Brenda Drake's Competition - Can we guess your character's age? - has meant I've had Mortimer on my mind. It's a rare thing for me to be totally MG all week but that is where I've been.

MY SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY has been hijacked by Mortimer, who in his pink thermo-regulating suit has been trying to save the universe. 




For other writers who have been romancing or forging other kinds of relationships  click here.

Thanks for visiting and thanks again if you commented. 

The opening for MORTIMER CHILTON AND THE COLLECTIVE has been posted previously. Mortimer has been sent to join The Collective. It is a type of educational facility in an ancient space station in fixed orbit at the edge of the gallaxy. The Collective is not the school it is the minds of the many individuals who should be forged into one unit ready to unite against a formidable enemy.


In this section, the Principal has just met Mortimer.

Riding high in her tank, the Principal sailed through the open half of the stable-style door. She stopped above a thin piece furniture that was pushed against the wall – probably her desk. Once the bubbles settled she stared at Mortimer who was back on his feet and rubbing his sore knee and hip. Her flat face tilted to one side, if she’d had eyebrows they would have been raised high, or be meeting in the middle. Unexpectedly, she wagged a tentacle or several. “It doesn’t seem as if you have much talent for predicting what is going to happen, after all.”

I'm going out now to find holly and ivy for my bare and naked mantel and that is a steamy as things are going to get around here. Still a little steam would help the greenery last through to Twelfth Night ;)  

I hope you are having a great weekend and that, for you, the words are flowing :D

CAN YOU GUESS THE CHARACTER'S AGE?

Brenda Drake is hosting a Blogfest Contest with agent Ammi-Joan Paquette of the Erin Murphy Literary Agency.

A busy agent and author,  Ammi-Joan Paquette only accepts queries via referral or from people she has met at conferences so this is a great opportunity. 

The competition is happen’ ;)

If you want to join in head over to the Brenda Drake WritesBlog.

Here's how it's going down ...

Post the first 250 words of your finished, or not quite finished, manuscript (any genre) to your blogs. This contest is about voice--whether or not your character's voice matches his or her’s age. So if you mention the age or school grade in the first 250 words, please edit it out or block it out for this contest. Don't list the genre or title on your posts. If your 250 words falls in the middle of a sentence, continue to the end of the sentence.

From December 8th-9th hop around to other blogs and try to guess the age of the character, give critiques, or praise. Revise your entries, if you want, and email them to me by 11:59PM (EST) December 10th. (If you want, you may skip the blogfest/critique portion of this contest and just enter the contest.)

A panel of judges will choose the top twenty entries for the semi-finalist round, which will be posted on Brenda’s blog site

If you don't want your entry posted, don't enter the contest.

THIS IS MY ENTRY. I’D BE HAPPY TO HEAR ANY ADDITIONAL IDEAS OR THOUGHTS ON THIS PIECE: 

The only times Mortimer felt close to his parent came with chest pains and a stitch in his side. She only allocated him the minutes between meetings, nutrition breaks and training, and she walked fast. Their time together ran out when he failed to keep up with her in the corridor. It wasn't that he didn't try it was just that her legs were longer. Mortimer could recognise her spun-around and pinned down ponytail anywhere, it was the view he saw most of the time. One day, things went differently: Mortimer could keep up and his parent stopped when she reached the gym door.

Fast, like she couldn't catch her breath, she said, “Mortimer, get your things together.”

“What?" Mortimer asked. His heart slipshifted like the ship did when they dropped into standard orbit. "Me? Wha-”

“You played The Challenge.”

As if he could hide the rough pads, Mortimer tucked his thumbs inside his fists. He didn't get it, he’d been careful. Never played under his own I-dent. His plan to beat the Challenger, System-c, was a fail.

“I told you it wasn’t a game,” she stared at the ceiling. “Mortimer, there are reasons… consequences, for our actions.”

Mortimer’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Wh-where are you sending me?”

“To The Collective. Perhaps there you can learn some discipline. I should be able to visit. Maybe. Mortimer, I am expecting you to get things under control.” She spun around. The identpad reverberated when she hit lock and hurried into the gym.

If you are keen and good to go, entries can be sent now.

The cut off time is December 10th at 11:59PM (EST).

Entries should be emailed to:

brendadrakecontests@gmail.com.  

Remember to exclude any information from your entry that reveals the age (like, actual age or school grade - hints are good).

When you are ready to email, include the age of your character at the end of your entry.

Brenda will be the only one who sees the age. Our three judges, a university press editor, writer, and college student, will not have the age.

If two out of three judges guess your character's age, your entry will move to the consideration round.

 From the consideration round, the top twenty will be chosen and posted on Brenda’s Blog by December 12th.

DO YOU THINK YOU WILL ENTER THE COMPETITION?

THE COOL AS A CUCUMBER BLOGFEST!
If you want to have some fun why not head over to Madeleine's Scribble and Edit Blog.

The rules are simple: 

Turn the cliché on its head, using irony and satire. Make it the subject of a Flash Fiction piece, a Poem or a Limerick.

Liberally sprinkle your entries with well placed clichés or make them the twist to your tale.

Make it the twist on the punch line to your story. Or make it a witty observation: e.g. Rachel's Holiday by Marion Keyes (1997) He kept touching his hair, which, as well as being dyed to within an inch of its life, was blow dried flicked and rigid with spray.

You may choose whichever idiom you like, such as 'The cat that got the cream'; 'As cool as a cucumber'; 'As good as gold', 'Kick the bucket'. Max 400 words for Flash Fiction.

KEEPING UP WITH THE JONES AND KEEPING THE WOLF FROM THE DOOR

Molly, newly appointed house maid to the Reverend and Mrs Smith had been employed to lighten the load on the dainty Mrs Smith. For, truth be told, Daisy Smith's strength was challenged by handbags and teacups.

“Besides,” the Reverend announced, “’tis common knowledge, in the village, that the Rector, Mr Jones, had felt it was necessary to take on a maid of all works.”

Molly was keen to make a good impression so she set off with the lark. Her fingers were in a jam sandwich she carried with her. She hurried but somehow time flew by. She took the shortcut through the minister’s garden.

It was a warm day and the insects buzzed around Molly’s head. It wasn’t until she was introducing herself to her new employer that Molly found out she had a bee in her bonnet.

More than a little irritated, Mrs Smith was hot headed by the time the busy bee was gone.

Molly was banished out to the gardens which was a bit steep. Carrying a pitcher of milk from the dairy, she got caught in a rut and pitched head-first into the jars that had been collected and awaited washing.

Picking herself up from amongst shards of glass, Molly realised she was in a bit of a pickle. Mess was everywhere. Blood was thicker than water and a lot harder to clean up. But a maid's work is never done so, despite the pain in the neck, she had to get a move on. There was no use crying over spilt milk. That, or any other kinds of messes.

The hours were long and Molly was worn out.

Sharp, hungry howls sliced through the stillness. As she staggered to a stop, she gauged how far away the wolves were. Far enough. Safe enough. 
Molly shook her head, she'd tried to finish up but there weren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done. In the minister's garden, she'd only had time to sweep the broken glass up to the veranda built around the edge of the Smith's house. Still she had earned her wages, and that should keep the wolf from the door.

WORDS ARE WONDERFUL. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE WORD?

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY - DRAWN - fevered and fed

Christmas is coming, I can tell because the first of my brothers is due to arrive... in less than an hour. 


Pressure. *argh! Think: house, food, wrapping paper and a ticking clock.


Still some things still need to be done - and posting is one of them - oops ;)


Every week, participants in SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY post six sentences from their work-in-progress *easy and huge amounts of fun :D


For this week’s list, click here.

Thanks for visiting and thanks again if you commented. 

I'm still spending most of my writing time on my MG projects but I love Darrah and Hale too. 


It continues directly after last week's post.


Darrah is The Arm of Elthor's Corp - this gives her responsibility for the men she selects to train and to lead. Her secret mission is to find the Regal's heir who has been taken. The evidence suggests that The Sarkisians - who, with their unusual powers and their need to feed directly from the living, are hated and feared - are responsible. Darrah, who has personal reasons to want all that race to husk and crumble is finding it hard deal with her reactions to Hale who has been sent to find out who, or what, is trying to destroy the fragile peace between their peoples.


Darrah is no longer hanging over a chasm Hale has lain his finger on her.  


Welcome to my 6 :D

When Darrah could focus through the fever boiling in her blood, she saw Hale squeezed against the rough needles of rock that grew up from the cavern floor. On the narrow ledge, he couldn’t force himself any farther away. He’d pulled his fingers into fists and clenched them against his stomach. In the thin grey light, each tendon in his arms and chest glinted like metal ore through rock. Darrah didn’t want to think what it meant – what had happened – when he held her. Now the four finger marks on her wrist glowed but a fire raged everywhere.

I hope you are having a great weekend.

WHICH STAGE HAVE YOU REACHED WITH YOUR Work In Progress?

Well I never Blogfest

I already had two reasons to be cheerful: 

Not that Manchester United made my day
yesterday but that was November ;)

1  December has started! In our preparations for Christmas, we’re all chocolate Advent calendars and cheer, already. 

2  National Novel Writing Month is a thing of the past. ;) 

Congratulations, if you won: if you wrote 50,000 words or more within 30 days. 

I’d started my wip in October, so, although I’ve been writing I didn’t take part in NaNoWriMo for 2011.

If you finished your novel remember now is the time to put the thing to bed – not to query - the poor book is exhausted after that huge growth spurt.   

It’s a bit of a teen at the minute. If you leave it alone and let it rest for a while it’ll be so much easier to get it to do anything quality later.  ;)

After all, ‘tis the season of reflection and rest (and, maybe, a little revision) 

Then, Bloghopping around today, I found a third reason to have a bright and shiny day: 

Vicki Rocco is holding her Well, I never Blogfest 

Well, I never:

Sorry to be predictable but I never thought I'd write a book. 

When I was growing up, I ate, slept and read books (all at the same time)  :

I read on the bus.

I read when I was walking.

I read at the dinner table (or thought about the book when it was taken away and shelved)

And I didn’t sleep that much at all. When I went to bed, I sat on the window ledge and read by street light.  

How I would’ve loved to have been living where I do today. In our house's multi-cornered position – I counted – there are seven different streetlights all illuminating my bedroom; it is bliss! However, all that beaming electricity is wasted on me now no one tells me off for having the light on two hours after I’ve gone to bed. (I have to add, when it comes to illumination irritation, my husband could sleep on the surface of the sun – give or take the other problem with the sun’s surface.) 

Still, I never thought I’d write a book.

I have one of those spelling things that only spell checker and access to the internet’s instant reassurance could cure. 

Did you know some dyslexics can read? Somehow though, the same spellings we can recognise when we're reading are tricksy little bleeders to pin down one letter at a time.

My teacher used to say deciphering my stories was like mining for gold, like knowing there was treasure and she just had to work a little harder to reveal it. She said I made sure it was worth the effort.

(If you are interested, I learned lots of words and carry a card with any words I know I’d mis-spell if I panic.) 

Well, I never: one day, I sat down and started writing a book. 

I have finished four.  

Now, all I need to do is find an agent who loves my stories as much as I do.

Short of re-enacting scenes from Misery, I work at improving my skills and polishing my manuscripts.

Was there something you didn't believe you would ever be able to do?

I LOVE DARK YA How to save a life? Check Sara Zarr

Kelley York, Heather McCorkle, Christa Desir, and E.R. King of YAtopia have hosted a month-long blogfest in November for anyone who loves their YA books on the darkside.

 

This is the last week ;(

 

WEEK 5:

30th November: Waiting on Wednesday—What dark YA book are you most looking forward to?

As, (*guilty secret *blushes) I'm addicted to Teen Mom - Janelle; what can I say? - the dark YA book I'm looking forward to reading is "how to save a life" by Sara Zarr.

Frustrations, dilemmas and uncertain futures, I have got to read this book.


When she wants to adopt a baby, Jill's Mum invites a pregnant teen to live with them until the child is born.

This is a trio of relationships I would love to read.

It is a described as a story of teenage pregnancy that really delivers.

WHEN IT COMES TO TELEVISION VIEWING, DO YOU HAVE A GUILTY SECRET?

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY - DRAWN

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY


The clue is in the title, every week the participants post six sentences from their work-in-progress.


For this week’s list, click here.

Welcome to my 6 ;) Thanks for visiting and thanks again if you commented. 

This is the novel I work between session writing MG. 


It continues directly after last week's post - because I couldn't leave Darrah hanging any longer ;)


Darrah is The Arm of Elthor's Corp - this gives her responsibility for the men she selects to train and to lead. Her secret mission is to find the Regal's heir who has been taken. The evidence suggests that The Sarkisians - who, with their unusual powers and their need to feed directly from the living, are hated and feared - are responsible. Darrah, who has personal reasons to want all that race to husk and crumble is finding it hard deal with her reactions to Hale who has been sent to find out who, or what, is trying to destroy the fragile peace between their peoples.


Darrah is hanging over a chasm clinging to Hale's wrist. Even though he could help her Hale has, so far, chosen not to lay a finger on her.  

DRAWN

Although it was hot and steamy, the unworldly air, from far below, chilled her. Darrah felt sick, nothing she tried stopped her hand sliding over his wrist. Before giving in to the inevitable, she gazed along their arms until she could look Hale in the eye. Whatever she’d expected to see it wasn’t the red blotches of shame in his cheeks or the impossibly wide, dark lakes of his eyes. As each of his fingers connected, one by one, along her wrist, Darrah gasped. With the faintest of tugs she was all warmth… and darkness.

If you have been celebrating, I hope you had a great Thanksgiving Weekend. :D

We've been celebrating our son's birthday with different groups of friends and family since last Wednesday - that was a long birthday ;) Now we can start thinking about Christmas.

November is nearly over, did you get lots of writing completed? Did you see your word count rise?