So I know I posted two weeks ago all ready to start blogging more regularly and all that… then dropped off the face of the earth! Well, my sister got married (I was the maid of honor)…
And me and my two roommates moved…
But now I’m back! And just in time to enter Auntie B’s Book Club Contest! Since it’s not a requirement that this be a completed manuscript, I’m going to enter with my WIP, Dragons Are People Too!
You can click through to the contest page for more information, but basically y’all have two days to help me get my entry in the best shape possible for our discerning judges (actual, live teenagers!). So here goes… please provide constructive criticism in the comments!
Sixteen-year-old Kitty is a weredragon operative for the US government. When the government turns its back on the dragons, she must choose between loyalty to her country and allegiance to her family. (Keep in mind, the pitch must be 35 words or less! This is 34)
First 250 words
Well, crap. Mission Intelligence got it wrong. Again.
I mean, seriously? Heat sensors? When your operatives have a core body temperature of 142 degrees, that should be the first thing you check for. I daydream about ripping Simon a new one as I scale up the three stories of crumbling stone.
So now I cling to the east stone wall of the Lebanese embassy in DC with a diplomatic document pouch hanging from my belt.
I am overly conscious of the two security cameras aimed at my back, despite the full-body black catsuit with matching ski-mask that Draconic Intelligence Command (or, as I liked to call it, DIC) requires me to wear. Sirens blare, telling me security already knows we are here, but I still can’t let them see my face. And, more importantly, I can’t let them see me change.
Beside me, Wallace scrabbles, then loses his balance and falls twenty feet to the ground, hitting the wall at least twice in the process. Rookie. His breath comes fast, but he is uninjured. He could probably fall from three times that height without a scratch.
“Kitty,” he whispers. Even his whisper has a British accent. He lies sprawled on the immaculate lawn of the Embassy and slowly makes his way to his feet. “I can’t make it without changing.”
“No!” I yell, then catch myself and lower my voice to something more like a hiss. “Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how many cameras are on you right now?”
SO… to the comments with the criticism! Thanks!!