breakfast looked like a feast. “Eat, sleep, then get on the road,” her Mom said, concern clearly etched upon her face. Justine could tell she was still in shock about everything that had happened, then again, so was she.

Justine sat down and piled eggs, bacon, and several wedges of cantaloupe onto her plate. Part of her just wanted to get going, but her Mom was right, she needed to take care of herself before she could help look for Gwen.

“Mornin’,” her little sister Rachel said with a yawn as she shuffled into the kitchen wearing fluffy purple bunny slippers. Three years younger than Justine, Rachel was like a trimmer, cuter version of herself. With big brown doe-like eyes, she was also far more adorable than Justine had ever been. Rachel took one look at the breakfast spread laid out before her then one look at the tired and worn expressions both Justine and her Mom shared and knew something was up. “What’s wrong?”

“Gwen didn’t come home last night,” her Mom told her sister as gently as she could. “No one knows where she is. Hopefully all this worry is for nothing and she’ll turn up soon safe and sound.” Justine was thankful her Mom was there to explain it. She didn’t know what she’d say.

Rachel took a moment to let the news sink in, perhaps wondering if it was all a dream and she had never really woken up. “Gwen? Missing? She wouldn’t run away…”

Justine offered a solemn nod of her head. “Yeah, which is why we’re all worried. But like Mom said, hopefully she’ll turn up OK. I’m going down for a few days to help hand out fliers.”

Rachel pulled out a chair and stared at the piles of food, having lost any appetite. “She’s missing?” she repeated to herself. “How worried are you?” she turned and asked Justine.

Justine winced at the question. “Really worried,” she said after searching a while for an answer.

“But it’s too early to be leaping to conclusions,” her Mom said, leaning in to give Rachel a hug. “I’m sure Gwen will turn up.”

Her little sister made a big show of trying to avoid the hug, complete with a roll of the eyes for good measure. Justine remembered being thirteen, it wasn’t that long ago.

Rachel glanced over. “Gwen has to know you’ll be looking for her. I bet that makes her feel better.” Justine didn’t know quite what to say, but she was pretty sure at that moment that she had the best little sister ever. She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her breakfast. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Think you might run into Dad while you’re down there?” Rachel asked after a pause, realizing that if Justine was headed down to Avalon that she’d be close to their father’s place.

“Wasn’t planning to,” Justine said. “With everything going on, it’s not really a good time.” Not that she’d want to anyways.

“Well, if you do, tell him I say ‘hi,’” Rachel said, ever the optimist. Her little sister didn’t hold grudges quite the same way Justine did. At the moment though, that was the farthest thing from Justine’s mind. She had to figure out what had happened to her friend.

Knights of Avalon: Chapter 3

She didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, with the curtains drawn and the phone by her side, Justine was able to stretch out on her bed and squeeze in a few hours of sleep. Not that it helped much. In her dreams she saw Gwen running for her life down a dark corridor. Justine jerked wide awake and glanced over at the clock. It was almost noon. Time to get going.

She threw some clothes into the gym bag she usually took to jujutsu practice and fixed some sandwiches for the road. She left her schoolbooks on her nightstand. It wasn’t even worth it to try. She loaded up her trusty cherry red 1999 Ford Escort and prepared to go. That car was Justine’s baby, her pride and joy. She had seen it parked on the side of the road by the Baskin Robbins one day, lonely and neglected, a hand-written sign in black marker advertising it for $995. No one wanted it, but Justine saw its potential, saw what it could be. She had spent the months leading up to her sixteenth birthday working every conceivable crappy job to save for that car and the repairs it would need. Sure, it had a little rust, a couple of dents here and there, and it reeked of weed, but Justine could fix those things and all it took was a couple of air fresheners to get rid of the smell. Justine knew there were plenty of better cars in Jersey, but the Ford Escort was hers, fully and 100%, and that’s all that mattered.

Before she pulled out of the driveway, Justine took a deep breath and dialed Gwen’s number once more. She knew it was stupid to try, but she couldn’t help herself. The phone went directly to voicemail. It was eerie to hear Gwen, so breezy and cheerful. Justine hung up and closed her eyes, then started the car.

The May weather was gorgeous, the sky a perfect blue. Pink azaleas were in full bloom all along her street. Everything was in place for a spectacular Memorial Day weekend.

It was all an illusion. The world was going wrong. There was war in Central Asia, drought across half the world, monster hurricanes dismantling the Gulf Coast when it wasn’t hurricane season yet. Justine wasn’t even going to get into the rumors of magic. The world was screwed up enough without bringing something that ridiculous into the mix.

Even on her peaceful little street, insulated from the suffering and war, things weren’t right. The Azaleas should’ve bloomed weeks ago, the lilac bush in front of her family’s little Cape Cod had flowered a month early. It was as if the natural world itself was breaking down. Gwen going missing was only the latest proof that something was seriously wrong.

Justine turned down the street, past Gwen’s old house. They had known each other since kindergarten, when Gwen’s family had moved into the little white ranch house on the corner.

Five years old, Justine had found Gwen playing by herself by the creek one day, trying to catch frogs in Justine’s favorite spot. Gwen always played alone, none of the other kids in the neighborhood seemed to know what to do with her. Justine glared at the intruder and told her that if she wanted to hang out in her spot, that she’d have to prove herself by crossing the creek on a rickety old log. Gwen was up for that. She danced across without a moment of hesitation. Then she dared Justine to do the same. Justine fell off into the water, twisting her ankle. Their friendship was instant.

Justine still couldn’t believe her friend had gone missing. Gwen was the most beautiful person Justine had ever met. She was pretty enough, slim, with long black hair, dazzling honey-colored brown eyes, and a sublime grace. That’s not what made her beautiful. She had an inner light, a kindness that shone through. And she put up with Justine, which said a lot.

They spent all of elementary school together, inseparable. Then in the seventh grade, disaster struck, at least it seemed that way to a young Justine. Gwen moved out of the neighborhood and her parents enrolled her in an exclusive private school.

Their friendship held strong, even when last year, Gwen’s mother received a promotion and the family moved once more, two hours south to the seaside town of Avalon. The distance wasn’t an issue. Justine and Gwen e-mailed back and forth, spoke on the phone every other day, and Gwen made a point of cheering Justine on at her cross country meets and jujutsu matches. And now she was gone, and Justine was going to find her.

As she turned onto the parkway, she pondered the unspoken fear that everyone shared. Twelve teens had been murdered in the last eighteen months. In every case, the victim had vanished without a trace, only to be found days later, dumped in a river or in the woods. It’s why Justine had to help now, school be damned.

She hugged the coast as she drove to Stone Harbor. Justine had been there before. She had been up and down the entire south Jersey shore with Gwen since her friend moved there, shopping, exploring, and just generally getting into trouble, which the two of them did exceedingly well. She pulled onto 96th Street, slowing down as she scanned the area, viewing the place in a way she never had before. A darkened alleyway, a homeless person begging for change, everything took on a sinister cast.

One day before the official start of Memorial Day weekend and tourists were already getting an early start. She passed by restaurants, souvenir shops, and little boutiques. The world was falling apart, but people came here to forget their troubles, if only for a little while. With one eye still on the road, Justine turned to her left, to catch a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean stretching to the horizon. She found a moment of peace there, just watching the waves crash against the shore, rolling down her window to catch the cool ocean breeze.

She finally found a spot to park and walked down the street. Here she was, Gwen’s last known location. Justine didn’t know what she expected, but this wasn’t it. She walked past a fudge shop, then a store that sold seashells and postcards. A sno-cone stand came next. The sun was shining, people walked by in shorts or even just in their bathing suits, smiling and carefree. Had something bad happened to Gwen here? If it had, Justine never would have guessed it.

She scoured the area, asking shop owners and locals if they had seen Gwen last night with no luck, her frustration growing. Of course her mother had let her come down here. Her mother knew her too well, knew she would need a way to satisfy her curiosity. She probably figured there wasn’t much harm in letting Justine wander a sleepy little beach town in the middle of the day.

Justine wasn’t beat yet. She turned her attention to a 24-hour diner just down the street. It would’ve been open when Gwen’s car broke down, maybe someone there had seen something. After all, Gwen’s blue BMW had a way of standing out. It occurred to Justine as she pushed open the diner’s door, a couple of bells helpfully jingling to announce her entrance, that Gwen’s car was almost brand new. It’s possible that it had broken down after only six months on the road, but it still struck Justine as odd.

She was rehearsing in her head the questions she would ask when she glanced up. Change of plans. She walked up to the diner’s counter and nonchalantly ordered a Coke and asked for a menu, pretending to take her time deciding what she wanted. Should she get the BLT or the Turkey Club? It all looked so good. The police were here. They weren’t in uniform, but who else would walk into a beachside diner wearing a suit and tie? The woman of the pair was only a little more casually dressed in dark slacks and a black jacket. Hell, it was the end of May and 85 degrees outside. They had to be cops.

In her shorts and tank top, Justine fit right in with all the other tourists. She stared at the menu as she eavesdropped on the conversation. “I’m Detective Barbara, this is my colleague Angela Faust.” The middle-aged man with the narrow face and graying blonde hair flashed his badge and took out a photo. “We’d like to get the names and phone numbers of your nightshift staff, anyone who would’ve been working yesterday evening between 10:30-11:30pm. We’re investigating the disappearance of this young woman. She went missing last night after her car broke down not far from here.” Justine took a peek at the photo. It was Gwen, dressed in a white doctor’s coat from the time she volunteered at the local clinic. The photo was recent, from last month. They must have gotten it from Gwen’s parents.

Recognition lit up the manager’s eyes. “You’re not the first person to ask about her. Her boyfriend, I think it was her boyfriend, was in here earlier. I haven’t seen her. I would’ve remembered a pretty girl like that. Then again, I work the afternoon shift. I’ll give you a list of all the employees who were working that night. And if you like, you can talk to Frank over there. He’s a regular. Chances are he was here around that time.”

It seemed you couldn’t have a respectable 24-hour diner without a regular like Frank to grace your establishment. The guy was in his sixties or seventies, with a gray beard, wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a loud Hawaiian shirt. He looked as if he had packed for Honolulu and somehow ended up in Jersey.

Frank walked over, shaking both the detectives’ hands and slapping Det. Barbara on the back, much to his dismay. Frank held the photo in his hands, looking it over. “Never seen her. I was here last night though. Didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. I hope she turns up. Seems such a pity.”

“Can you tell me what time you came to the diner last night?” Det. Barbara asked. Though he was so far doing all the talking, Justine had a feeling it was the woman who was really in charge. Justine couldn’t take her eyes off of her. By the gray in her hair, Justine guessed she was about the same age as the other detective. She was strikingly tall, though not quite as tall as Justine, with mahogany skin and countless long braids captured into a pony tail in the back. She moved with an air of authority and every once in a while Justine noticed Det. Barbara sneaking a glance over to her, as if seeking her approval.

Frank shrugged his shoulders. “I stopped by around 10:30pm, the way I usually do.”

“And when did you leave?"

Frank opened his mouth to answer and suddenly frowned. “I don’t really remember, but I don’t think I stayed too long. I was having some coffee and pie, then I guess I headed home.”

“You don’t remember leaving the diner last night?” Det. Barbara pressed further.

Frank considered it some more. “Not really, but I got home, so I must’ve left at some point. It’s such a part of my daily routine, I don’t give much thought to it anymore, you know?”

“Did you use a credit card to pay for your meal?”

Frank cocked his head to one side, not really understanding what the detective was getting at. Justine took a sip of her Coke and wondered as well. “I must have. That’s what I always use to pay. Why do you ask?”

Det. Barbara turned to the manager. “Can you go into your system and pull up his payment from last night? I want to see what time he paid for his meal.”

“Know what you’re getting?” the lady behind the counter asked, hands on her hips, surly and world-weary the way any good waitress should be.

“I’ll take the BLT and fries,” Justine said, tearing her gaze away from the cops for a moment. “And can you make that to go?” She watched out of the corner of her eye as the manager checked the computer with a scowl. “That’s odd. I can’t find his check. Between 10:40pm and 11:32pm, I’m not seeing any activity at all. It can be quiet that time of night, but it’s usually not that quiet. Maybe it’s a computer glitch.”

“So according to that computer, there was absolutely no business in your restaurant during that time period. Even though you supposedly had customers here at the time,” Det. Barbara concluded.

“Which is why it has to be a glitch,” the manager responded.

Det. Faust looked all around. Justine quickly buried her face in the dessert menu. “You don’t have security cameras here, do you?” she wondered.

The manager shook his head. “We don’t need them. Even during the height of the busy season, we don’t have much crime, just some trouble with drunks, things like that.”

There was something odd about Det. Faust, but Justine couldn’t put her finger on it. At least not at first. It was her jewelry. Cops didn’t wear jewelry like she did on the job. Carefully, so as not to be noticed, Justine studied the heavy gold pendant that hung around her neck. The large red stone at its center almost glowed. On her fingers were several ornate rings, some with strange markings on them. Justine wondered why the detective didn’t leave the chunky jewelry at home, what with all the running around and beating up on bad guys she must’ve been doing on a regular basis.

If Det. Faust was disappointed at the way the interview was going, she didn’t show it. Justine couldn’t read her at all. “Thank you for your help,” Det. Barbara said as the manager handed over a list of employees for them to contact. Justine looked towards the kitchen as the detectives started to walk out. The cook was carefully arranging the bacon on her sandwich as if it was a work of art and not Justine’s next meal. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath, slipping off her stool and pulling out her wallet to pay for the food. Slowly, ever so slowly, the cook handed off his masterpiece to the grizzled waitress, who tossed it into a box, shoved it into a bag, and plunked it in front of Justine. She grabbed the sandwich and ran. “Thanks,” Justine called out. “You can keep the change!”

Justine stepped out onto the street, back into the sunshine. The detectives were nowhere to be found. “Shit,” she said, searching the crowd of beach-goers. She walked up and down the sidewalk until she caught sight of the two detectives standing in a parking lot behind the shops. She lingered in front of the sno-cone stand, watching them from a distance.

The two detectives seemed to have friends. They must’ve been cops, it wasn’t law enforcement social hour, but Justine had never seen police work like this. How was anything they were doing related to finding Gwen? There was the dark-haired geek with what appeared to be a Geiger counter pacing back and forth across the pavement, then an older woman in a hippie skirt who walked the perimeter of the lot, putting her hands on every tree she passed. People walked by, hardly paying the cops any notice.

Justine continued to observe from a distance, confused and angry. Why weren’t they looking for witnesses? She told herself to calm down. Whoever these people were, Justine had a feeling they knew what they were doing. There must have been some method to their madness, though it was pretty mad. Justine studied the area, suddenly realizing she wasn’t the only one watching the cops.

In a shadow-filled alleyway, a figure crouched down behind a trash can, observing every move the detectives made. Justine wondered if she had finally found a witness to her friend’s disappearance. Walking at a brisk pace, she circled around the shops, stepping into the alleyway from the other side without a sound. It occurred to Justine a little too late that what she was doing was potentially dangerous. Even black belts weren’t immune to bullets and she didn’t know who, or what, she was confronting.

The figure whirled around, almost sensing her presence. It was a dark-haired girl about her age, perhaps Asian judging by her features, but she moved like a feral animal. Her hair was a tangled mess, her clothing falling to pieces. The way she crouched, Justine couldn’t get a full sense of her size, but she knew she wasn’t big. The girl tensed her muscles, as if preparing to make a break for it. “Wait! I have food!” Justine blurted out, holding up the bag that contained her BLT. It was the first idea that had popped into her head. Hopefully it would work.

The girl stayed where she was, tilting her head to one side. “Let me see,” she said in a raspy voice.

Justine pulled the BLT out of the bag and opened the box. The girl’s eyes widened as she fixated on the food. She was painfully thin, Justine imagined she didn’t get a good meal very often. The girl motioned with her head for Justine to set the box down. Justine did so, slowly backing away. “I’m looking for my friend. Her name’s Gwen. Her car broke down not far from here and no one’s seen her since.”

The girl pounced the moment Justine was far enough away, swiping the box and retreating back to the relative safety of the trash can. She lifted the lid and breathed in deeply, savoring the food instead of devouring it. She picked up a French fry and took a bite. “No ketchup?” she asked, finally remembering that Justine was there, her voice taking on a more normal tone.

“Sorry,” Justine said, trying to get a better view of her in the weak light. The girl had a habit of letting her hair hide her face. “About my friend…”

“The queen?”

“Excuse me?” Justine said, figuring she must have misheard the girl.

“You’re searching for the queen,” the girl stated as she munched away on the French fries.

“I’m looking for my friend,” Justine said once more, trying to hide the irritation in her voice. “Her name’s Gwen Martinez. She’s my age, medium height, about 5’7”, with black hair and brown eyes. Her car…”

The feral girl cut her off, speaking almost matter-of-factly. “You’re looking for the queen. I know they took her. They’re trying to make me care. Problem is, I don’t.” She turned her attention back to the BLT, muttering to herself, “A little too much mayo…”

Justine had the sinking feeling she was talking to a crazy person, but perhaps a crazy person who had seen something. “Who are they? Who took Gwen? Did you see something?”

The girl shook her head. “Wasn’t here when it happened, but I know who they are, I know their methods. It’s not your battle. You think you have a belt that says you can fight?” Justine blinked. What the hell? “Forget the queen, forget this war. Or you’ll die, and I won’t care.”

As Justine tried to make sense of what the girl was saying, she grabbed the box of food and took off. Justine ran down the alleyway after her, turning the corner and coming to a dead end. The girl was gone.

Status Report

Hello lovely people! (and you really are lovely, I can't tell you all how many times I've been bummed out over the last few months and someone's kind comment on the blog or on Twitter has cheered me up) I've been querying for three months now and here are my stats:

• 20 agents queried
• 4 partials requested
• 1 full requested
• All rejected :(
  

Now I know this is a subjective business, but with five rejections, that tells me something isn't working quite right with the book. I've been complimented on how strong my writing is, the agents like the premise and once I tweaked some pacing issues, they've been very positive on that too.

What no one has said one good thing about is the main character herself and one agent told me that she couldn't connect with Justine (my MC). I love my MC, I think she's 32 flavors and then some, but that awesome person living in my head isn't translating to the page, so I've got to find a way to fix that.

Based on feedback, I also suspect that the latter half of my book is stronger than the beginning part. I think this is the case because the further along an agent has read, the more complimentary they've been, and one of my beta readers (OK, my Mom..who btw, HATES Knights of Avalon) told me that the first fifteen pages after the prologue were much weaker than the rest of the book. Weaker beginning + inability to connect with MC = Rejection.

The thing is, this isn't an easy problem to fix. It's not like bad punctuation or a plot hole, it's something that's almost intangible. One of those things that you either have or you don't.

But I have a plan. The plan does not involve ferrets. No, it involves the following: Over the next day or so, I'm going to post the first few chapters of the manuscript up on the blog. If you'd like, please give me your thoughts, good and bad, on the writing and specifically, on the main character. Do you connect with her? If not, why?

Next, it's been suggested to me that I switch the novel over to first person, that this might allow readers to identify more with the MC. I think I'll test this out on a few chapters and once I've done that (it'll probably take me a few days, at least), post those chapters up on the blog too to get everyone's feedback. Again, thanks for all your help. You guys have helped keep me sane, or if nothing else, from going any crazier than I already am. :)

Fun With Neologisms

I was cruising around the web today and found a fellow writer who got a partial request, on the same day I did, from the very same agent. Now, it seems to me there should be some word for this, so I coined the term 'querysib.' As in we're query siblings.

Now I want to come up with more terms but I'm drawing a blank, so feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments section. I'm looking for words for the following phenomena. Have at it!

• When you look your manuscript over a dozen times, are certain you've fixed every typo and spelling error, send it to an agent, and immediately afterwards find a mistake.
• When you query an agent and then follow them on Twitter, in the vain hope that the agent will mention your manuscript or query on the Twitter feed. The word I'm looking for is something other than 'stalking.' Not that I've ever done this.
• When Agent #1 has your partial or a full, you receive feedback from Agent #2, realize to your horror the mistakes you've made, make revisions, and then re-submit to Agent #1, even though you know you're really not supposed to.
• The paradox where when things are slow in your personal life, things are slow with your writing. But when your life is crazy and hectic, that's when agents start responding and making requests for sample pages.
  

Mock Query: The Nanerpuss Code

**Warning** Fake Query Ahead. Keep out of reach of agents, LOLcats, and small children. Do not attempt at home. No cyborgs with Austrian accents were harmed in the making of this query.

Dear Colleen… I feel like I can call you Colleen since I met you once at an IHOP five months ago. You might remember me, I waved to you and bounced up and down and ran to my car to show you my 300,000 word religious-themed memoir. But when I came back, you were hiding in the bathroom and you wouldn’t come out no matter how much I tried to entice you with my clever and witty reading of my manuscript. Then the security guards came and rudely dragged me away, so unfortunately I didn’t get to chapter five of my memoir, which is when it got really good.

Anyways, I’ve written a new book now and I know you’re closed to submissions, but this query actually comes from the future, when you’ll be open to submissions again. For you see, in the year 2012, on August 29 at approximately 2:14am, the Skynet Global Digital Defense Network gains sentience and launches a war of extinction against the human race. I know, what a bummer. Can you imagine what that does to the publishing industry?

Now I’m sending this query from the future, at the behest of the leader of the human resistance, Jessica Faust, to ask you to please agent my manuscript, The Nanerpuss Code. I know what you’re thinking: What does The Nanerpuss Code have to do with the salvation of the human race? Everything, my dear Ms. Lindsay, everything.

For at Book Expo America 2011, on a sunny, pleasant day, the architect of Skynet shall wander by and in a freak accident, be crushed to death by a pile of Nanerpuss Code galleys, preventing the completion of Skynet and saving not only the human race, but the publishing world as we know it. No, really, it's a good thing, trust me.

So, to sum up: Represent The Nanerpuss Code, save the world. The fate of the future lies in your hands!

Up to No Good

Hello! Good afternoon! I'm still hanging in there! Here's the latest: I did get a very kind rejection from the agent I mentioned in the earlier posts, but it was the most complimentary rejection I've ever received, so maybe I'm making some progress. I do have other people looking at the manuscript that I'm very excited about, so we'll see, hopefully I can one day find that agent who loves my work and is a good match.

In the mean time, I think I'm going to busy myself by writing another mock query letter. And I'll probably start work soon on the sequel to Knights of Avalon. The book's main character, Justine, is very pushy and has been bugging me to get started. Yeah, my characters have minds of their own, and they talk to me.

Waiting

Except for the constant stream of rejection, I think the waiting has to be the hardest part of being a writer. Maybe that and the sacrificing time with friends and family to write. And the lack of sleep. And crying when you kill off one of your favorite characters. And being frustrated when a story just isn't working out right...

Anyways, I'm still waiting. I have to say, so far, I'm completely surprised by who has shown an interest in the manuscript and who hasn't. The agents I thought were likely to request it haven't and the agents who I thought were longshots asked to see more. We'll see if that trend continues. Until then, another Hawaii photo. So pretty. So so peaceful.

More Zen!

One more photo from Hawaii. I'm trying to be zen because I've sent my queries out and while I've received a few rejections already, one agent I've always wanted to work with is currently reading the full manuscript. Seriously, I couldn't believe he was interested. It was one of those what-the-hell-I-have-no-chance-but-let's-give-it-a-shot queries. And I got a request for a full. I know the chances are slim of it going any farther than that, but yes, I'm trying not to freak out. Hence the photos of Hawaii. Hawaii is very calming.

Your Moment of Zen #2

Busy week.

Here's another photo of Hawaii, this from the inside of Kilauea Iki Crater, which last erupted in 1959.

Your Moment of Zen

I'm in the process of querying now and as always, it's a stressful time for me. So here's a little something to take my mind off it and that I hope you'll enjoy too. I present to you, a shot of Hualalai taken from Waikoloa on the Big Island, from when I last visited in '07.

Revised Query Letter

OK, here is the revised query based on your suggestions. Thank you very much! By the way, my process with queries is that I usually solicit feedback from a couple of different places (in this case I posted it on VerlaKay.com as well), then I take the feedback and just think on it for a little while. Walk the dog, go food shopping, something like that. Then usually while I'm in Aisle Seven, staring at cans of tuna fish, I'll have an A-ha! moment and realize how I can fix the query. Finally, I cut and paste the feedback into my query document and as I go along making changes, I check off what I've fixed. I don't always make every change that is suggested, but in this case, I pretty much did.

And if that process seems relatively straightforward, understand that there was much gnashing of teeth and yelling at the computer along the way.

So, here it is:

Sixteen-year-old Justine Kwiatkowski never planned on becoming a modern day King Arthur, she’s always preferred a good brawl to a sword fight and she’s got finals to worry about at the end of the month. But when her best friend Gwen is kidnapped outside the town of Avalon, she’ll do whatever it takes to get her back, even if it means questioning suspects, believing in magic, and pulling a sword out of a stone, even if it means risking her life by picking a fight with Morgan le Fay.

Because her best friend happens to be the reincarnation of Guinevere, and fifteen hundred years after the fall of Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table have returned, reborn as New Jersey teens. Now Morgan le Fay, with a little assist from Mordred, is killing the knights before they can remember who they were, kidnapping Gwen to draw out the last few survivors.

Not that Justine believes any of this is real. Reincarnation? Magic? She’s not a knight, she just wants her friend back. Making the connection between Gwen’s kidnapping and the murders of bright and promising area teens, she investigates the teens’ deaths, discovering the secret of who they once were and racing to track down the rest before they become the next victims.

She’s helped along the way by Gwen’s boyfriend, a loner from the wrong side of the tracks searching for redemption. Justine doesn’t know if she can trust him, especially when he claims to be Lancelot du Lac, but after she’s attacked by the Green Knight and pulls Excalibur from a stone, she’s starting to think he might be on to something.

To save her best friend, Justine will have to bring together Lancelot and the other knights and defeat Mordred. For Justine, that’s not a problem, and she just might save the world in the process.

Knights of Avalon, a YA Urban Fantasy, is complete at 65,000 words. While intended to be a three-part series, the first book is stand alone. If interested, the manuscript is available upon request. Thank you for your consideration!

The Query Letter Returns

When last we left my query letter for Knights of Avalon, it looked like this. Not bad. Decent. But I felt it could use a little more personality. A little more pizazz. So I covered it in hearts and sparkles left the query alone for a couple of weeks, thought about the tone and feeling I wanted to convey, and did some revisions.

Here's my latest draft, what do you all think?

Sixteen-year-old Justine Kwiatkowski never planned on becoming a latter day King Arthur, she’s always preferred a good brawl to a sword fight, but when her best friend Gwen is kidnapped in the town of Avalon, she’s determined to do whatever it takes to get her back. Canvas neighborhoods. Question suspects. Believe in magic. Pull a sword out of a stone. Maybe even pick a fight with Morgan le Fay.

Because her best friend happens to be the reincarnation of Guinevere, and fifteen hundred years after the fall of Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table have returned, reborn as New Jersey teens.

There’s Gwen’s boyfriend, the loner from the wrong side of the tracks who blames himself for bloodshed that happened over a thousand years before he was born, the self-professed drama nerd whose only fighting experience is in West Side Story but finds herself able to take down a champion black belt with ease, the troubled artist who obsessively paints images of the Holy Grail, and the star football tackle who only wants two things in life, a giant battle axe and to keep his brothers and sisters safe.
Problem is: Someone’s killing the knights before they can remember who they once were. If Justine can’t help them discover their pasts and join together, there’ll be no future, not for Gwen, not for them, not for anyone.

Knights of Avalon, a YA Urban Fantasy, is complete at 65,000 words. If interested, the manuscript is available upon request. Thank you for your consideration!

Why I Need an Agent

I get asked on occasion if I'd like to work with an agent. This is sort of like being asked if I'd like to work with a pretty, sparkly unicorn. Sure, I'd love to work with a pretty, sparkly unicorn, especially one that was good at contract negotiations, but I don't know if I can find a pretty, sparkly unicorn.

I've also had it pointed out to me that writers don't need agents to get published. This is true. That said, I need an agent. And here's a little hypothetical scenario to show you why:

Publishing House: O hai there! We love your story about a beagle who's secretly a ninja, fighting to save the world, and we'd like to offer you a two-book deal.

Me: Oh wow oh wow oh wow! Where do I sign?

Publishing House: Here, you can use this bottle of red ink. Just sign on the dotted line.

Me: Wait a minute. That's not ink, that's blood! And Paragraph 18(b), right under the part about electronic rights, says I'm selling my soul! And there's nothing in here about payment.

Publishing House: We're glad that you asked about payment. In return for us giving you a two-book deal, we are prepared to give you this here Slurpee, cold and refreshing, along with this piece of string and a brand new paper clip.

Me: Paper clip. Oooh, shiny. (bats at the paper clip, taking a sip of the Slurpee) Deal!

The Truth About Agents, Revealed!

If you haven't already, I highly recommend you read Jessica Faust's recent post titled, "Agents Aren't the Enemy."

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're probably saying to yourself, "Wow, that Jessica Faust person sure is reasonable and fair-minded, patient and kind. She probably rescues kittens out of trees and travels to foreign countries to help orphans in her free time."

Don't be fooled my fellow writers! I link to her post to show you just how devious these agents can be. Let the truth set you free! We have nothing to lose but our royalty checks! Don't let these agents, with their free advice, and taking time out of their busy schedules to answer questions they've already been asked over a hundred times, lure you into a false sense of security. Because I'm here to tell you right now: Agents feast on the tears of rejected writers. That and massive doses of caffeine.

They do.

We now take you to the agents' evil lair under the IHOP in Queens.



"What do we have here? The writer claims this
revolutionary literary fiction about a frustrated
writer who travels to Alaska to find himself, only
to get bitten by a vampire and become an undead
nature documentary filmmaker, will be the next
Twilight. And you know what, it surely would be!
Especially with all the basic spelling and grammar
errors, those really give the manuscript an authentic feel.
Hah! Who needs to earn a living? Let us crush this
writer's precious dreams underfoot."



"Ah, the distilled tears of a frustrated writer, mixed
with some pomegranate juice. I feel my power growing
already. Nom nom nom."



"So, now that we're done fostering mediocrity and
stifling the creativity of unappreciated literary
geniuses, who do you think is going to win America's
Next Top Model?"

When Writing Gets Hard

I've heard a lot of writers say the middle of the book is the hardest to write. For me, it's the end. Not so much coming up with an ending, more that I tend to have these mood swings when I write, going from 'My book is great!' to 'My book sucks' in a matter of minutes. The closer I get to finishing the book, the stronger the mood swings get, until I'm pretty much staring at my computer, convinced I've made a terrible mistake and thinking I should just trash the manuscript and start from scratch. Of course, I know better than to do that, but that's how I end up feeling.

Now here I am, a day or two out from finishing Knights of Avalon and feeling like a complete failure, which I know isn't true. My way of coping with this? Chocolate. Mass quantities of chocolate, and perhaps a Coke Slurpee later tonight.

I bought myself a pound and a half bar of Belgian milk chocolate a couple of days ago just because I knew this would happen. Seriously, the bar's huge, as big as one of my cats (though not as heavy). It's sort of my "In case of literary emergency, break glass and eat chocolate" bar. And you know what, I'm eating it, right now! It should get me through these last few chapters, then maybe I'll post a preview for you guys.

Update:

In case you all didn't believe me.

When My Book Grows Up...

It wants to be Cindy Pon's Silver Phoenix. OK, I have to admit, I haven't read this book yet, having been busy with a job, and writing, and rescuing calico kitties, and did I mention my beagle had another seizure but she's doing better now, but I have a very specific psychic gift, I can read Amazon reviews review books just by their cover, and I can tell you, truly, honestly, this book is amazing. Not to mention, everybody who's read it seems to agree.

I don't really know the author, but back in the days when I was lurking on AbsoluteWrite and VerlaKay (nowadays I go by LiteraryMouse there), I remember her getting turned down by almost every YA agent out there (I think she was turned down over twenty times alone for Silver Phoenix), even though you could just tell there was something special about her book. I even almost asked her if I could read her manuscript, it sounded so good. And now I don't have to ask her for the manuscript, because I can go to the book store and get myself a copy. So congratulations, happy belated book release day and best of luck!

Now here are some links. And yes, this is part of a contest (because blog contests are my crack), but I'd post these even without the contest.

Cindy Pon's Blog

Cindy Pon's Web Site

The Awesome Cool Book Trailer for Silver Phoenix which I've now watched about 100 times

Note: Author reserves the right to revise this post once she's had more than a few hours of sleep.

The Knights of Avalon Evil Overlord List

1. If the reincarnation of Lancelot du Lac demands that I give him a sword, I will say 'no.'
a) Even if he challenges me to one-on-one combat.
b) Even if he says I have no honor.
c) Even if he calls me a coward.

(See #40 of the Evil Overlord List: "I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve" and #44: "I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance")

Interestingly enough, though not evil, Percival seems to be following Evil Overlord Rule #4: "Shooting is not too good for my enemies."

Update:

Now that I've had some time to think on it, Morgan le Fay is the one who seems to be really paying attention to the Evil Overlord List. For example:

1. Shooting is not too good for my enemies.
2. I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.
3. I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.
4. I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.
5. If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.
6. I will instruct my Legions of Terror to attack the hero en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.

It's #Querypalooza!

In honor of #Queryfail, #QueryDay, #Querypalooza, I was seriously tempted to write up some appallingly atrocious queries and send them to agents for a good giggle. Then I realized that I'd really like to be working with these people one day, and that perhaps it might not be a good idea to find creative ways to annoy them, so instead, I shall post my appallingly atrocious queries on my blog!

**Warning**
Fake Query Ahead. Keep out of reach of agents, LOLcats, and small children. Do not attempt at home. No literary classics were harmed in the making of this query. OK, maybe one, but Jane Austen's ghost must be used to it by now.

Dear Nathan,

I'm your biggest fan. But not like that Kathy Bates chick from Misery. No, if you ever crashed on an isolated country road in the middle of winter and broke your leg, I totally would not kidnap you and force you to read my submissions. I'd be a much more considerate client than that.

As your biggest fan (but not like Kathy Bates!), I am submitting to you my Historical Romantic Thriller Epic Pride and Prejudice and Ninjas. It's about Pride and Prejudice, and ninjas. As it combines two subjects extremely popular in the market at this time, Jane Austen, and ninjas, I feel assured that it will be a Number One New York Times Bestseller within a week of you taking me on as your client. In addition, if you take me on as a client, my book will be so amazingly awesome that all the other agents will be jealous of you and Michael Chabon AND Cormac McCarthy will want you to be their agent. It's true.
As mentioned before, my book is about Pride and Prejudice, and ninjas. As sisters Elizabeth and Jane Bennet prepare with eager anticipation for their wedding day, Jane is kidnapped by strange, shadowy figures dressed most scandalously in black pyjamas. Darcy and Elizabeth, with the help of Sherlock Holmes, must investigate her disappearance, but to their surprise, find Bingley strangely reticent to aid them in their search.

The black pyjamaed-figures then return, attempting to assassinate Mr. Bingley with poisoned shuriken, but Elizabeth Bennet's flying fists of fury save the day and Bingley's most shocking secret is finally revealed: He is indeed a businessman, but he doesn't exactly get his 4,000 pounds of yearly income from selling tea and crumpets. As a member of a shadowy organization devoted to world domination run by Napoleon himself, Bingley partners with the Dutch to smuggle black market weapons to the Nagasaki yakuza. When a giant squid sinks one of the smuggling ships, the partnership goes sour and the Ninja are sent to eliminate Bingley once and for all.

It's as this point that Darcy reveals himself to be a member of the League of Extraordinarily Hot Gentlemen, an even secreter, more super organization devoted to battling Napoleon's evil designs. Darcy's assignment all along has been to watch Mr. Bingley and infiltrate the organization. Putting aside their differences to rescue Jane, Bingley and Darcy, along with Elizabeth, storm the ninjas' secret lair in the heart of Cheapside, only to find that the ninjas have put Jane on a ship bound for Japan.

It's Adventure on the High Seas as Darcy borrows a navy vessel from Admiral Horatio Nelson and takes off in hot pursuit. But just as he and Bingley and Elizabeth draw near, they're attacked by a pirate ship captained by none other than the villainous Mr. Wickham, who has already been bankrupted by Lydia despite his officer's commission in the North.

Having recently participated in your Agent for a Day contest, I feel that I am now well-qualified to declare that my novel is the best ever and will be more popular than Twilight, Harry Potter, and Jesus combined. I'll be waiting by the phone for your offer of representation.

Sincerely,

Your Biggest Fan (but not like Kathy Bates!)

PS-I've interspersed my query with photos of bacon and kittens, because bacon makes everything better and kittens make my query memorable.