Dear "Writer's Voice" Friends,
Natalie’s
senior class trip to England begins with a bang when she pees on a 747 in front
of her entire class. What’s worse is that no one noticed, proving how invisible
she is to the classmates that have called her Hannibal since freshman year, all thanks to a wired-shut jaw.
Four years of
being teased and ignored has pushed Natalie into the shadows. But it's a
cryptic message the morning of the flight that reminds her that her life is
pure crap and it’s up to her to change.
With high
school seemingly transported to England, Natalie clings to her best friend,
Krista, for support. But when Krista is lured to the dark side by a hard
muscled football stud, Natalie all but packs up her bags to leave.
Enter Brant, a kaleidoscope-eyed Beatles fanatic who has far too
much charm and even more demons in his own closet. And even though he’s 100%
unavailable, he's possibly the one person who will take the high school
politics out of her life, and give her the confidence to stand up against the
people who shriveled her into a wallflower.
My
young adult, contemporary novel, HERE COMES THE SUN, is complete at 66,000 words. It was recently chosen as a
finalist for the Bakers Dozen competition at Miss Snark’s First Victim blog.
I have had
one short story published in a multilingual publication during my tenure at
Benedictine University, where I majored in Writing and Publishing with minors
in Film Studies and Communication Arts.
Thank you
for your time and consideration. I hope I'll have the opportunity to share the
completed manuscript with you soon.
First 250:
I’m sitting outside my gate at O’Hare Airport
mentally preparing for my senior class trip to England. The optimistic side of
me expects to meet Prince Harry, have tea with the Queen, shop at Harrods and make
a Beefeater giggle.
The pessimistic side of me remembers who my
companions are for the trip; my classmates. To say that our relationship is
unstable is stretching the truth. Our relationship is one big ball of toxic.
Last night while I packed, my mom
sat down on my bed and tapped the spot next to her, beckoning for some company.
I threw my yoga pants into my suitcase and joined her, ignoring the scowl she
threw towards my wardrobe.
My mom is an older version of myself in
pretty much every way. We both generally tie our unruly hair back in a ponytail.
Our blue eyes have never needed glasses. And we’re pale until the summer sun
brings us a tan. How are we different? My mom can talk non-stop to anyone who will
listen, while I prefer to just listen.
And tonight she wanted to talk.
She immediately laid in on me about my
clothing choices. Yoga pants? Really? I
wasn’t a bum. And did I remember to place my shampoo in a plastic bag, just in
case the pressure makes it explode? And don’t I want to bring an extra set of
clothing with me in my carry-on to freshen up when I arrive at Manchester
Airport? It took all my strength not to roll my eyes. But yoga pants are
comfy. Yes, my shampoo is locked away in a plastic bag. And I don’t have any more
room in my carry-on for clothes.
