Owl Song

Owl Song, a spirited and often humorous fairy tale adventure, is the story of Sophia - a reluctant and insomnolent princess who finds courage and love in the midst of an astonishing journey.
Owl Song

Excerpt

“We’re almost there. Don’t worry,” Rupert called to her over his shoulder. She watched his long legs move ahead crisply, the bottoms of his shoes flashing a brilliant white as he walked.

Peter bent to Sophia, bringing his face close to hers. “How can we be almost there already?” he rasped. “Those mountains are hardly near at all.”

Sophia shook her head and said nothing. She was concentrating on walking. It took everything she had just to bring a foot up and then set it down again on the sand. Her knees hurt. Her head hurt. Her shoulders ached with a slow moving pain, which crept up around her neck and was now moving down her arms. Little trickles of sweat were beginning to slip down her back in long, wet trails. The inside of her mouth was itchy, her eyes burned, and her stomach rumbled in angry emptiness. I won’t make it, she thought in a panic. I’ll collapse.

Within a few seconds a wet pink mist arose, from nowhere in particular. It sifted around her until it felt almost as if she were wearing it. It slithered around her arms, slipping between her fingers and into her nostrils. Sophia opened her mouth in the hopes of catching some of its moisture, since it felt so wet. The mist thickened, and Peter coughed a little. “What is this stuff?” he asked, his voice dead in the soaking haze. Sophia just shrugged, although the gesture was useless as she couldn’t see him, or much of anything at all. She grasped for Peter’s hand, and finding it, held it close to her face and stared at it. It floated there as she held it, disembodied, the fog swirling around it so that it looked alarmingly unattached – a lone hand, cut off at the wrist. But it was indeed a part of Peter, right beside her. And, although seeing his hand slightly reassured her she wasn’t alone in the pink mist, her heart rattled in her chest, and she had the unmistakable feeling of being trapped, isolated, in a small space. And Sophia hated small spaces.

“Get me out!” she cried, struggling against the mist. She dropped Peter’s hand and frantically waved her arms through the pink. She stopped and held out her hands in front of her, but couldn’t see past her elbows. “Get me out!” she cried again, this time louder. She couldn’t hear anything, and there were no helpful hands guiding her away.

I have to get out of here, she thought feverishly. I have to get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.

And then she realized she was screaming.

the writing life

The English Massacre

Not that you asked, but I do have some personal pet peeves when it comes to obliterating the English language. Frankly, if you’re going to speak a language, particularly if it’s the only language you speak, you might as well get it right. I hate to come across as some kind of fanatical Henry Higgins or something, but there must be limits to the defilement.

Consider, for example, the use of “good” rather than “well.” Replying, “I’m good,” to the question “How are you?” seems incomplete. You’re good what? A good luck charm? A good egg? Good at giving neck massages?

Consider, also, the overuse of “literally.” You literally laughed your head off? Really? That comment literally made my head explode, and now your head and my head have run off together to find a comprehensive dictionary.

Other little gems:

  • “I could care less” (If you could care less, then why don’t you)?
  • “A whole nother” (Last I knew, nother had checked into a yogic day spa in an attempt to conquer the inadequate feeling of being only partially a word).
  • “You guys” (This ubiquitous term seems to encompass any and all who happen to be hanging around at the moment. The denizens of a royal palace in Denmark. A pride of lions in their natural habitat. The cast of The Golden Girls).
  • “He/She and myself” (Myself takes issue with this for a few reason, many of which myself is finding difficult to articulate. So, instead, myself will simply stop trying to make sense of it and will sing a small ditty that myself made up - all by I).

Research before you query

Because I'm in the midst of querying for agents, this is ripe in my mind. I cannot emphasize enough the importance of painstakingly researching what an agent wants you to send them, before you send a thing. I have been guilty in the past of not being as thorough as I should, only to realize that I should have send the first five pages of my manuscript in the body of the e-mail message along with the query - rather than just the query itself. Doh!

Agents want to see that you, as a writer, are clearly paying attention, and can follow directions. Not only does this give them added confidence regarding you as a writer, but it also tells them something about you as a person. Whether or not you can process information and respond accordingly separates you from the not-so-responsible, maybe-a-little-cuckoo hopefuls. (No offense to cuckoos. Some of my best friends are...well, never mind).

In other words, research, research, research, so that you fully comprehend an agent's requirements before clicking that Send button, or licking that postage stamp. It might help elevate you to the top of the slush pile.