Zombies vs. Unicorns: Winners Announced

Thanks to everybody who entered. Considering myself to be somewhat of an expert on the subject of Zombies vs. Unicorns, I thought I had heard just about every conceivable argument on the matter. I was wrong. Not only did you guys make some really thoughtful and creative points, but oftentimes you had me laughing hysterically while you made them. Well done!

After much consideration, rending of garments and gnashing of teeth, the winners are:

First Place: Dr. Beatrice Alfalfa-Scrimstone...er, I mean, Stephanie!

Runner-up: Reena Jacobs, who had me at "Unicorn Jello"

Congratulations to you both!

Thanks again to everybody who entered. I had a blast doing this and hope to have many more contests in the future.

Zombies vs. Unicorns: The Contest!

Yes, a contest. My first official contest. Why am I so nervous? I don't know, there's no reason to be.

But yes, I am having a contest. There have been many great debates in our time: Tastes Great vs. Less Filling, Pirates vs. Ninjas, Do Dolphins Secretly Rule the World or Do Mice?, and now... Zombies vs. Unicorns. Here's your chance to weigh in, have some fun, and in the process, perhaps win a prize.

Contest Details:

The Prize: A copy of the highly coveted, much sought after Zombies vs. Unicorns anthology signed by Holly Black, Justine Larbalestier, Diana Peterfreund, Kathleen Duey, Scott Westerfeld and Carrie Ryan.



How to Enter:

1. You must choose a side. There will be no Switzerland. I will have no Team Zombiecorn or Unicorn Ninja or Sparkle Zombie on this blog. It is forbidden.

2. Explain to me, as creatively and convincingly as possible in the comments section below, why zombies or unicorns are better. I'd also love to see some arguments in favor of the practical value unicorns or zombies might have.

3. You can enter three times. Any entries above and beyond that will be thoroughly ignored.

4. If you're my little brother, you can't enter.

5. You must follow my blog. You could also follow me on Twitter (@LiteraryMouse), but you don't have to if you don't want to.

6. The deadline is Wednesday, October 20, at 9pm EST...or whenever America's Next Top Model ends.

Entries will be judged on creativity, passion, and humor. I reserve the right to add more cool prizes if there's a ton of responses.

Update: Because of the awesome entries, I'm going to add a prize for the runner-up: A copy of Rampant signed by Diana Peterfreund. Keep those answers coming!

Update2: Thanks again to everyone who entered! I will announce winners Saturday evening, when I'm not in a sleep-deprived, work-induced haze.

Zombies vs. Unicorns at the Baltimore Book Fest

The day before the National Book Festival, Aine and I headed to Baltimore's book festival to check out the epic Zombie vs. Unicorns panel and to hear author/illustrator Ted Naifeh speak.

The two festivals couldn't have been more different. The National Book Fest was all about the speakers and signings. You couldn't even buy books there. The Baltimore Book Festival had some fun panels, but there was also great food and shopping (I got a new journal, are you shocked? You shouldn't be).



The highlight of the day though was Zombie vs. Unicorns. It's the most crazy fun I've had in ages, and that says a lot, because I'm lucky enough to have crazy fun on a regular basis. On Team Unicorn we had the magical, the glittery, the fabulous Holly Black, Diana Peterfreund, and Kathleen Duey. Facing off against those do-goodin' Unicorn lovers were the fiercesome threesome, the supporters of brain-munchin' individuals everywhere, Justine Larbalestier, Scott Westerfeld, and Carrie Ryan.



With Team Unicorn tossing packets of glitter and lollipops into the crowd, the two sides prepared to battle. Let's get it on!

Scott Westerfeld kicked it off with a comparison of zombie vs. unicorn literature. He quoted from the zombie classic, World War Z, and then noted all the other great zombie books out there. He then cited some sappy, gods awful self-published work as his example of great unicorn literature. Now I cry foul, because how can he cherry-pick such a bad example when Diana Peterfreund is sitting right across from him? Not to mention he completely ignored Peter Beagle's The Last Unicorn.

But Team Unicorn hit back with Diana noting the complete lack of zombies in classical art, while unicorns have been appearing in art for centuries. She cited a work of Raphael's (the artist, not the Ninja turtle), as well as countless medieval tapestries and the work of 80's artist Lisa Frank.

Team Zombie then argued that what was so great about zombies was preparing for the coming zombie apocalypse. Let's face it, they said, zombies are at the top of the food chain. While Justine Larbalestier described unicorns as "just horses with deformities on their foreheads," and horses are easily frightened creatures. Team Zombie also noted that unicorns are sexist, since they're usually depicted as hanging out with female virgins.

But Team Unicorn turned their argument around. What's the end game of a zombie apocalypse? Total annihilation of the human race, and that's not good. People run from zombies, but people would run up to unicorns to pet them.

The two teams then discussed the practical value of zombies and unicorns. Unicorns can heal and are symbols of hope. Let's face it, zombies aren't. Plus, unicorns spend a lot of time with their heads in ladies' laps, which is positive and cheerful. Zombies would never put their heads in ladies' laps, unless the ladies had cut off the zombies' heads first.

Someone, I think an audience member, then pointed out that zombies could be used as slave labor. The two teams got into a discussion of the ethics of using zombies as slaves, with the suggestion that perhaps zombies could be unionized. What about unicorns, then? Should they be unionized too? Holly Black responded that unicorns didn't have a union, but they did have a business, called 'Unicorp.'

There was then a discussion of what a unicorn apocalypse would look like, and how much cooler it would be than a zombie apocalypse. Unicorns would descend from the sky, charging towards you, with rainbows and glitter everywhere. People would run up to pet the unicorns, only to be speared by their pointy horns. It'd be terrifying, yet very confusing at the same time.

Justine Larbalestier pointed out that a unicorn apocalypse wouldn't be very fun though, because anyone can kill a slow-moving zombie, that's part of the appeal of a zombie apocalypse, while only virgins and SWAT team members would be safe from fast-moving, clever unicorns. And do we really want to live in a world filled with just virgins and SWAT team members? Plus, a unicorn apocalypse would suck because after you killed a unicorn you'd feel bad.

Holly Black then opened the floor to the audience, so that they could make their case for Team Zombie or Team Unicorn:

* For Team Zombie: There were zombies in Thriller, and Thriller is awesome

* For Team Unicorn: Zombies don't read, while the unicorn in Peter Beagle's book quotes Nietzsche

* A librarian made an interesting point for Team Zombie: If your parents find a unicorn book in your room, they won't be bothered by it. But if they find a zombie book, they'll get worried. So read about zombies, because they'll freak your parents out.

* Ted Naifeh also joined in to make, not so much an argument, but a good point about unicorns. That in terms of girls' interests, that they're part of a continuum that starts with bunnies, moves to unicorns, then goes to sparkly vampires, and finally ends up with real, actual boys.

Ted also made one of the best arguments for Team Unicorn, which is, if you're a zombie, you've already lost. You're dead, so even if you wipe out the whole human race, you can never really 'win.' It's a lose-lose situation.

I think Holly Black's closing statement in favor of unicorns was the best though, and was so convincing that I went from being a fence-sitter to being firmly and proudly on Team Unicorn. According to Holly, if you look in a mirror and see a zombie looking back at you, then that sucks, because you're dead, you've either killed your family or are going to try to eat them, and you're decomposing and gross. But if you look in the mirror and see a unicorn looking back at you, then you're happy, because that unicorn will probably pull you through that mirror and take you to a magical world. A magical world where you're the lost member of a royal family and can understand small woodland creatures. You probably also have a special power that no one else has.

In other words, unicorns are symbols of happiness and hope, and in this world, we definitely need more of that. Team Unicorn for the win!

Down With the Capitol! (Er, Wrong Capitol)

I admit, it's been a frenzy of book festivals this year. A veritable Book Festivalpalooza. Last week, I continued the streak with visits to both the Baltimore Book Festival and the National Book Festival in DC.

The day before, in Baltimore, the heat had been absolutely brutal, but I woke up to promises from numerous weatherpeople that Saturday would be about 15 degrees cooler and infinitely more bearable. The weatherpeople LIED. I propose they be punished by being dumped into an arena and having to fight to the death on live TV. Just a thought.

With the cruel sun beating down on us, Aine and I made our way to the National Book Festival, where Suzanne Collins would be speaking. I was so excited. When it comes to books, I'm hard to please, and it's a rare book that makes me fall in love the way Hunger Games did (I was deeply disappointed in Mockingjay though...don't get me started).

To a packed house (or rather, tent), Suzanne Collins started by talking about her background. She used to be a writer for such shows as Clarissa Explains It All, The Mystery Files of Shelby Woo, and Clifford's Puppy Days. Awww, Clifford, isn't that sweet?

Uh-huh. Keep that in mind as she segued into a discussion of her first book series, the Underland Chornicles, about a boy who falls into an underground world beneath New York City filled with giant cockroaches, rats, and other creatures. The way she structured it, the focal point of each of the series' five books centered around an aspect of war: For example, Book 1 was about an attempt to rescue a POW, Book 2 was about assassination, Book 4 was about genocide.

Assassination. Genocide. Clifford's Puppy Days. As Suzanne herself put it, she comes off as this cheerful, crunchy granola type but there's some dark, dark stuff in her head. Where'd it all come from? Well, it starts with her being a military brat. Her father was an officer in the Air Force, a specialist in international relations with a PhD who taught at West Point. And her father made sure his kids knew their history too.

The first movie Suzanne ever saw in a drive-in was Patton, she got to go to Waterloo, the site of Napoleon's defeat, for her 12th birthday. Her father would read the Roman classics out loud to her as a child.

Sometimes war hit closer to home though. When she was about six, her father was sent off to Vietnam. When Suzanne asked where he was going, she was told he'd be in the jungle. Well, everything she knew about the jungle at that point came from George of the Jungle, so she wasn't worried for her father, until the day she caught some war footage on the news and realized how much danger he was in. When her father returned, he was haunted by what he had seen and forever interested in the ethics and justness of war. He was also strongly opposed to the Iraq War.

As you can see, she poured many of her childhood experiences into the Hunger Games, but Suzanne was also strongly influenced by the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. For those who don't know the story, after a bloody war between Crete and Athens, Athens was defeated and required every year to deliver seven of its finest young men and women to Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur. Suzanne noted that throughout Greek and Roman myth (and I'm sure in myths around the world), that the death of one's children is worse than your own death, because children are, quite literally, the future.

By the way, before I continue, I should note that this entire discussion was being held right next to this:



Just sayin'. So, besides Greek myth, Suzanne was strongly influenced by gladiator/toga movies. She's loved them since she was a little girl, when her family would have marathons of Spartacus and Ben-Hur on Easter. Having watched so many, she soon figured out that there were three key ingredients to a good gladiator movie: 1. A ruthless government 2. A fight to the death 3. The fight must be a form of popular entertainment. The Hunger Games certainly had all three.

Ultimately though, Suzanne got the idea for the Hunger Games when she was channel-surfing one day, and kept switching between images of Reality TV and the Iraq War. From there, the idea of Katniss just sprung into her head. She noted, having lived in Manhattan during 9/11 and seeing the effect the attacks had on her son, that children notice more than parents think when it comes to war. Her hope is that by starting a dialogue, and making children think about the impact of war early on, that there'll be greater support for non-violent solutions.

She then opened up the floor for a Q&A session. Having at that point only read about half of Mockingjay, I have to thank her for enforcing a strict no-spoilers policy. Here's some highlights:

* She used her experience on TV sets for many of the prep scenes leading up to Katniss and Peeta's television appearances.

* She was surprised by how many people were on Team Finnick.

* Asked to pick between Peeta or Gale, she demurred and said that when she was writing them, that she wanted both guys to be equally worthy.

* She loves to watch Glee, classic movies, the news, Masterpiece Theater, and Make It or Break It.

* Her favorite books include Percy Jackson, A Wrinkle in Time, and Boris, by Jaap ter Haar, the story of a boy trying to survive the siege of Leningrad.

* She refused to say where the various districts were, though she did mention that Panem included the US AND Canada...so which district is responsible for hockey sticks and maple syrup? All she would say is that District 12 was in 'Appalachia' and that the Capitol was somewhere in the Rockies. Also, when she reads, she makes a point of using a 'futuristic Appalachian' accent for Katniss so that no one can accuse her of having an accent that's off.

* 13 districts = 13 colonies

After her talk, the plan was to get my copy of Mockingjay signed/stamped, but when I reached the line, it already had about 500 people in it, and everyone was roasting in the mid-day sun. Instead, I went off to grab a delicious and cool mango smoothie and then found Amy Brecount White (I swear I'm not stalking you, Amy!) at the National Botanical Garden, doing tussie-mussie demonstrations. Tussie-mussies are basically Victorian flower bouquets that hold special meanings. Here's a picture of the one I made, along with my copy of Mockingjay.

The PAYA Chronicles: Chocolate for the Greater Good

I had survived the Listen and Critique Workshop. I felt like I could run to the end of a certain doomed oceanliner and scream, "I'm the King of the World!" Like I could do a tapdance routine atop the nearest book-covered table. Now, if you remember from several weeks back, the very lovely authors who had critiqued my opening pages had pointed out a whole slew of weaknesses. Also, I had launched a unilateral air strike on a fellow writer with my pen. Accidentally!

So why was I so happy? Because there's nothing worse than knowing there's a problem with your manuscript but not knowing how to fix it. All right, killer clowns that peer into your window late at night, those are probably worse. Natural disasters are also bad. But not being able to fix your manuscript? It's maddening.

Giddy and excited, I made my way back into the main hallway with my friend Aine. There were books that needed buying, you see, but before I could do that, there was an important matter that I had to attend to. More to the point, there was chocolate, in brownie, cookie, and muffin form, that urgently needed my attention.

PAYA was having a bake sale to benefit Pennsylvania libraries. OK, besides my desperate need at that point to eat, how brilliant an idea is that? You mean, by eating this here chocolate muffin, sitting on the table all sad and lonely, I get to help spread the joy of books to Pennsylvania teens? I can promote books by eating chocolate? Sign me up! And while you're at it, toss another muffin into my mouth, thanks.

After I had blown a decent amount of cash on baked goods helping Pennsylvania libraries, I went to get some books for myself. Children's Book World had brought a number of authors' books to sell at PAYA, and I ended up getting Shannon Delany's 13 to Life, Jon Skovron's Struts and Frets, and Amy Brecount White's Forget-Her-Nots. Which seriously, I should have bought a long time ago. There were plenty of other ones I wanted, but my cash resources were becoming fast depleted at this point.



With books in hand, I went to get them signed. I also wanted to talk to the authors, and by 'talk to the authors', I mean I hovered around them nervously, listening to them talk to other people, while I worked up the courage to tell them how awesome they were. Though I don't think I said more than four words to Dianne Salerni, author of We Hear the Dead, I had fun listening to her discuss with Aine the thought process behind the book's amazing cover (no, really, check it out).



I also had a real, live, wonderful discussion with Ellen Jensen Abbott, author of Watersmeet, who was incredibly encouraging. Finally, I also met Josh Berk's Dad. He admits to being slightly biased, but he thinks his son is brilliant and that everyone should go read his book. So go read it! Josh Berk's Dad said so!

Before Aine and I prepared to head for home, we waited for the results of the raffle PAYA was holding. There were all sorts of prize packs that included t-shirts, signed ARCs, and yes, swag, glorious swag, with all the money going to benefit Pennsylvania libraries. I really wanted the swag prize pack and I won it! I now have a 13 to Life mouse pad, tons of buttons, a journal (and I love me some journals), signed bookmarks, and more. Yay for swag! Especially when I'll be giving some of it away, along with signed books, in my very first contest. Which will be happening sometime soon-ish.

Quoth the Mockingjay, "Nevermore"

Once upon a Monday dreary, while I worked on revisions, eyes so bleary,
Over many a quaint and curious chapter I had gone over many times before,
While I nodded to SJ Tucker, feet a'tapping, suddenly there came a rapping,
As of some one gently tapping, tapping at my bedroom door.
"Goddamn cats," I muttered, "tapping at my bedroom door —
Wanting food, and nothing more."

Then into my bedroom bursting, my temper within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Knock it off cats!," said I, before noticing something at my window sill;
"What the hell?", said I, "I've never seen anything like this before" —
Let me get these hungry cats away from it before this creature becomes nevermore
Before this creature becomes nevermore

Lifted I the window sill, when, with many a flash and flitter,
In my bedroom stepped a Mockingjay; with feathers black and white with which to soar
"You can't be real," I said to he; "You don't exist, you can't be"
"It's a poem, just go with it" said the Mockingjay; "Now listen to what I have to say, or you'll be spoiled to the ending of Mockingjay forevermore"
"Or you'll be spoiled to the ending of Mockingjay forevermore"

Much I stared in horror at this imaginary fowl to hear news so scary,
For I had managed to stay unspoilered, unspoilered since August Twenty-Four;
"But the National Book Festival is coming," the Mockingjay reminded me
"With Suzanne Collins signing and reading, Surely there you will run into spoilers, spoilers galore"
"So no excuses, no more blogs or Twitter, you must read Mockingjay by September Twenty-Fifth or be spoiled forever, forevermore"

But before the Mockingjay could say another word,
My fat orange cat sprang through the air and tackled it to the floor
Madly thrashing, with feathers flashing, the Mockingjay bolted for the window
And with a shout of "Team Katniss" it spread its wings to fly, disappearing into the night as I told myself, "Wait a minute, it's Jabberjays that are supposed to speak"
But the Mockingjay told me not to over-analyze as it faded from sight and I reached for the book I had gotten at the store, so that I could start reading, my hungry cats still ignored

--

My apologies for the long absence, after the awesomeness that was PAYA, I got overwhelmed with work and revisions. OK, the revisions were pretty fun. Work? Not so much. I'll have the final installment of my report from PAYA in the next couple of days, but for now, I've got to get started on Mockingjay, or else!



Update: Thanks to work, and my bothersome need to eat and have a roof over my head, I was only able to get half way through the book before I heard Suzanne Collins speak. Luckily for me, Suzanne very kindly but very firmly announced a 'no spoilers' policy at the beginning of the Q&A session, and when one girl wanted to ask a question about the end of Mockingjay, Suzanne told the girl to talk to her after the session was over. So, spoilers averted, and I finished the book early this morning.

The PAYA Chronicles: And Then It Hit Me

So, PAYA's Listen and Critique Workshop. NOT.SCARY.AT.ALL. Actually, it was great. After listening to the authors speak, we were broken out into two groups, each with three authors and three/four writers. I'm going to say it again because it can't be said enough: What an incredible opportunity. I feel like I won the writer lottery, because from everything I've heard, you don't usually get this much attention from one author, much less three, and they were awesome.

In my group, the authors were Amy Brecount White, Shannon Delany, and Jon Skovron. I know this is going to sound silly, but woohoo! That's pretty much how I felt. And along with myself and Aine, I was joined by fellow writers Lillie and Ilene, who are very talented.

Lillie and Ilene went first and let me just say...when I get nervous, I play with my pen. At some point, while playing with my pen, I accidentally launched it into the air and hit Ilene. The pen then fell to the ground, and thoroughly mortified, I quickly reached down to get it. And slammed my head on the edge of the table we were all sitting at. Because I have many talents, but apparently hand-eye coordination is not one of them. Now I was beyond mortified, because I had just embarrassed myself in front of Amy Brecount White, Shannon Delany, and Jon Skovron, who are like rock stars as far as I'm concerned, but what can you do, and at least the pen didn't go flying through the air and poke anyone in the eye. That'd be REALLY embarrassing.

Finally, it was my turn. I handed out copies of my lovingly prepared three pages for critique and Amy Brecount White kindly agreed to read for me. Yes, I'm painfully shy, but with her reading, I could take notes and pay attention to people's reactions, so thank you, Amy!

Here's the three pages that Amy read, from my manuscript Knights of Avalon, about the Knights of the Round Table being reincarnated as New Jersey teens, and Mordred is hunting them down and killing them:

Last night, the most extraordinary person I had ever met vanished. She was my best friend Gwen, about the only friend I really had. The call came at three in the morning, one of those calls that I knew would change everything. It was Gwen’s Mom, Mrs. Martinez, asking if I had heard from her daughter that night. It was never the type of call you wanted to get, not when there was a murderer out there, targeting the brightest and most brilliant teens in New Jersey.

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 she was a wreck. According to her, no one had heard from Gwen since 11pm, when she had called her boyfriend after their date and told him her car had broken down in Stone Harbor, right off its main street. Except when the family drove there to pick her up, no one could find Gwen, or the car.

No, I hadn’t heard from her, I said. Not since earlier that day. Mrs. Martinez, ever polite, apologized for waking me up, promised to call back the moment the family had any news, and like that, I was left to fear for my friend in the darkness.

Something had happened to Gwen. Sure, she was sixteen, and us sixteen-year-olds had a habit of staying out late and doing bone-headed things, but Gwen wasn’t like that. We had our adventures, we got into our share of trouble, but Gwen would never scare her parents. Maybe her cell phone had run out of power, maybe it was the other possibility, the possibility I didn’t even want to think about, but she was thoughtful, she was kind, she wouldn’t forget to check in. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

My best friend was the most beautiful person I had ever met, and I wasn’t talking about her looks. I mean, 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 compassion that shone through.

I, on the other hand, was about as huggable as a porcupine. I was a big girl, 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.

I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. I was OK with that too. I kind of didn’t care. I had, in fact, given up on caring a long time ago. But Gwen put up with me, which meant maybe I wasn’t as awful as I thought.

When I was five years old, I had found her playing by herself by the creek one day. Gwen always played alone, none of the other kids in the neighborhood seemed to know what to do with her. Not like they knew what to do with me either. Gwen had been trying to catch frogs in a pool that had formed off a sandbar. She was playing in my creek. In my favorite spot. Catching my frogs. I told her that if she wanted to hang out in my spot, that she’d have to prove herself by crossing the creek on a rickety old moss-covered log. Gwen was up for that. She danced across without a moment’s hesitation. Then she dared me to do the same. I wasn’t afraid. But I wasn’t as graceful as she was, and I wasn’t as light. I slipped off into the water, twisting my ankle. Gwen braved the creek to fish me out. Our friendship was instant.

Now, my best friend was missing. My first impulse was to go out and look for her. It was three in the morning and she was two hours away, but part of me wanted to try anyways. What if she had had an accident? What if she had gotten her car going, only to have it break down again in the middle of nowhere? There was a murderer on the loose, searching for his next victim. I couldn’t bear to think of her out there, scared and alone.

I had woken up my mother to talk to her about it. She said I’d have to wait until morning. I didn’t know how she expected me to just go back to bed. I stared across the room, at the Bruce Lee posters on the walls, thinking about Gwen. My room was up on the second floor of our family’s Cape Cod, painted in a tropical blue with 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?

I kept my cell phone by my side, hoping Gwen’s parents would call back soon. Better yet, maybe it’d be Gwen on the other end of the line. I know it was stupid, but I tried her number and was taken directly to her voicemail. It felt strange to hear her voice, so breezy and cheerful. I sent a text message next. I really didn’t know what I was expecting. I might’ve tried her boyfriend, talk to him about what had happened, but I had never met him, I didn’t even know his last name, much less his phone number.

Wow, would you look at all that telling and not showing. Way to take a great concept and suck the life right out of it with a bunch of exposition up front. I can see it now. I couldn't see it before. A lot of times when I revise, I have an Ah-ha! moment (as opposed to a "Muhahahaha!" moment), where there's a shift in understanding. That's what I was hoping for with this workshop and that's what I got. As Amy read my manuscript, I could feel the energy just die on the page whenever we got to the exposition, and there's a lot of exposition. So I think I finally get what I've been doing wrong with my opening.

Here's some of the specific feedback I got:

• Add dialogue, the action is too far removed
• There's no paranormal here
• No sense that Justine is heroic
• Play up the murder mystery

OK, now here's my revised opening. Hopefully it's better. Because my main character, Justine, is a skeptic, I couldn't really figure out how to bring the paranormal into the opening pages, but I could definitely play up the murder mystery.

“Hi, Justine. I’m sorry to be calling so late.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded scared, exhausted. “Gwen’s not with you, is she?”

I fought to get my bearings in the darkness, the cell phone clutched in my hand. I was in my bedroom, the Bruce Lee posters on the walls told me that much. I peered at the alarm clock, the numbers flashed 3:11 back at me. This wasn’t good. This was one of those calls you never wanted to get, certainly not at 3am on a school night. Not when there was a murderer out there, targeting the brightest and most brilliant teens in New Jersey.

“No,” I said, trying to get my brain to work right. “Why would she be?”

“You haven’t heard from her at all?” There was desperation in Mrs. Martinez’s voice, a desperation I had never heard before.

“No, what happened?” I asked, throwing the blankets back and sitting up straight, my heart starting to race. “I mean, we talked earlier this evening. But that was it.”

I was wide awake now. It was three in the morning and the mother of my best friend was calling to find out where her daughter was. Only I had no idea.

Mrs. Martinez took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “According to Gwen’s boyfriend…” That last word dripped with something bordering on contempt. “According to him, Gwen headed home from their date around 11pm. He’s saying her car broke down in Stone Harbor, right on its main street, that she called him to pick her up. But Gwen’s not there, and neither’s her car.”

“What?” None of this was making sense. “Did he pick her up or not?” I turned on the light, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. I’d get her myself if I had to. I didn’t care that I was over two hours away.

“He said when he got there, Gwen was gone,” Mrs. Martinez repeated, struggling not to lose her composure. “We went there ourselves, we can’t find her either. It’s like she vanished.”

That’s not what I wanted to hear, because Gwen Martinez wasn’t just my best friend, she was the most extraordinary person I had ever met. A straight ‘A’ student who planned on becoming a heart surgeon and working for Doctors Without Borders one day, she had an inner light, a compassion that shone through. There had always been something different about her, something special. Just like the other victims.

They had vanished too. But it was more than that, they hadn’t just disappeared, it was like the Earth had opened up and swallowed them whole. Then they turned up dead, slashed to death with what investigators guessed was a very long knife. No witnesses, no hint of anything suspicious before they went missing. How could a killer do that? And the lack of evidence meant no suspect.

Twelve kids found dead: A fencing champion destined for the Olympics, a martial arts prodigy, an organizer for Habitat for Humanity. One poor boy had won the Hero of the Year award for rescuing a child from drowning only a month before he was killed. They were like Gwen, they were amazing.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mrs. Martinez continued, realizing that perhaps she had said too much. “Gwen probably got her car towed to a gas station, and maybe her cell phone ran out of power. I’ll call you back the moment we hear from her.”

“And if she does call me, I’ll let you know right away,” I promised as I walked to my dresser and grabbed some clothes. It might’ve been three in the morning, but I was already coming up with a plan to help search for Gwen. Because something had happened to her. Sure, Gwen and I had had our adventures, we had gotten into our share of trouble, but Gwen would never scare her parents. Maybe her cell phone had run out of power, maybe it was the other possibility, the possibility I didn’t even want to think about, but she was thoughtful, she was kind, she wouldn’t forget to check in. If she hadn’t called, it was because she couldn’t.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Martinez said, ever polite, even in a situation like this. Somehow, I didn’t know why, but what I said had given her some comfort. “I’m so sorry for waking you up. Try to get some rest and we’ll be in touch.” Then she hung up, leaving me to fear for my friend, alone somewhere out there in the darkness.

Like I said, hopefully this is better!