#5 INSIDE HUDSON PICKLE (MG contemporary)

At thirteen, Hudson Pickle is a total hockey has been. Thanks to a growth spurt (think Shaq on steroids) Hudson has lost his co-ordination, his spot on the rep team, his group of friends, and his confidence. Not a good way to start Junior High.

To get his mind off hockey, Hudson’s focused on making the school basketball team.  But after an asthma attack at the first tryout and a run in with his rival (a loud mouth, wannabe sports hero who likes to play dirty, both on and off the court), Hudson knows he needs back up.  He finds it from his Uncle Vic, who moves in with Hudson and his mom after a suspicious fire destroys his basement apartment.  Problem is, Victor Pickle comes with his own set of problems and secrets - including a couple that will affect Hudson right down to his DNA.

Inside Hudson Pickle  is a middle grade, contemporary novel of  45, 000 words. 

 

First 500 Words:

The panic in Mom’s voice cut through my closed bedroom door like a right winger splitting the defense. “Hudson! We’ve gotta go!”

I looked at the clock. Mom should’ve been cleaning up from dinner and packing lunches for tomorrow. I tossed my Sports Illustrated on the floor.

“What are you talking about?” I yelled back. “I’m doing my homework!”

“It’s Uncle Vic!” Mom’s voice was getting louder. She was coming up the stairs.

I rolled off the bed. This could be good. Excitement followed Uncle Vic like stink follows gym clothes.

The bedroom door burst open. Mom’s shiny, red face came next. “There’s been a fire,” she said. “Get your coat.”

“Fire?” It sounded crazy, but nothing was too out there when it came to Uncle Vic. It was probably just another one of his pranks, like the time he sat in a tree and played his guitar for forty-eight hours straight to protest clear cutting logging of old growth trees. He’d gotten the attention he wanted for that one, thanks to a YouTube video that went viral.

Or it could be something even better. He’d spent time in the slammer when he was a teenager, though I’d never gotten a straight answer on what his crime had been. He’d also been arrested for disturbing the peace and obstruction of justice. I knew because I’d read it in the paper, in the back pages of the entertainment section where they bury news about pseudo-famous, local people. But he’d only been fined for those crimes, never served time. 

He didn’t strike me as an arsonist. But with Uncle Vic, you just never knew. That’s the one things I liked about him. He wasn’t boring and predictable like Mom.

“For real? A fire?” I asked her.

“Yes, a real fire.” Mom exhaled hard, making her bangs fan out like an umbrella. “And yes, your Uncle is fine.”

“Oh, right.” It hadn’t occurred to me that Uncle Vic might be hurt. The guy was invincible. “So what’s the panic?”

“We’ll talk in the car.” Mom was already bundled up in the oversized down jacket she wore almost all year long, her small body unable to fight the Midwest cold without it.

I grabbed my hoodie off the floor and followed Mom to the garage.

“Calm down, Mom,” I said as she backed out of the driveway at twice her normal speed. Her normal speed was painfully slow but still, she was starting to freak me out. “What’s going on?” 

“I don’t really know,” Mom said. “I just got this call from Uncle Vic. He said there’d been a fire. He asked me to come and get him.”

“A fire in his house?” Uncle Vic lived in a basement suite near the centre of town, miles away from our square box in the ‘burbs. 

“Yes, in his house,” Mom replied, her eyes fixed on the straight, flat road ahead.

#6 THE BALLAD OF EMILY DUNCAN (YA historical murder mystery)

In 1890s Norfolk, seventeen-year-old Lucy Atwood dreams of happy-ever-afters for herself and her older brother, Wyatt. Working as a governess at Worthington Manor, Lucy's friendship with the handsome and wealthy Cole Marchant is fast developing into something more. Meanwhile, Wyatt has fallen madly in love with Lucy's best friend, Emily Duncan - a beautiful and much-admired lady's maid.

On the night of the Worthington winter fair, Emily accepts Wyatt's proposal of marriage. But the next day, Emily is found dead - her lifeless body discovered floating in the river that runs through the Worthington estate - and Wyatt is arrested for her murder.

Desperate to save her brother from the hangman's noose, Lucy enlists the help of Edgar Harrington, a kind but inexperienced young lawyer. Together, Lucy, Edgar and Cole investigate what really happened the night Emily died, uncovering long-buried secrets as they hunt for the real killer. But it isn't long before Lucy's investigation puts her, and all those around her, in terrible danger...

Inspired by an old English poem and told partly in verse, THE BALLAD OF EMILY DUNCAN (complete at 75,000 words) is a historical, romantic murder mystery for readers aged twelve to adult. It should appeal to fans of authors such as Mary Hooper and Michelle Zink, and to viewers of TV's Downton Abbey.


The Ballad of Emily Duncan

I hope she watches over me,
I hope she thinks me brave,
As I kneel down and lay,
A single rose upon her grave.

Norfolk, 1890

‘Wyatt!’ I push my way through the baying crowd, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of my brother. All around me people jeer in derision, shaking their fists, their eyes flashing with anger and hate. These are people I know, people I once counted as friends.

And now they would see my brother hang for a crime he did not commit.

‘Lucy!’ He calls my name, his voice croaky and rough. ‘Lucy, stay away! It’s not safe!’

I press on, elbowing my way to the front of the crowd, politeness all but forgotten now. I stopped minding my manners the day they clamped my brother in chains.

The day Emily died.

‘Wyatt!’

I see him now, being guided through a gap in this mob of people; his clothes ragged and torn; his blond hair lying limp and unwashed; his lip split open and his cheek swollen and bruised from where Gabriel’s fist collided with his face in a furious flurry of rage.

‘Lucy!’ His blue eyes widen as his gaze meets mine. ‘Lucy, get back! Please!’

He is being pulled along by two men bigger and stronger than he, one on each arm, his feet dragging uselessly on the frosty ground as the uniformed officers plough onwards.

His hands are bound together, chained at the wrists, so he cannot fight back. Though there is no need for such measures. All of the fight has drained out of him now. I can see it in his eyes. He is no longer the jovial, carefree young man I once knew.

Some might say the brother I love is already lost to me. But not I. And I will do everything in my power to save him.

‘Let him go!’ I cry, tugging on the arm of one of Wyatt’s captors.

He shakes me off, as if I am nothing more than a petty annoyance.

With tears of anger and frustration welling in my eyes, I clench my hands into fists and jump in front of Wyatt. ‘Stop!’ I yell, stumbling backwards as Wyatt’s guards continue to propel him forwards. ‘Please stop! He didn’t kill anyone! He’s innocent!’

My protests are drowned out by the angry, snarling voices of the crowd. They surround me on all sides, closing in on me, their faces twisted in fury and disgust, their grasping hands reaching for my brother as he is marched to his death.

An elderly woman appears at my side, knocking me out of the way so suddenly that my foot slips on a loose pebble, my ankle turns over and I stumble and fall.

Hands grab me before I hit the ground, dragging me back; the hungry horde swallowing me whole.

But not before I see the old woman thrusting her wrinkled face forward to spit at my brother.

#7 SHADOWCATCHERS (Upper MG fantasy)

At only 14 years old Zane Blackthorne is the youngest Shadowcatcher on the force. He's also the best. He has to be. The ridiculous amount of gold he earns hunting down tax evaders is the only thing keeping him from ending up back in the slums where he was raised. And he'd rather eat a Narcow than end up back there.

Zane thinks he's hit the jackpot when the Empress commissions him to collect the shadow of a political opponent. Sure, she threatens to sic bounty hunters on him if he fails, but that doesn't scare Zane. He's too good to fail. At least, he thinks he is until a rat-faced urchin named Meescha gets in his way.

A victim of the Shadowcatchers herself, Meescha shows Zane what happens to those who can't afford to buy their shadows back. Most become husks of their former selves, withering away with agonizing slowness; the rest die instantly, their lives snuffed out like street lamps at dawn. Haunted by the faces of the suffering shadowless, Zane must make a choice: continue living in luxury as the Empress's enforcer or quit and spend what's left of his life hiding in the slums with a target on his back.

SHADOWCATCHERS is a 43,000-word, Upper MG fantasy told from two viewpoints: Zane's and Meescha's.

SHADOWCATCHERS

Zane slouched in the shade of a stall, casually eating a fig, while he watched the man he was hunting move with purpose through the market. His prey seemed anxious to keep out of the sunlight that drenched the market in heat and light, but whether it was to keep cool or to protect his shadow, Zane didn't know. Either way, he would have to be careful.

       Dropping the fig skin onto the ground, he double-checked the sketch in his pocket. Same fair hair and beard, same crinkly eyes, same snaggle-toothed smile. Definitely the same man. Zane peeled himself off the wall and slipped across the sand toward his mark. Three scraggly chickens clucked out into his path, looking for food. Wretched birds! Sidestepping them smoothly, he checked to see if their squawking had called attention to him, but no one seemed to have noticed. The market was practically a ghost town, just the way he liked it. Most Catchers worked when the market was crowded, and the shadows long, but he preferred the precision of getting up close.

       The man strode past without even a glance. Zane took a pinch of Silkshade powder from the pouch on his belt and waited. When Snaggle-tooth stepped into the sunlight to buy some withered olives, Zane slipped up behind him and dropped the powder onto the tiny patch of shadowy ground. Deftly, Zane sneaked his foot forward, simultaneously removing a handkerchief from his pocket. Now for the tricky part.

       Carefully, oh so carefully, he twisted his foot as the man walked away. At the same time, Zane coughed into the handkerchief to mask the quiet ripping sound the shadow made as it separated from the man's body. Perfect! The shadow lay whole on the ground. Zane dropped his handkerchief on top of the shadow and crumpled them up together. He slipped them into the pouch on his belt and turned to leave. The powder only made shadows cloth for a few minutes. He had to get somewhere quiet and get the shadow bottled before it wore off.

       He slipped back across the square, peeking over his shoulder to make sure the man hadn't noticed his loss. The man's shoulders drooped as though a great weight had descended on him, and he reached out to steady himself on the nearest wall. With any luck, Snaggle-tooth would just think he was suffering some mild heatstroke – a bonus to hunting at this disgustingly hot hour of the day. And if he did realize his shadow was gone, he'd never guess Zane was the one who took it. Zane just looked like a fourteen-year-old apprentice running errands in the market. That's why the Lucrumcessi had decided to train him, because no one ever suspects a kid. Zane was the youngest Shadowcatcher on the force.

       He was also the best.

#8 THE NEW EDEN CHRONICLES (YA sci-fi thriller)

For sixteen-year-old citizen Eve Thomas, life in New Eden has never been easy. Haunted by a freakish photographic memory and strange tics, she’s always on guard. But when her little brother contracts a disease New Eden's leaders won’t treat because technology is sacrilege, she’ll have to conquer her insecurities fast—and that means joining forces with someone willing to break the law.

Nineteen-year-old Mana Aquino lives to destroy the bishop who murdered sister and treats all outsiders like slaves. But as a laborer from the toxic Ghostlands, he’s having trouble getting close to his prey. When Mana learns about Eve’s memory, he makes her a bold offer: he’ll bring illegal medicine to her brother, if she’ll serve as his human camera, gathering sensitive information that could topple the bishop.

Though contact between citizens and outsiders is punishable by death, Eve finds herself drawn to the fiery boy with the dark sun eyes. She’s determined to show him that she’s no pampered child he can use and throw away. But being determined isn't going to solve Eve's problems. If she accepts Mana's offer, she’ll put her entire family at risk. If she says no, her brother is as good as dead.

Told by Eve and Mana, The New Eden Chronicles is a futuristic thriller with cross-cultural romance at its heart. A stand-alone novel with series potential, it is complete at 100,000 words.

First 500 Words:

Chapter 1—Eve

Theresa’s a kicker. Mama and I struggle to keep her in the kitchen chair so the medics can find a vein and fill a vial with her blood. I feel like a monster, wrestling down a seven-year-old while her hot-poker screams skewer the space between my ears. But once the needle’s in, the thrashing subsides and her hazel eyes glaze over. The thin red stream shooting up into the glass is beautiful. As we let her go, I tap the back of the chair four times so the results will be negative. Theresa scowls then stumbles to her feet and stalks off. In a few minutes, she’ll be bragging to everyone about her ordeal.

Nearly twelve, Sarah would rather die than act like a baby. She practically jumps into the chair, though her arm quivers. She closes her eyes and turns away, her lips mashed together as the needle finds its mark. When the medic caps the full vial, she beams in that self-satisfied way she’s adopted. Four-year-old Rachel doesn’t understand enough to be afraid. We promise sweet treats and a new dress for her ragdoll if she’ll behave and it works like a charm. In his cradle nearby, David sleeps through the commotion, too young to be tested. Because I’m sixteen, I’m past the danger zone. There’s no big sharp needle for me, to my siblings’ disappointment.

Josh’s blood is the last to be collected. His calm amazes me. Instead of looking away or crying, like most ten-year-olds would, he watches the medics with curiosity, asking question after question about how the blood is labeled, stored, and analyzed. The two women administering the test smile and oblige him as much as possible but won’t reveal many details. They seem unnerved. I catch Josh’s eye and realize he hasn’t bought the story we’ve given the kids about why they’re being tested. He knows it’s not for some random scientific study. I tap four when Josh gets up and again when the medics leave our cabin. 

Now it won’t be my fault if the unthinkable happens. 

***

For two weeks after the blood draw, the same dream visits me every night. I know everything that’s about to happen, but can’t do anything to stop it. Josh and I run through the forest in the pitch dark, his small bare body ghostlike among the branches. He seems so sure about where he’s leading us that I don’t question him. Scudding clouds reveal the moon every few seconds while all around us ancient trees twist in the blackness. 

“Slow down,” I call, when he gets too far ahead, the sound of my voice warping with the howling wind. I can barely make out his coppery hair as he starts up a hill a good 30 feet away. He’s impossibly fast despite how sick he seems. No matter what I do, I can’t close the gap between us.