Ten Things About Me

Hello, all!

So, as anyone who's seen the post below knows, I am part of a contest called The Writer's Voice. This contest is awesome, not just because of the opportunity we have to work with some pretty awesome coaches and get exposed to some lovely lovely agents, but because of the amazing people I've met on Twitter via the hashtag #TheWritersVoice. Never have I been in an online community of any sort with so much love and support and absolutely no hate. It's incredible.

Among those people is Kelsey, from Kelsey Is Writing. Kelsey has bestowed upon me an awesome blogging award: The Kreativ Blogger award!

Now, as my price for this award, I have to give you 10 facts about me! Hmm...

1. I am still in my teens! Hopefully this means many years of writing ahead of me.

2. Everything I write starts out as a fantasy or mystery and turns into a thriller. I just really like the gruesome deaths and psychological torture, okay?

3. I wrote Mad As A Hatter when I was 14. That was the first draft, of course, and it's evolved a LOT since then, but that was its first milestone! Oh, my little novel baby, all full of murder and torture and creepiness... mama is so proud.

4. My current WIP is a project called Sherlockettes, which is a modern-day Sherlock Holmes adaptation starring two teenage girls, Veronika Metzger and Sophie Tremblay. The girls investigate a series of attacks on their classmates while dealing with the social hierarchy of the privileged world they live in. Veronika, a wealthy heiress with all the money and social status she could ever dream of, wants nothing to do with the steep social politics of the city of Westmount. Sophie, a scholarship girl who wants to develop a cure to schizophrenia, can never have that kind of social standing and respect, but desperately wants it... They fight crime! 

5. I drink a ridiculous amount of tea. Ridiculous, I tell you!

6. I am a proud Canadian. Long live the true north, strong and free!

7. When I'm emailing/texting/tweeting, I use ALL CAPS FOR EMPHASIS so often it's embarrassing.

8. I owe all my writing to my amazing support circle, both on and off the internet. Having people tell you, "I hate reading, but for your book I will make an exception" is strangely encouraging!

9. I live on a Caribbean island. My school is across the street from the beach.

10. I have travelled a lot! I've been to 20 states, 4 provinces, England, Scotland, France, Belgium, Italy, Mexico, Turks & Caicos, and my island.

  

The Writer's Voice: Entry #85

Query:

London, 1882.

Seven years ago, Emil Aleric and his sister were kidnapped and taken to ‘Wonderland’ by a man claiming to come from the future. He called himself the Hatter. Emil survived the torture. His sister didn't.

When Emil hears of a serial killer ravaging London and leaving notes quoting Alice in Wonderland, Emil knows his former abductor has returned. And when his guardian, Inspector Corwin James, is put in charge of the case, he thinks it must be fate.

At first, Corwin's adamant that Emil have nothing to do with the case; after all, he’s only fourteen. However, as the two come closer to learning the truth of the murders, they find the most pivotal clues lie in Emil’s memories—suppressed for seven years, but now threatening to consume him. Emil must fight once again- but now, if Emil fails, and what the Hatter says is true, time itself will end.

First 250:

They say that when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

In other words, thought Corwin, sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction.

Corwin James was an intelligent man, and a reasonable one at that. He was a little taller than average, a little younger than he appeared, a little more cynical than he let on. Three years ago, he’d taken over his late father’s job at Scotland Yard and now, at twenty-one years old, was content as an upper-middle class citizen. It was December of 1882, and Corwin was sitting in his study, looking at the snow outside without really seeing it and inhaling the scent of fillet mignon without really smelling it.

Corwin was not the kind of man to slouch and prop his feet up on the table. To any onlooker, his current position, his legs crossed and two fingers massaging his temple, would look poised and professional. For Corwin, it was the height of bad posture.

 The cause of his lapse in etiquette was simply stress. Corwin was not a superstitious man, but reports of young women disappearing for days on end and reappearing as the victims of violent murders had convinced the restless public that the devil was at work.

Road Trip Wednesday #128: Who IRL Can You Talk to About YA?

Well, I actually have a few answers! But I will choose one.

The person IRL I can talk to about YA is one of my best friends, who will be henceforth referred to as LA Chick. (I will have to email her to get her approval on this nickname). LA Chick and I have been incredibly close since the eighth grade. We were on a school trip to Quebec City. I was working on a novel and decided to base all the characters off real people. We spent three days talking about her character's boyfriend.

She now lives in Los Angeles, but she's basically my go-to for anything related to YA. She is also the first person to read Mad As A Hatter. I don't know what I'd do without her there to listen to my endless rambling about everything from query letters to Damon Salvatore.

Who can you talk to IRL about YA? Comment below!

Teaser Tuesday

Teaser Tuesday!

It's about time I do one of these. So I've decided to post some MAAH. Here goes!

This is a flashback scene to when Emil was seven.

. . .

“One side makes you larger,” said the man, “and one side makes you small.”

Emil looked up at the mushroom, giant and bright purple and towering over his small form. His blond hair was tangled and filthy, a mixture of sweat and dirt and blood ratting it up. He didn’t look at the man—wouldn’t look at him.

“Wh-what?” he asked, his voice shaking. He kept his eyes firmly on the mushroom.

“Which side do you choose?”

Emil’s bare feet curled up around the long blades of grass. A whimper escaped his throat.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Emil,” said the man, his velvety voice clear and smooth and deceivingly warm, wrapping itself around Emil’s head, ringing in his ears. “Think about it. Don’t tell me you’re a stupid boy, as well.”

Emil’s lips quivered.

“Bigger. Smaller.” The man stepped a little closer from behind. Emil could feel the heat radiating from his body, standing out among the freezing cold air.

Emil locked his muscles, refused to shiver, refused to move, refused to give any sign of acknowledgment.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Deaf and dumb, it seems.” There was a sound of movement, and when the man spoke again, his voice was right in Emil’s ear.

“One side lets you live,” it said, low and dangerous. “And one side lets you die.”

Emil’s breath caught in his throat.

“So which do you choose?” asked the man.

Emil clenched his eyes shut, blocking out the scent of blood and salt and fear and death. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

“Oh, that’s sweet,” said the man. “You’re not hungry.”

Emil felt the man’s body move away from his, and he relaxed.

A second later, rough hands were on his shoulders, throwing him to the cold, wet ground.

“WHICH SIDE DO YOU CHOOSE?”

Emil was frozen for what seemed like forever. Then, slowly, each motion difficult, he pulled himself to his feet, walked toward the mushroom, and stood on his toes. He ripped a tiny piece with yellow spots off the right side and, making sure he didn’t hesitate, bit into it.

He heard a heavy sigh from behind him, and, like magic, the air began to warm around him, soothing and comforting. “You chose the good side,” said the man. “Ah, well. All the better. I’ll get to kill you myself.”

As soon as the man’s footsteps had faded, Emil threw up, blood and purple mushroom spewing onto the grass at his feet. He rocked back and forth, breathing deeply, running his nails up and down his left forearm, up and down, up and down.

Inspiration. Decorating!

It has been a very long time since I last posted anything! I have been a very busy girl. Nevertheless, here I go...

What is inspiration? Some people will say that it's what makes people do things, but that isn't true. Most people are inspired to do things very regularly that they never get around to. I, for one, have been inspired to clean my room about a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours.

...and that's about as far as I got.

When people are inspired to do things, they may start right away, or set a careful plan. And for small things, that can work. But very few people can get big things done with only a moment of inspiration to fuel them.

Which is why we need some other tools to keep us from going off track.

It's awesome to be encouraged by others. I have the bestest most wonderfulest support group for my writing online, and they are my favorite people. But sometimes, you also have to encourage yourself.

Hence the redecorating of my bedroom walls!

Please ignore my... less than spectacular photography skills.

This is the wall on top of my desk! I decorated it in honor of some edits I'm making to Mad As A Hatter, my Wonderland-inspired novel, as we speak!

I've never actually done something like this, but I'm optimistic.

So, what do you do to encourage yourself? Any favorite rituals or tools? Comment and let me know!

(p.s. The pictures on my walls do not belong to me in any way, shape, or form. They are images I printed off Tumblr for no reason but to put them on my walls.)