Writer's Voice

Eek! Y'all...I'm an official entrant in the Writer's Voice contest!

What's Writer's Voice, you ask?

Well, go here to find out more...and this is just one blog of four!

So, below is my entry...

Query:

Dear Agent:

In Oriane, witches are born with a pair of witch stones embedded in their palms, but Rossi, the daughter of the Nowan County Witch, is born with only one. And harvesting lightning with one stone is harder than convincing her troll to take a bath. If only her element had been a gentle babbling brook. But no. One tiny mistake and she could end up fried chicken, just like the only time she’d ever tried to catch it. Something she vowed never to never attempt again.

In spite of Rossi’s best effort to avoid it, a lightning bolt seeks her out. As does a stranger, a warlock boy who claims to know secrets about her single stone and claims he’s here to protect her. But, from what? Other newcomers pop up, a tiny unicorn with a broken horn, a fire witch who is as sweet as a ripe strawberry and a water witch with secrets of her own – Rossi struggles to determine who is friend or foe.

Rossi must learn to control her lightning and fast. Something sinister is lurking in the shadows of her mountains. Something that wants to steal her stone for the dark craft.

WITCH STONE is a middle grade fantasy complete at 59,000 words and should appeal to fans of Plain Kate and The Wizard of Dark Street.

I am an SCBWI member and belong to a local critique group in Northwest Arkansas.

Thank you for your time!

All best,

Mandy Silberstein

First 250:

Chapter 1

            Lightning struck the dirt close to where Rossi sat, her fingers jammed in her ears. She jumped with every crackle of energy, but didn't dare open her eyes.

Rossi hated harvesting lightning. It was loud, hot, and smelled like roasted cat. Plus, her short brown hair always stood on end for several days afterward, frizzed beyond any hope from the mix of electricity and drenching rain that would follow.

            “Mom, that was too close. Stop flinging it at me.” Rossi glanced at her mother perched above her on the edge of Nowan cliff, arms outstretched like she was welcoming an old friend. Her white gown whipped around her legs in the storm winds. She always dressed in her finest for the lightning ritual, while Rossi had just thrown a jacket over her mud spattered pants and her favorite worn shirt that was missing two buttons, along with dusty boots.

            “You could use a charge or two. You've been rather pale lately.” Mom lowered her arms and another bolt streaked through the night sky, straight for the pair of emeralds embedded in her palms. “Come here and try. You give up too easy.”

            “No!” Rossi opened her hands. The brilliant diamond she’d been born with sunk into her left palm and marked her element as lightning. Her right hand was empty of the corresponding stone that would have made her a complete witch.

Lightning had nearly killed her the only time she had tried to call it.