Welcome to my self-indulgent location for the stories (good and bad) that I can't prevent myself from writing. All comments and criticisms welcome. I post on Tuesdays and Saturdays.

Friday, June 18, 2010


Hook your reader.  That's the key, right?  How do you do that?  That is the question.

The answer:  QUICKLY.  Nathan Bransford—agent extraordinaire—critiques the first 250 words of the ms (here's a sample of the last one).  He does this every Monday (although, this week he'll be critiquing a query letter).  But what are the odds of your 250 words being selected?  Oh, so slim.  So, as an experiment, I'm posting the first 254 words of a story that's been knocking around in my head for months (at least).

I encourage your comments.  Either comment below or shoot me an email.

And, as always, thanks for reading.

Title:  The Demon Inside
Genre:  Adult Fantasy (vampires and werewolves and demons, oh my!)

Her eyes snapped open.  A muffled alarm was beeping somewhere, drawing her attention into consciousness.  She blinked several times in the dark, suddenly unsure that her eyes were open.  Am I blind?  She raised her right hand carefully in front of her face.

A thin, metallic reverberation echoed loudly around her as her hand hit the… ceiling?  Instead of worrying about her eyes, she turned her hand and laid it flat against the cold metal only inches above her face.  What the hell…?  Feeling the panic pooling inside of her, she reached her other hand to the left.  It had hardly drifted away from her body before resting against the cold metal wall.

She quickly calculated: six inches above, three or four inches on the sides.  A metal coffin?

Panic and adrenaline took over.  She considered trying to kick the bottom out, trying to punch the metal above her, slamming both her hands behind her head.  Anything to get her out…. if that were at all possible.  Since she couldn’t see anything, including her hand directly in front of her face, her cell must be tightly sealed. 

How much oxygen did she have?

She reached her hands over her head, feeling the metal, judging the distance, mentally preparing herself to slam her fists into it when she heard the noise.  She froze.

“But how do you know?”  It was a woman’s voice, oddly familiar.

“She can’t be dead,” a man responded.  “And we have to get her out of here before the autopsy tomorrow.”

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