We Have A Winner!

Thank you to K.B. for brainstorming with me on the whole "Fate" angle and for the, ummm, creative suggestions on this blog for possible title ideas for the Alexa series.

Shout out to BubbleVicious for the idea of "shadows".


The Official Titles for Alexa's trilogy are:

SHADOWING FATE

TWISTING FATE

BREAKING FATE


At least until my future publisher decides to change them. =)

Brain Blast!

I've been stuck in a mess of my own making in the middle of the Alexa book. I introduced a character and then watched my plot run away in a direction I never intended.

Five chapters into that and I could see that it just wasn't working.

I left it alone for a week, examining the situation, trying to figure out where I went wrong and how to get the book back on track.

Two nights ago, I went to see Bourne Ultimatum with friends and halfway through the movie, I figured it out.

It was a little hard to concentrate on the movie and replot/reposition my characters but, like many writers I know, once an idea took hold and I could feel that it was right, I couldn't let it go.

Unfortunately, I have to scrap five chapters but it's worth it just to get it right!

Revised Again!

Earlier, I posted a revised beginning to Alexa. Several readers commented, either on this blog or through email. I listened to your comments (which ranged from "LOVE the new one, much better" to "Hated it, want the old one back"). I decided to do a hybrid of the two.

My goal is to keep a fast-paced, suspensful tone while incorporating Alexa's voice in an opening that flows smoothly. Let me know what you think of this one.

CHAPTER ONE

Evil has a voice all its own. It sounds like insatiable greed, impotent rage, and terrible grief blended into one throbbing hunger for power. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only one who hears it. It haunts me, compelling me to make it silent.

I have no control over the fact that I can hear the worst people have to offer. I do, however, have complete control over my wardrobe. Few things are as thrilling as hunting down evil in a kicking pair of four-inch stilettos. I never know when the need to hunt will strike and the fact that I can wipe the pavement with a man twice my size while wearing heels is a pretty satisfactory bonus. It’s like being Wonder Woman without all that tacky spandex.

It’s not as crazy as it sounds.

Why else would I be clinging to the side of an old brick apartment building on Fifth Avenue wearing a little red dress and a gorgeous pair of leopard print Manolo Blahnik stilettos?

Revise, Revise, Revise!

Fitzgerald once said that the act of writing was really the act of rewriting. I've certainly found that to be true. In the spirit of getting under Alexa's skin and in response to a constructive comment from a published author, I decided to revise the first few paragraphs of the novel.

I hope this captures Alexa's voice better than the original and transitions smoothly to her clinging to the side of that apartment building. Let me know what you think.

ORIGINAL:

Evil has a voice all its own. It sounds like insatiable greed, impotent rage, and terrible grief blended into one throbbing hunger for power. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only one who hears it. It haunts me, compelling me to make it silent.

It’s not as crazy as it sounds.

Why else would I be clinging to the side of an old brick apartment building on Fifth Avenue wearing a little red dress and a gorgeous pair of leopard print Manolo Blahnik stilettos?


REVISED:

Few things are as thrilling as hunting down evil in a kicking pair of four-inch stilettos. I have no control over the fact that I can hear the worst emotions people have to offer: they sound like insatiable greed, impotent rage, and terrible grief blended into one throbbing hunger for power. To the best of my knowledge, I’m the only one who hears evil in others and it haunts me, compelling me to make it silent.

Like I said, I have no control over this. My wardrobe is another matter. I never know when the need to hunt will strike and the fact that I can wipe the pavement with a man twice my size while wearing stilettos is a pretty satisfactory bonus. It’s like being Wonder Woman without all that tacky spandex.

It’s not as crazy as it sounds.

Why else would I be clinging to the side of an old brick apartment building on Fifth Avenue wearing a little red dress and a gorgeous pair of leopard print Manolo Blahnik stilettos?

Character Building

As I get deeper into writing the first book in the Alexa Tate series, I'm realizing that to capture the complete essence of my characters, I need to know every little thing about them, even the things I'll probably never use.

With that in mind, I thought I would share some of the facts about Alexa that I'm using to understand how she acts/reacts/thinks/feels.

MUSIC: Alexa likes alternative rock with a bite. Her current favorites are Evanescence, Linkin Park, Breaking Benjamin, and Three Days Grace. I think it's because no one who hunts villains (even a girl who hunts in stilhettos) could possibly listen to anything less than hard, edgy rock and roll. I also think the darker undertones in her life find a voice in these type of lyrics. Whatever her reasons, she relaxes better listening to Evanescence's FALLEN than to anything else. Her MP3 player is her lifesaver when she wants to go anywhere and stay blissfully ignorant of any evil intentions. Of course, with Alexa, the desire for blissful ignorance is always fleeting.

BOOKS: Honestly, with a full time job, a string of blind dates from hell, two men stalking her, and a city full of evil waiting for her to hear it, she rarely has time to read.

TV: Ditto the book thing. Although she does make an exception for E.R. But then, who doesn't?

HOBBIES: Shopping. Alexa believes strongly in shoe therapy. She buys name brand clothes, not because she's conscious of her image but because she enjoys spending money on nicer pieces of clothing. As a result, she owns less but the items in her closet are amazing. She also loves to hang with her best friend Trisha. She hates clubs and bars. Without the buffer of her MP3 player, the sound of lust, lies, and hunger for power are deafening. She loves to play sports, especially tackle football and swimming. She learned early on, however, to hold herself back. A girl who can swim 400 meters without ever coming up for air or who can flatten a 280 pound man with one shove of her hand tends to draw unwanted attention to herself.

FEARS: Just one: failing. After her parents were murdered, a hard kernel of blame lodged in her heart and stayed. Despite the fact that she was on a vacation with Trisha's family at the time (her one foray beyond the boundaries of NYC and one she isn't anxious to repeat), she is convinced she should have known something in time to save them. It drives her relentlessly to hunt down those who hurt others.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: 5ft 9in, lightly tanned, straight black hair falling down below the middle of her back, light green eyes, clothing size 8, shoe size 9, athletic and toned.

FOODS: Alexa loves meat. Any kind, doesn't matter. She craves protein the way some women crave chocolate. I don't know if this is because she is athletic and her metabolism needs protein or if her kind have to feed on meat. She doesn't have much of a sweet tooth but she does love donuts. Especially cream filled.

DRINKS: Diet Coke. Bottled water. Never any alchohol. The one time she drank, it lowered her defenses enough that every stray emotion in the room rushed violently through her. Once was enough, thank you very much, and she never touches the stuff now.

PARENTS: Benjamin and Elizabeth (Ben and Libby to their friends) were returning from an antiquing trip through Virginia (one of Libby's many short-lived hobbies) when they found a little black-haired, green-eyed baby girl sitting silently beside the road, miles from anywhere. They loaded her into their car, drove to the next town, didn't care for the local authorities so they took her home with them to NYC and long story short, petitioned for adoption and were able to bring their daughter home eight months later (these things take time, you know). Ben taught history at a local high school. Libby managed their apartment building and raised Alexa.

CHILDHOOD: Alexa was a silent, serious child for the first few months with the Tates but then she slowly blossomed into a happy, friendly girl. The only time she reverted to her earlier silence was when the Tate's traveled outside of NYC. They soon stopped planning outings to the country. Alexa was encouraged to explore her strengths but even her parents were a little freaked at her first swimming lesson when she refused to come up for air and indeed, didn't need to. From Libby, Alexa learned to love shopping, to hide her talents when necessary, and to fiercely protect those who couldn't protect themselves. From Ben she learned to to play football, to cling to family, and to treat others with quiet respect.

HER NAME: Libby refused to name her for several months as they worked through the adoption process. She claimed she needed to know her child before she could choose the right name. Ben did what he did best and humored Libby. On the day the adoption became final, Libby announced that her daughter was Alexa (no middle name) which means "savior of mankind".

Okay, okay, I'm sure you're bored stiff by this but this is just the start of the details (many of which will never see print) that I need to know to be sure of who Alexa is in any situation.

Off to turn Alexa loose to hunt.

Alexa Tate Update

Well, so far Alexa has disabled a criminal by breaking his legs, surivived a blind date with a defense attorney, narrowly escaped a caning by her irascible, spandex-clad 91 year old tenant, hurtled herself through a window, discovered she has TWO stalkers instead of one, caught the attention of a (very handsome and possibly off limits) policeman, been caught hiding in the men's room, eaten a delicious deli sandwich, and ruined her best DKNY skirt in the aftermath of a bomb explosion.

And I'm just warming up.

=D

Contest Update #2

WAAAA-HOOOOO!!!!

I made it into the semi-finals. I am thrilled! 16 of us (out of 250), get to submit our first five pages and one of us will win a personal consultation on our first three chapters with Rachel Vater: one of the best agents out there.

Here is the judge's response to my hook:

NOTES:
The presentation & voice both snag my interest. The first paragraph is effective as an “eye-catching strategy.” The following paragraphs give overview & utilize pauses for tension to escalate. I like what it could indicate about the writing.

In re: plot, the story seems to have a strong MC (main character) who isn’t one of the “usual suspects” in paranormal/UF novels, a romantic thread/triangle, and good potential for action. I’d like to read more of this one. If I saw this out in the ether, I'd email my agent & tell her to check it out.

Update on Contest

A few posts down, I talked about a contest hosted by the pubbed authors at www.fangsfurandfey.com for unpubbed authors hooks. The good news is that I'm in!! Hook #45 out of 250. Only 16 of those will be asked to submit pages next week.

The hooks are divided up evenly between 16 judges and each judge picks one from his/her group. I'll let you know if I advance. Either way, I get some solid critique and advice from published authors and that is always a good thing!

(But you know me, I'm in it to WIN)

Hook Contest Entry

There is a contest going on a www.fangsfurandfey.com . Basically, unpublished authors can send in a "hook" for their current novel. The first 180 received will get reviewed by judges (published authors), the twelve best will be picked to send pages in for review as well and the best will get a personal consultation with one of the top literary agents in this field.

Of course, I entered. Hopefully I made it into the first 180. I'll keep you posted.

Here's what I sent. A hook is basically like the back flap of a book - what you read to see if it interests you enough to buy it. Please let me know what you think!! If it grabs you enough that you'd buy it off the shelf, what worked best? What stood out? If you'd pass, why? What was missing?

I need the feedback. This is what I'll be using to query agents on this series and I want it as perfect as possible!!

Recipe for Disaster, New York City style:

Take one seriously toned single girl. Add a pinch of “please-God-just-kill-me-now” blind dates, a nefarious Twinkie thief, and some kick-butt vigilante justice under the cover of darkness. Mix in two handsome men: a human cop who should be off-limits and a non-human warrior who cannot be trusted. Blend violently with a killer skilled in mind-control and focused on destroying New York City. Put on a pair of Manolo Blahniks, your best little red dress, and slam it down.

Alexa Tate isn’t human. She calls herself Other. She can swim underwater without holding her breath, outrun a New York City taxicab, and scale a brick building in five seconds flat. A receptionist by day, she uses her skills to hunt down evil under the cover of night. She is stronger, faster, and more lethal than anyone she’s ever met.

Until now.

Two Others have come to town. One wants to destroy Alexa. One says he wants to save her.

Alexa believes in saving herself.

To do so, she must uncover the truth about her birthright, keep a certain handsome cop from suspecting her of crimes she may have committed, and hunt down the Others one by one.

Living in New York City can be murder.

Chapter One - SHADOWING FATE

Chapter One

I hunt people in my spare time.

Some women crochet. Others garden. I deliver my own brand of vigilante justice.

I only track down those who deserve it. Those who are about to commit a crime against another person. I know this sounds like I’m one slippery step away from a padded cell and a lifetime supply of anti-psychotic drugs, but I can hear when someone is going to give in to their inner demons.

Evil has a voice all its own. It sounds like insatiable greed, impotent rage, and terrible grief blended into one throbbing hunger for power. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only one who hears it. It haunts me, compelling me to make it silent.

I have no control over the fact that I can hear the worst people have to offer. I do, however, have complete control over my wardrobe. Few things are as thrilling as hunting down evil in a kicking pair of four-inch stilettos. I never know when the need to hunt will strike and the fact that I can wipe the pavement with a man twice my size while wearing heels is a pretty satisfactory bonus. It’s like being Wonder Woman without all that tacky spandex.

It’s not as crazy as it sounds.

Why else would I be clinging to the side of an old brick apartment building on Fifth Avenue wearing a little red dress and a gorgeous pair of leopard print Manolo Blahnik stilettos?

I was four stories up, digging into the tiny ledges between brick and grout for balance. My bronze beaded clutch swung gently on my wrist. Beneath me, New Yorkers stalked the streets. Above me, a few intrepid stars winked in the velvet sky, their light pale compared with the brilliance of downtown Manhattan. Two feet to my left, a fire escape led to an open window and the sound of breaking glass. I hoped the owner of the apartment was far from home.

I gathered myself and leapt sideways, landing softly on the fire escape. A sudden gust of wind swept the street, chasing leaves and bits of paper and forcing me to do a quick Marilyn Monroe as my dress fluttered toward my ears. I comforted myself that most New Yorkers wouldn’t notice anything beyond the three feet in front of them and even if they did, I’d worn cute leopard print bikinis to match my shoes. Not only would I have clean underwear in case of an accident, by God, I’d be color-coordinated.

The sounds of glass breaking and furniture thudding escalated with a woman’s terrified scream. The owner was home after all. I cleared the stairs in one leap and slid over the windowsill and into a bedroom.

The sound was deafening. Waves of twisted need edged with hate screamed for power.

It always came down to power.

I blocked the noise in my head as best I could and slipped through the room. The woman’s scream died to a thin, agonized wail, and I heard triumph surge.

The only light in the apartment came from the kitchen, separated from the living room by a half wall. I skirted the broken glass strewn across the floor and reached the doorway.

She lay on the floor, eyes shut tight - as if by denying his presence, she could make him disappear.

He straddled her. One hand viciously clamped around her neck, choking off her air and her will. The other scored her flesh with the tip of a knife, drawing perfect beads of crimson in its wake.

“Hi there.”

He jerked his head up, swinging the knife toward me. Her eyes flew open, flush with terror and hope.

He lunged to his feet.

“Tonight must be my lucky night,” he said. “Two for the price of one.”

Obviously, he and I had never met.

I stepped back from the doorway.

“Go on. Run.” He said. “I love a good chase.”

Funny, so did I.

I ran through the living room and into the bedroom. Keeping my back to the door, I listened. A grunt as he rushed from the kitchen. Sharp crunching as his feet dug glass into carpet. The slap of his hand on the doorframe as he skidded into the bedroom and stopped.

“There you are.” He said.

I kept my back to him, facing the open window. Listening. Through the lust, the hate, I sensed the hardening of intent. A soft twang disturbed the air as he threw the knife. The blade arced, vibrating delicately. At the last possible second, when he was already moving toward me, sure of victory, I ducked.

Spinning on my left foot, I shot my right leg into the air and snapped his head back as the knife buried itself into the wooden window sash. The four-inch heel of my shoe snaked across his cheek, opening it wide and eliciting a scream that did my heart good.

Stilettos. Never leave home without them.

Waves of anger poured off him, drowning out all but the primal struggle between us. He wanted to kill me.

I had other plans.

He lunged. I bent back, nearly parallel to the floor, and he flew over me, crashing into the wall. Scrambling to his feet, he yanked the knife from the window sash and threw it at me.

I held up my hand, palm facing out. The knife struck, sending vibrations up my arm. The tip crumpled, and the weapon dropped to the floor, useless.

“What are you?” He asked. Blood leaked down his cheek, puddling against the black jacket he wore. I sniffed the air experimentally. Faux. Cheapskate.

“You don’t act human.”

“I’m not.” I said. I meant it. I’m something more, but what that really means is as much your guess as mine.

He bolted for the window and crashed onto the fire escape. Sirens wailed in the distance as he clattered down the metal stairs.

I followed him out the window and judged the distance to the ground. Making a jump like this in heels could be tricky but I didn’t want to waste time taking them off. He was already skidding around the landing of the second floor. I wanted to beat him to the bottom.

I swung my body up and balanced for a second on the thin metal rail of the landing. Successful free-falling was all about precision, control, and, of course, choosing the right place to land. I scanned the sidewalk, picked a planter full of soft dirt that was more or less directly beneath me, and jumped.

The heels of my stilettos sank into the dirt, and I rolled my body down into a crouch, letting the ground absorb the force of my landing. People walking by barely spared a glance for me. God bless New Yorkers.

The man scrambled off the fire escape and hit the ground beside me.

“Still with you.” I said.

He plunged forward. I waited for a moment as he dodged the traffic on Fifth, narrowly escaping the front grill of a taxi. I wasn’t really hoping he’d become road kill. I do love a good chase.

He reached the opposite side and raced toward Central Park. Only fools or those strong enough to survive anything go into the heart of Central Park at night. Of the two of us, he was the fool.

The distant sirens materialized, and police cars screamed up Fifth Avenue to the entrance of the apartment building. Someone had called the cops. It didn’t matter. I’d get to him before they could.

I walked half a block to the nearest pedestrian crossing. No point jaywalking in front of the police when the heels of your shoes are dripping blood and dirt. When I reached the entrance to Central Park, I sniffed the air.

A flood of scents assailed me. Rotting leaves. Unwashed bodies. Kettle corn. A faint whiff of Calvin Klein Eternity for men. Yum.

To the left, I caught the scent I hunted. Sweat, blood, and faux leather. I slid into the shadows of the park and followed.

He was hiding - crouched behind some bushes. The soft rasp of his frightened breathing scraped my ear, giving me his exact position.

I bent to take off my shoes. It was bad enough that my eight hundred dollar Manolo Blahniks now had blood and dirt on them. I didn’t intend to add gore to the mix. Besides, I could stop him easily enough with my bare hands.

Silently, I slipped from shadow to shadow, circling to his right until I could see him, hunched between two unyielding shrubs. His fear cloaked him but I could still hear it: beneath the fear, the anger, beat the same jagged need for power. I felt an answering hunger in my own mind and shut it down.

“You hurt a woman tonight. Nearly raped and killed her.”

He swung to face the sound of my voice and his eyes skipped frantically from tree to tree. He couldn’t see me. I was part of the shadows.

“You’re crazy.”

Ah, questioning the sanity of a woman who can kill you. Good plan.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

He stood slowly, still searching the shadows for me. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Liar.”

“I didn’t – I don’t know what happened.”

“Liar.”

“I won’t do it again. Just go away. Go away and I won’t do it again!” He screamed.

“You will.” I said and let him see me. “You will hurt and punish and hurt again. You hunger for it. I can hear it in you. I can smell it.”

He scrambled to the left. I space-shifted and blocked his path.

“Go away!”

I was relentless. Space-shifting every time he moved, staying in front of him, hedging him in. His anger grew in proportion to his fear.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“She had it coming!” He cried, spittle flying. Hatred twisted his face, an imperfect version of the beast he held inside. He scrambled to run away.

I snapped out a roundhouse kick, slamming into his left leg and snapping his femur with a thick, wet crack. He screamed.

“No running.” I said and dragged him against a tree.

“You broke my leg.” He was sobbing in short, panting bursts.

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck.”

“This hurts.” He moaned.

“I’ll do much, much worse to you if you ever terrorize another woman in this city.”

He grabbed the tree and dragged himself up on his right leg. I rolled my eyes as he hopped a few steps away, clinging desperately to the trunk for help. You’d think by now he’d get the point.

A sharp, sideways kick shattered his right ankle. He fell, wailing.

“I said no running.”

He cursed.

I leaned close. “I’ll know where they send you to prison. I’ll know if you get parole. I’ll know where you live, what you eat, when you sleep, and where you go.”

“Urgh.” His face was pale and shiny with sweat.

“If you ever hurt another woman, I’ll tear you apart piece by piece.”

I left him lying there and gathered up my shoes. Carefully wiping the heels on some leaves at the edge of the Park, I walked sedately onto the sidewalk at Fifth and hailed a cab. An ambulance joined the police cars, and officers were canvassing the street, heading steadily toward the Park. I turned to the cabbie.
“Heidelberg’s on Second Avenue.” I was late for a date.

Chapter Three - Alexa Tate

On the advice of a published author, I've removed chapter 3. I don't want future publsihers to think I've given too much away when they are trying to sell my book. I've left the comments.

Don't worry, the first installment of Alexa's story will be complete by the end of June and I'll let you know as soon as some savvy publisher snaps it up. (say that five times fast)