Hi ********,
We met at the Palestine Writes Festival at Penn on Sept. 23 where you were gracious enough to allow me to query you directly with my manuscript, THE GUARDIAN’S MARK, an 85,000-word, dual POV commercial thriller. I am sending you the first 50-odd pages for your consideration.
While the novel is plot driven, the protagonist, MARIAM KHOURI, is a product of her rich, blended, second-generation, Arab-American culture, which is heavily influenced by her time in the Levant region. She’s an archaeologist whose peaceful academic life is thrown into peril, while interning at the ruins in Dura Europos, Syria, where she’s told she now guards a secret passed down from Moses, is given a protective tattoo, and must flee with a professional soldier. The scientist in her cannot believe this myth or understand why so many people are pursuing her in order to possess it. But can the professional soldier be trusted? At every turn, someone is one step ahead.
ADAM JAMESON’s mission is simple—protect Miriam and discover what she’s guarding. But this assignment has him slipping out of his detached military demeanor and questioning the political and cultural presumptions that have fueled his career.
Together they run from black-market antiquity dealers, religious factions, and powerful governments, all of whom presume the secret she’s guarding is a religious relic. The journey is life-threatening for him and transforms her from an agnostic academic to a believer in the divine.
This manuscript has won all three contests I’ve entered it in and just finaled in the League of Romance Writers 2024 Emily for mainstream fiction with romantic elements. The winner is to be announced in March 2024. It’s action/thriller plot appeals to fans of Daniel Silva, Steve Berry and James Rollins, while the growing relationship between the main characters appeals to readers of romantic suspense.
I’m happy to make any changes to align with the current market. I hope to hear from you. Thank you for your consideration.
******
NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Here is my most up-to-date query letter. It is part of a submission through QueryManager so does not have all the elements of an email query included.
Dear []:
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am querying you because of our shared love of stories with engaging characters and found families, as well as those with, as you say, cultural bruises. My literary novel, CURATIVE MEASURES, covers subjects of deep loss and guilt, emotional traumas including those from child abuse, found family conflicts and interpersonal relationships.
In 1977, PETER ELLISONN (28), a non-practicing physician living in Northern California attends the funeral of his brother, RYAN (7), who has been electrocuted during a lightning storm in PETER’s front yard. PETER’s grief is compounded because his father, DR. PHILLIP ELLSONN (57), is convinced of PETER’s irresponsibility by not protecting RYAN, and PETER believes this himself as well.
More than a year passes until one night, PETER drives on a deserted back road to quiet his mind. There, without warning, a boy races into the street, and PETER hits him. PETER speeds to the hospital with the young Native American, JOSHUA-NATHAN (7), whom PETER discovers has been abused and traumatized at the orphanage from which he had escaped. From the time spent with JOSHUA-NATHAN at the hospital, PETER decides it is imperative to protect JOSHUA-NATHAN from further harm and takes the boy home to live with him. But the boy adjusts slowly, not talking, not trusting, while PETER cannot emerge from his grief and his father’s rejection, although he is patient and kind to JOSHUA-NATHAN.
Ultimately, it’s PETER’S father’s love for his son and Peter’s love for JOSHUA-NATHAN that brings PETER self-forgiveness and peace.
I hope you find that my book fits well with your list.
Dear []:
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am querying you because of our shared love of stories with engaging characters and found families, as well as those with, as you say, cultural bruises. My literary novel, CURATIVE MEASURES, covers subjects of deep loss and guilt, emotional traumas including those from child abuse, found family conflicts and interpersonal relationships.
In 1977, PETER ELLISONN (28), a non-practicing physician living in Northern California attends the funeral of his brother, RYAN (7), who has been electrocuted during a lightning storm in PETER’s front yard. PETER’s grief is compounded because his father, DR. PHILLIP ELLSONN (57), is convinced of PETER’s irresponsibility by not protecting RYAN, and PETER believes this himself as well.
More than a year passes until one night, PETER drives on a deserted back road to quiet his mind. There, without warning, a boy races into the street, and PETER hits him. PETER speeds to the hospital with the young Native American, JOSHUA-NATHAN (7), whom PETER discovers has been abused and traumatized at the orphanage from which he had escaped. From the time spent with JOSHUA-NATHAN at the hospital, PETER decides it is imperative to protect JOSHUA-NATHAN from further harm and takes the boy home to live with him. But the boy adjusts slowly, not talking, not trusting, while PETER cannot emerge from his grief and his father’s rejection, although he is patient and kind to JOSHUA-NATHAN.
Ultimately, it’s PETER’S father’s love for his son and Peter’s love for JOSHUA-NATHAN that brings PETER self-forgiveness and peace.
I hope you find that my book fits well with your list.
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
December 19, 2023
Ms. XXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXX Literary Agency
Dear Ms.XXX,
I hope this letter finds you well. I see that you are registered for the upcoming Thrillerfest 2024, and I would like to introduce my novel, ONCE A DETECTIVE…, and express my interest in securing your representation.
ONCE A DETECTIVE… is a work of commercial fiction in the private detective genre. In present time, Detective Dan Burnett, with 30 years of experience with the NYPD, fails his physical and chooses retirement over desk duty. At fifty-five, he’s too young to do nothing, so he becomes a private investigator and learns the ropes from a P.I. with a similar history. Divorced, his one source of true happiness is his college-aged daughter.
After assisting his new partner with some ongoing cases, he lands a case of his own: a beautiful woman whose brother was murdered. After two years, the NYPD had given up on the case, so it’s now up to him to find the murderer.
The suspects are Las Vegas casinos, where the brother owed a million dollars, and his second wife, who inherited millions upon his death.
He doggedly works the case using his life-long skills with the help of a former colleague, the NYPD detective originally assigned to the case. Tracking a mob hitman leads him on a chase across the country, searching for the truth and ultimately finding it.
Inspired by my favorite novels by Robert Crais, Michael Connelly, Robert B. Parker, and others, I have woven a story of mystery, suspense, and romance.
I have recently retired from a life as a real estate developer and ocean sailor, and I finally have the time to pursue my longtime passion for writing and storytelling. To promote my work, I am in the process of creating an author’s web page that will link to social media.
Following is the first chapter for your review. I am happy to provide the complete 61,000-word manuscript at your request, and am also open to discussing revisions to align with your publishing vision.
Thank you for considering ONCE A DETECTIVE… I look forward to the opportunity to discuss this project with you further. Feel free to contact me by phone or e-mail to arrange a meeting or provide feedback.
Sincerely,
XXXXXXXXXXX
ONCE A DETECTIVE…
By XXXXXXXXX
CHAPTER 1
The NYPD medical board had just issued its final verdict on my medical fitness. Captain Craig called me into his office to share the outcome.
“Good Morning, Captain.”
“Good Morning, Dan. Have a seat.”
I sat across from his desk in a hard chair, awaiting my fate. His office was filled with New York sports memorabilia: Yankees, Knicks, and Jets — bats, balls, and jerseys. The centerpiece was a football signed by Joe Namath. I didn't see any family pictures or other personal items anywhere from where I was sitting.
He continued, “I know this is not the outcome you had hoped for, but you failed the medical tests. The report states you have a deficiency in your lumbar spine that prevents you from running or lifting heavy objects.”
I let out a deep breath but had no verbal response. I just sat there looking down at my shoes, feeling defeated.
“Would you like to say anything, Dan?”
“Am I out?”
“You know as well as anybody that the union won’t let us fire anyone for medical reasons. We’ll find a desk for you to ride until you decide to retire, but yes, you are off the streets. With your service record, I’m sure we can find additional responsibilities around here that will earn you more pay.”
“Thanks for that, Captain; I’ll have to see if I can deal with being inside.”
“You’re a valuable asset to the department, Dan. I know about your back problems, but at least think about it.”
“Okay, Captain, I’ll let you know.” I rose from the chair to leave.
“Take the rest of the week off, Dan. We can discuss it again on Monday.”
“Okay, I need to share the news with my partner.”
“I’m sure Matt will support whatever you decide to do.”
I walked to the detective’s room and over to the partner's desk I shared with Matt Frost. When he saw me approaching, he knew what the verdict was. After ten years together, he could read my body language better than anyone. He also knew I hated being in the station at a desk.
“What are you going to do?” He asked.
“The captain gave me the rest of the week off. I guess I’ll go down to the boat and do some thinking. Maybe visit my daughter.”
“How about I come down to your boat with a six-pack after the shift ends?”
“Sounds good. We can solve all the world's problems.”
“Okay, buddy. “I’ll see you around five.
I walked out of the station with slumped shoulders and a gloomy gait that anyone who knew me could read. At 6’3’ and only 175 pounds, I was pretty bony and all elbows and knees. After reaching my four-year-old Jeep Grand Cherokee, I pulled out into the Bronx traffic and headed for City Island, where my boat was docked. A retired cop ran the marina and gave all cops a reduced rate. While driving, my mind returned to the last time I rode a desk at the station. It was after I was shot in the chest attempting to arrest an internet scammer in Riverdale. It was actually his girlfriend who pulled the trigger.
They are now both in jail, but it was touch and go for me in the hospital for a few weeks, then I was laid up at home for two months. Matt came to visit often, and we became close friends. When I was able to return to work, I was at the station reviewing paperwork, filing police reports, and answering the phone. I hated every minute of it and couldn’t wait to get back outside where detectives belonged.
It was all too much for Sheila, my wife. She was always afraid whenever I walked out of the house, I wouldn’t return. After nursing me back to health while recovering from the gunshot wound, she was relieved to know I would be shuffling papers and answering the phone at the station. Six months later, when I was cleared for regular duty, It was the last straw for her. She filed for divorce, and I didn't contest. In reality, our love life had become nonexistent over the previous few years. We had just been going through the motions because that’s what you should do. We no longer enjoyed each other's company, and since my recovery, we slept in separate bedrooms, growing further apart.
Sheila got custody of our teenage daughter Hannah and the house in New Rochelle. We remained cordial for Hannah’s benefit, which wasn’t too hard. We didn’t hate each other; we were just indifferent and relieved not to have to look at each other every day.
That’s when I moved onto the boat. Her name was “Privateer,” and she was ten years old when I bought her, getting a good deal from the seized property department of the State of New York. I participated in that seizure as the arresting officer after catching three guys smuggling drugs into New York Harbor from the Bahamas. That was six years ago. I had always dreamed of owning a sailboat like that and teaching Hannah to sail. I had sailed dinghies as a teenager and hoped that Hannah would enjoy it as I had. However, this boat was much bigger: a forty-three-foot Tartan sloop with two staterooms, a head, and a full galley. Sheila hated it, of course, and would never step foot on it. Before getting shot, Hannah and I often went sailing on Long Island Sound; she was learning and seemed to enjoy it. Since the divorce, we tried to get together one day each weekend, and if the weather was cooperative, we would go for a sail.
When I arrived at the marina, the sky was charcoal gray and just as gloomy as my mood. A raw breeze was the first I had felt for months, and realizing it was now September was a sign of things to come. The marina had five finger docks connected by one long floating dock along the shore. This was accessed by a ramp that went up and down with the tide. The docks were older but were maintained well and received a fresh coat of paint each spring. The boats were about half and half, power and sail, and their age and condition varied dramatically. I maneuvered my lanky body down the ramp, feeling the sharp jabs of pain in my back, which was the reason behind the failed medical fitness report. It often hurt after sitting, like I had just done in the car, but hopefully, it would ease after I moved around a bit. That’s another reason I couldn't imagine sitting at a desk all day at the station. The doctors told me it was mostly arthritis and something they called stenosis. They said it wasn’t caused by trauma, just old age. I didn’t think fifty-five was old age; I still had a full head of dark brown hair with just a hint of gray at the temples. Nonetheless, my back hurt like hell. I was scheduled to see a pain banned word next week to discuss injections. Yippee!
When I reached Privateer, I climbed aboard, opened the hatch, and went below. The familiar scent was comforting, a blend of fiberglass and varnish, and a sense of tranquility swept over me. I made myself a Manhattan on the rocks, took it up to the cockpit, and contemplated my life while observing the goings on at the marina. It was pretty quiet that afternoon, and I watched the masts gently sway back and forth.
A while later, a sport-fishing boat came in at the end of the dock and offloaded their catch. I watched as they hung a particularly large Striper on the scale. I couldn’t read the weight from where I was sitting, but it was big, and the fishermen cheered and high-fived.
After finishing my drink, I decided not to just mope around the rest of the afternoon, so I washed the boat. With a hose, a bucket of soap, and a long-handled brush, I scrubbed the entire outside: the deck and hull. Reaching over the side with the brush lit up my back again, and I finished up with the hose. About this time, I saw Matt’s bull-dog-like form strolling down the dock with a package under his arm.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
“Climb on up here, Frosty,” I replied.
He handed me the package containing a six-pack of Heineken, and I put it in the fridge below. I popped two, passed them up, and rejoined him in the cockpit.
After taking a sip, he said, “I was thinking on the way over about Jim Abbott and his private detective agency. Maybe that’s something you’d like to do.”
“A private dick?” I replied, “I’ve never thought about it. Do you have any respect for those guys?”
“I do. You should talk to him. See if it works for you. You’re a detective; you can detect things.” He smiled at his quip.
“Clever.” I laughed.
“Look, I know you went out of your mind being stuck in the station after you were wounded. I get it. Before making any rash decisions, talk to the union rep about maxing out your retirement.”
“Don’t worry, Matt, I’m not going to shoot myself in the foot and do something that will cost me major bucks for the rest of my life.”
He raised his bottle, and I touched it with mine.
My phone lit up just then, and I saw Hannah’s face on the screen.
“Hi, Han.”
“Hi, Daddy. I tried calling you at work, but they said you went home for the day. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Han; it’s just my back acting up again.”
“Oh yeah. How did your medical review go?”
“Not so well. They’re putting me back on desk duty.”
“Sorry, I know that’s not what you hoped for.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be okay. Hey, do you have dinner plans tonight?”
“Nope, just sitting around the dorm studying.”
“How about I drive up to Iona and take you out someplace?”
“Sounds good to me; I can be ready by seven.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up in front of your dorm then.”
“Cool, see you then, Daddy.”
“Bye, Han.”
Matt overheard the whole conversation. “That’s so wonderful that you and Hannah get along so well. The expression on your face changed instantly when she called. It’s good that you have her at times like this.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky. She still goes sailing with me on the weekends.”
We chatted for another few minutes, and he said, “Well, I’ll shove off then. You need to get going if you're picking her up at seven. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I’ll text you Jim Abbott’s number.”
“Thanks for the beers, Pal. Do you want a roady?”
“Nah, see ya.”
Rush hour was just dying down, so it took about twenty minutes to get to Iona University. Hannah was waiting out front and waived when she saw me. I watched as she ran towards me, her long blond hair flowing behind her as her tall, athletic body moved effortlessly. After she climbed into the car, she kissed my cheek, and I asked her where she wanted to go.
“There’s a New Haven-style pizza place that just opened. Everyone is raving about their burnt crust.”
“Okay, show me the way!”
She gave me directions, and we were there in a few minutes. As we entered, I saw it was all new inside with red and white checkerboard tile floors, and the booths had white table tops with red upholstery. The fragrance of freshly risen dough was in the air, along with a hint of smoke from the wood-fired ovens. Once inside, she introduced me to some of her friends. One boy, Ken, who seemed quite taken by Hannah, was eager to greet me. When we were seated, I asked her about him. She claimed he was just a friend from her European History class, then changed the subject.
We ordered a large sausage pie and Diet Coke. The pizza was excellent, even if the crust left soot on your fingers. I noticed Hannah looking Ken’s way from time to time.
She said, “So Daddy, I know you hated being at a desk last time. Are you going to be able to handle it this time?”
“I don’t know yet. I have some decisions to make, and retirement is one option I need to consider.”
“You’re too young, Daddy. What will you do if you retire?”
“Find another job, I suppose. Matt thinks I should become a private eye,” I laughed.
“You’d be good at that. How do you become a private eye?”
“I’m not sure. I know a retired cop who’s one. Maybe I’ll ask him.”
“I’m sure it will all work out for you. It always does.”
Buoyed by her confidence, I asked, “Are you up for sailing this weekend? The season is just about over.”
“Maybe, let’s see what the weather is like.”
We finished up, and I drove her back to her dorm. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and ran inside.
When I returned to Privateer, I showered and climbed into bed with a book. Reading helped to occupy my mind while falling asleep. Without it, my mind would sometimes go to a dark place and relive everything I wish I had done differently in my life. For some reason, I vividly remembered those things but had no recollection of the good things I had done. A shrink would probably call it depression, but I wasn’t ready to go there.
Ms. XXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXX Literary Agency
Dear Ms.XXX,
I hope this letter finds you well. I see that you are registered for the upcoming Thrillerfest 2024, and I would like to introduce my novel, ONCE A DETECTIVE…, and express my interest in securing your representation.
ONCE A DETECTIVE… is a work of commercial fiction in the private detective genre. In present time, Detective Dan Burnett, with 30 years of experience with the NYPD, fails his physical and chooses retirement over desk duty. At fifty-five, he’s too young to do nothing, so he becomes a private investigator and learns the ropes from a P.I. with a similar history. Divorced, his one source of true happiness is his college-aged daughter.
After assisting his new partner with some ongoing cases, he lands a case of his own: a beautiful woman whose brother was murdered. After two years, the NYPD had given up on the case, so it’s now up to him to find the murderer.
The suspects are Las Vegas casinos, where the brother owed a million dollars, and his second wife, who inherited millions upon his death.
He doggedly works the case using his life-long skills with the help of a former colleague, the NYPD detective originally assigned to the case. Tracking a mob hitman leads him on a chase across the country, searching for the truth and ultimately finding it.
Inspired by my favorite novels by Robert Crais, Michael Connelly, Robert B. Parker, and others, I have woven a story of mystery, suspense, and romance.
I have recently retired from a life as a real estate developer and ocean sailor, and I finally have the time to pursue my longtime passion for writing and storytelling. To promote my work, I am in the process of creating an author’s web page that will link to social media.
Following is the first chapter for your review. I am happy to provide the complete 61,000-word manuscript at your request, and am also open to discussing revisions to align with your publishing vision.
Thank you for considering ONCE A DETECTIVE… I look forward to the opportunity to discuss this project with you further. Feel free to contact me by phone or e-mail to arrange a meeting or provide feedback.
Sincerely,
XXXXXXXXXXX
ONCE A DETECTIVE…
By XXXXXXXXX
CHAPTER 1
The NYPD medical board had just issued its final verdict on my medical fitness. Captain Craig called me into his office to share the outcome.
“Good Morning, Captain.”
“Good Morning, Dan. Have a seat.”
I sat across from his desk in a hard chair, awaiting my fate. His office was filled with New York sports memorabilia: Yankees, Knicks, and Jets — bats, balls, and jerseys. The centerpiece was a football signed by Joe Namath. I didn't see any family pictures or other personal items anywhere from where I was sitting.
He continued, “I know this is not the outcome you had hoped for, but you failed the medical tests. The report states you have a deficiency in your lumbar spine that prevents you from running or lifting heavy objects.”
I let out a deep breath but had no verbal response. I just sat there looking down at my shoes, feeling defeated.
“Would you like to say anything, Dan?”
“Am I out?”
“You know as well as anybody that the union won’t let us fire anyone for medical reasons. We’ll find a desk for you to ride until you decide to retire, but yes, you are off the streets. With your service record, I’m sure we can find additional responsibilities around here that will earn you more pay.”
“Thanks for that, Captain; I’ll have to see if I can deal with being inside.”
“You’re a valuable asset to the department, Dan. I know about your back problems, but at least think about it.”
“Okay, Captain, I’ll let you know.” I rose from the chair to leave.
“Take the rest of the week off, Dan. We can discuss it again on Monday.”
“Okay, I need to share the news with my partner.”
“I’m sure Matt will support whatever you decide to do.”
I walked to the detective’s room and over to the partner's desk I shared with Matt Frost. When he saw me approaching, he knew what the verdict was. After ten years together, he could read my body language better than anyone. He also knew I hated being in the station at a desk.
“What are you going to do?” He asked.
“The captain gave me the rest of the week off. I guess I’ll go down to the boat and do some thinking. Maybe visit my daughter.”
“How about I come down to your boat with a six-pack after the shift ends?”
“Sounds good. We can solve all the world's problems.”
“Okay, buddy. “I’ll see you around five.
I walked out of the station with slumped shoulders and a gloomy gait that anyone who knew me could read. At 6’3’ and only 175 pounds, I was pretty bony and all elbows and knees. After reaching my four-year-old Jeep Grand Cherokee, I pulled out into the Bronx traffic and headed for City Island, where my boat was docked. A retired cop ran the marina and gave all cops a reduced rate. While driving, my mind returned to the last time I rode a desk at the station. It was after I was shot in the chest attempting to arrest an internet scammer in Riverdale. It was actually his girlfriend who pulled the trigger.
They are now both in jail, but it was touch and go for me in the hospital for a few weeks, then I was laid up at home for two months. Matt came to visit often, and we became close friends. When I was able to return to work, I was at the station reviewing paperwork, filing police reports, and answering the phone. I hated every minute of it and couldn’t wait to get back outside where detectives belonged.
It was all too much for Sheila, my wife. She was always afraid whenever I walked out of the house, I wouldn’t return. After nursing me back to health while recovering from the gunshot wound, she was relieved to know I would be shuffling papers and answering the phone at the station. Six months later, when I was cleared for regular duty, It was the last straw for her. She filed for divorce, and I didn't contest. In reality, our love life had become nonexistent over the previous few years. We had just been going through the motions because that’s what you should do. We no longer enjoyed each other's company, and since my recovery, we slept in separate bedrooms, growing further apart.
Sheila got custody of our teenage daughter Hannah and the house in New Rochelle. We remained cordial for Hannah’s benefit, which wasn’t too hard. We didn’t hate each other; we were just indifferent and relieved not to have to look at each other every day.
That’s when I moved onto the boat. Her name was “Privateer,” and she was ten years old when I bought her, getting a good deal from the seized property department of the State of New York. I participated in that seizure as the arresting officer after catching three guys smuggling drugs into New York Harbor from the Bahamas. That was six years ago. I had always dreamed of owning a sailboat like that and teaching Hannah to sail. I had sailed dinghies as a teenager and hoped that Hannah would enjoy it as I had. However, this boat was much bigger: a forty-three-foot Tartan sloop with two staterooms, a head, and a full galley. Sheila hated it, of course, and would never step foot on it. Before getting shot, Hannah and I often went sailing on Long Island Sound; she was learning and seemed to enjoy it. Since the divorce, we tried to get together one day each weekend, and if the weather was cooperative, we would go for a sail.
When I arrived at the marina, the sky was charcoal gray and just as gloomy as my mood. A raw breeze was the first I had felt for months, and realizing it was now September was a sign of things to come. The marina had five finger docks connected by one long floating dock along the shore. This was accessed by a ramp that went up and down with the tide. The docks were older but were maintained well and received a fresh coat of paint each spring. The boats were about half and half, power and sail, and their age and condition varied dramatically. I maneuvered my lanky body down the ramp, feeling the sharp jabs of pain in my back, which was the reason behind the failed medical fitness report. It often hurt after sitting, like I had just done in the car, but hopefully, it would ease after I moved around a bit. That’s another reason I couldn't imagine sitting at a desk all day at the station. The doctors told me it was mostly arthritis and something they called stenosis. They said it wasn’t caused by trauma, just old age. I didn’t think fifty-five was old age; I still had a full head of dark brown hair with just a hint of gray at the temples. Nonetheless, my back hurt like hell. I was scheduled to see a pain banned word next week to discuss injections. Yippee!
When I reached Privateer, I climbed aboard, opened the hatch, and went below. The familiar scent was comforting, a blend of fiberglass and varnish, and a sense of tranquility swept over me. I made myself a Manhattan on the rocks, took it up to the cockpit, and contemplated my life while observing the goings on at the marina. It was pretty quiet that afternoon, and I watched the masts gently sway back and forth.
A while later, a sport-fishing boat came in at the end of the dock and offloaded their catch. I watched as they hung a particularly large Striper on the scale. I couldn’t read the weight from where I was sitting, but it was big, and the fishermen cheered and high-fived.
After finishing my drink, I decided not to just mope around the rest of the afternoon, so I washed the boat. With a hose, a bucket of soap, and a long-handled brush, I scrubbed the entire outside: the deck and hull. Reaching over the side with the brush lit up my back again, and I finished up with the hose. About this time, I saw Matt’s bull-dog-like form strolling down the dock with a package under his arm.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
“Climb on up here, Frosty,” I replied.
He handed me the package containing a six-pack of Heineken, and I put it in the fridge below. I popped two, passed them up, and rejoined him in the cockpit.
After taking a sip, he said, “I was thinking on the way over about Jim Abbott and his private detective agency. Maybe that’s something you’d like to do.”
“A private dick?” I replied, “I’ve never thought about it. Do you have any respect for those guys?”
“I do. You should talk to him. See if it works for you. You’re a detective; you can detect things.” He smiled at his quip.
“Clever.” I laughed.
“Look, I know you went out of your mind being stuck in the station after you were wounded. I get it. Before making any rash decisions, talk to the union rep about maxing out your retirement.”
“Don’t worry, Matt, I’m not going to shoot myself in the foot and do something that will cost me major bucks for the rest of my life.”
He raised his bottle, and I touched it with mine.
My phone lit up just then, and I saw Hannah’s face on the screen.
“Hi, Han.”
“Hi, Daddy. I tried calling you at work, but they said you went home for the day. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Han; it’s just my back acting up again.”
“Oh yeah. How did your medical review go?”
“Not so well. They’re putting me back on desk duty.”
“Sorry, I know that’s not what you hoped for.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be okay. Hey, do you have dinner plans tonight?”
“Nope, just sitting around the dorm studying.”
“How about I drive up to Iona and take you out someplace?”
“Sounds good to me; I can be ready by seven.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up in front of your dorm then.”
“Cool, see you then, Daddy.”
“Bye, Han.”
Matt overheard the whole conversation. “That’s so wonderful that you and Hannah get along so well. The expression on your face changed instantly when she called. It’s good that you have her at times like this.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky. She still goes sailing with me on the weekends.”
We chatted for another few minutes, and he said, “Well, I’ll shove off then. You need to get going if you're picking her up at seven. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I’ll text you Jim Abbott’s number.”
“Thanks for the beers, Pal. Do you want a roady?”
“Nah, see ya.”
Rush hour was just dying down, so it took about twenty minutes to get to Iona University. Hannah was waiting out front and waived when she saw me. I watched as she ran towards me, her long blond hair flowing behind her as her tall, athletic body moved effortlessly. After she climbed into the car, she kissed my cheek, and I asked her where she wanted to go.
“There’s a New Haven-style pizza place that just opened. Everyone is raving about their burnt crust.”
“Okay, show me the way!”
She gave me directions, and we were there in a few minutes. As we entered, I saw it was all new inside with red and white checkerboard tile floors, and the booths had white table tops with red upholstery. The fragrance of freshly risen dough was in the air, along with a hint of smoke from the wood-fired ovens. Once inside, she introduced me to some of her friends. One boy, Ken, who seemed quite taken by Hannah, was eager to greet me. When we were seated, I asked her about him. She claimed he was just a friend from her European History class, then changed the subject.
We ordered a large sausage pie and Diet Coke. The pizza was excellent, even if the crust left soot on your fingers. I noticed Hannah looking Ken’s way from time to time.
She said, “So Daddy, I know you hated being at a desk last time. Are you going to be able to handle it this time?”
“I don’t know yet. I have some decisions to make, and retirement is one option I need to consider.”
“You’re too young, Daddy. What will you do if you retire?”
“Find another job, I suppose. Matt thinks I should become a private eye,” I laughed.
“You’d be good at that. How do you become a private eye?”
“I’m not sure. I know a retired cop who’s one. Maybe I’ll ask him.”
“I’m sure it will all work out for you. It always does.”
Buoyed by her confidence, I asked, “Are you up for sailing this weekend? The season is just about over.”
“Maybe, let’s see what the weather is like.”
We finished up, and I drove her back to her dorm. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and ran inside.
When I returned to Privateer, I showered and climbed into bed with a book. Reading helped to occupy my mind while falling asleep. Without it, my mind would sometimes go to a dark place and relive everything I wish I had done differently in my life. For some reason, I vividly remembered those things but had no recollection of the good things I had done. A shrink would probably call it depression, but I wasn’t ready to go there.
Query: Beyond the Leash
Beyond the Leash
A Memoir of Service and Science
(Pets/Memoir: approx 94,000 words)
Patricia A. Bloom, Ph.D.
December 24, 2023
Dear [Mr./Ms. Agent’s Name],
A recent listing in Query Tracker noted “pets” among your areas of interest for representation. In this
regard, I thought Beyond the Leash: A Memoir of Service and Science, a 94,000-word chronicle,
which details the story of my first service dog, might appeal to you.
Readers of The Speckled Beauty (Knopf, 2021) will connect with the humor and shared struggles
found in my narrative, although stylistically, Beyond the Leash is most like Merle's Door: Lessons
from a Freethinking Dog, by Ted Kerasote" (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2008), where stories about
a remarkable dog are interwoven with the author’s own life and current canine research.
This story begins in the mid-1990s when I entered a service dog training program during my tenure
as a faculty member at a medical school. At the time, I wasn't disabled, and my participation was to
demonstrate the value of service dogs to a skeptical medical community. This endeavor took an
unexpected turn when I was assigned Mattie, the only dog in the program I didn't want.
Years later, after a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, my connection with Mattie transformed from a
clinical experiment into a profound personal journey. It was this change in circumstance, which I
explore with humor and scientific avidity in Beyond the Leash.
Interwoven throughout this account are stories of other exceptional animals and their human
companions, ranging from quirky encounters to heart-wrenching stories of loss and tragedy. The
narrative also delves into the surprising history of service dogs, including a Soviet study that
revolutionized our understanding of canine evolution.
My non-fiction work has been featured in academic journals and textbook chapters. My first effort
into the commercial arena resulted in the publication of my short story, “The Young Lieutenant's
Dog,” which appeared in The Bark (250,000 readers) as their feature article in the spring, 2020 issue.
In terms of expertise and a platform for the subject, I was the senior author in the first double-blind
study examining the therapeutic use of service animals in nursing homes, authored the national
hospital guidelines for service dogs, and served as a consultant with the Federal judiciary in
developing the laws for assistance animals. I have also been a keynote speaker at conferences for
those with disabilities, including military veterans, and others who work with these populations,
including veterinarians, teachers and health care workers.
The complete manuscript and a detailed proposal are available for your review. Your time and
consideration of my work are greatly appreciated.
A Memoir of Service and Science
(Pets/Memoir: approx 94,000 words)
Patricia A. Bloom, Ph.D.
December 24, 2023
Dear [Mr./Ms. Agent’s Name],
A recent listing in Query Tracker noted “pets” among your areas of interest for representation. In this
regard, I thought Beyond the Leash: A Memoir of Service and Science, a 94,000-word chronicle,
which details the story of my first service dog, might appeal to you.
Readers of The Speckled Beauty (Knopf, 2021) will connect with the humor and shared struggles
found in my narrative, although stylistically, Beyond the Leash is most like Merle's Door: Lessons
from a Freethinking Dog, by Ted Kerasote" (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2008), where stories about
a remarkable dog are interwoven with the author’s own life and current canine research.
This story begins in the mid-1990s when I entered a service dog training program during my tenure
as a faculty member at a medical school. At the time, I wasn't disabled, and my participation was to
demonstrate the value of service dogs to a skeptical medical community. This endeavor took an
unexpected turn when I was assigned Mattie, the only dog in the program I didn't want.
Years later, after a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, my connection with Mattie transformed from a
clinical experiment into a profound personal journey. It was this change in circumstance, which I
explore with humor and scientific avidity in Beyond the Leash.
Interwoven throughout this account are stories of other exceptional animals and their human
companions, ranging from quirky encounters to heart-wrenching stories of loss and tragedy. The
narrative also delves into the surprising history of service dogs, including a Soviet study that
revolutionized our understanding of canine evolution.
My non-fiction work has been featured in academic journals and textbook chapters. My first effort
into the commercial arena resulted in the publication of my short story, “The Young Lieutenant's
Dog,” which appeared in The Bark (250,000 readers) as their feature article in the spring, 2020 issue.
In terms of expertise and a platform for the subject, I was the senior author in the first double-blind
study examining the therapeutic use of service animals in nursing homes, authored the national
hospital guidelines for service dogs, and served as a consultant with the Federal judiciary in
developing the laws for assistance animals. I have also been a keynote speaker at conferences for
those with disabilities, including military veterans, and others who work with these populations,
including veterinarians, teachers and health care workers.
The complete manuscript and a detailed proposal are available for your review. Your time and
consideration of my work are greatly appreciated.
The Projects, a memoir
Dear Agent,
I am emailing you because….
Please consider my 75,000-word illustrated memoir, THE PROJECTS, a collection of fantastical schemes from the hopes of a man with faulty perseverance - my dad. Despite his ambitions, he died alone and homeless behind a Winn Dixie dumpster.
Set in small Southern towns from the 1980s to the early 2000s, THE PROJECTS are presented as a series of unfinished plans. In these plans, my dad teaches me about making mushroom people, building stick houses, making cowboy movies, and traveling on a moped in search for the latest Star Wars figure. The story begins with my daughter, Lily and myself struggling with our own project. We are trying to make a wine cork giraffe for her local school market that teaches entrepreneurship to a bunch of fifth graders..
She wants to know what it was like growing up with a homeless dad who was in and out of my life because he was either living free or locked up in prison. Told chronologically, I begin with my first memory of Dad’s projects. Despite the aspirations, these stories almost always end with an unfinished project alongside broken trust and Mama’s fried chicken with rice and gravy.
THE PROJECTS are pregnant with real gut-wrenching hardships due to an eccentric parent who believed in magic and a daughter, me who kept believing in him. In this way, it is similar to GLASS CASTLE by Jeannette Walls. It also contains much of the odd behavior found in Augusten Burroughs RUNNING WITH SCISSORS, behavior I often accepted as normal, because I loved my dad - he was my hero. He taught me to dream.
Thank you,
I am emailing you because….
Please consider my 75,000-word illustrated memoir, THE PROJECTS, a collection of fantastical schemes from the hopes of a man with faulty perseverance - my dad. Despite his ambitions, he died alone and homeless behind a Winn Dixie dumpster.
Set in small Southern towns from the 1980s to the early 2000s, THE PROJECTS are presented as a series of unfinished plans. In these plans, my dad teaches me about making mushroom people, building stick houses, making cowboy movies, and traveling on a moped in search for the latest Star Wars figure. The story begins with my daughter, Lily and myself struggling with our own project. We are trying to make a wine cork giraffe for her local school market that teaches entrepreneurship to a bunch of fifth graders..
She wants to know what it was like growing up with a homeless dad who was in and out of my life because he was either living free or locked up in prison. Told chronologically, I begin with my first memory of Dad’s projects. Despite the aspirations, these stories almost always end with an unfinished project alongside broken trust and Mama’s fried chicken with rice and gravy.
THE PROJECTS are pregnant with real gut-wrenching hardships due to an eccentric parent who believed in magic and a daughter, me who kept believing in him. In this way, it is similar to GLASS CASTLE by Jeannette Walls. It also contains much of the odd behavior found in Augusten Burroughs RUNNING WITH SCISSORS, behavior I often accepted as normal, because I loved my dad - he was my hero. He taught me to dream.
Thank you,
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Dear [agent],
Liyah hears the whispers every time she leaves the safety of her home. Freak. Monster. Wier. Born on a battlefield in the centuries-long war between the wier and the murth, Liyah was adopted by an enemy soldier and raised in a murth home. Though the outside world sees only her glowing eyes and sharp claws, her family accepts her as one of their own.
After years of tense negotiations, Liyah’s adoptive father has finally arranged peace talks—and just in time, too, as her eldest brother is soon to be sent into battle. When her father is captured on the way to the summit, Liyah realizes there are those who will stop at nothing to see that the war never ends...
Knowing she is her father’s only hope of survival, Liyah ventures into wier territory to save him. Instead of the bloodthirsty monsters the murth fear, she finds beauty and magic and, in the arms of a wier soldier, stirrings of love. Now she must discover how to balance her newfound bonds with her mission to save her father, protect her brother, and salvage the peace talks.
CHILD OF MOON, DAUGHTER OF SUN (121,000 words) is an epic fantasy with a touch of romance and a splash of soft magic. As I wrote this book, I was splitting my time between the home I grew up in, Natal (Brazil), and the home I found as an adult in Columbus, Ohio. A piece of my heart resides in each place, and like Liyah, I dread the day when I, too, must decide where I belong.
Thank you for your consideration.
Liyah hears the whispers every time she leaves the safety of her home. Freak. Monster. Wier. Born on a battlefield in the centuries-long war between the wier and the murth, Liyah was adopted by an enemy soldier and raised in a murth home. Though the outside world sees only her glowing eyes and sharp claws, her family accepts her as one of their own.
After years of tense negotiations, Liyah’s adoptive father has finally arranged peace talks—and just in time, too, as her eldest brother is soon to be sent into battle. When her father is captured on the way to the summit, Liyah realizes there are those who will stop at nothing to see that the war never ends...
Knowing she is her father’s only hope of survival, Liyah ventures into wier territory to save him. Instead of the bloodthirsty monsters the murth fear, she finds beauty and magic and, in the arms of a wier soldier, stirrings of love. Now she must discover how to balance her newfound bonds with her mission to save her father, protect her brother, and salvage the peace talks.
CHILD OF MOON, DAUGHTER OF SUN (121,000 words) is an epic fantasy with a touch of romance and a splash of soft magic. As I wrote this book, I was splitting my time between the home I grew up in, Natal (Brazil), and the home I found as an adult in Columbus, Ohio. A piece of my heart resides in each place, and like Liyah, I dread the day when I, too, must decide where I belong.
Thank you for your consideration.
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
ETERNAL AS IT LASTS (109,000 words) is a dual-POV Adult Fantasy standalone set in a post-colonial Brazil-inspired country. It will appeal to fans of the philosophical themes of V. E. Schwab's The Invisible Life of Addie la Rue and Tamsym Muir's morally ambiguous LGBT characters.
Ava’s successful spy life ends abruptly when she is sent to hell, a place not for the sinners, but for those no one ever cared for or missed. The only way out is to make a deal with the smirking devil that lurks around her eternal prison. His conditions? Find an ancient, all-powerful stone once stolen from him, and kill Enwan, the thief. Brought back from her shallow grave, she puts her knives to good use and watches Enwan bleed out. That is, until he wakes up and gives her the beating of her brand-new life. And as if his unkillable status wasn’t bad enough, it turns out he no longer has the stone.
Enwan’s immortality has become a curse—all his loved ones are long dead, and the world is a monotonous repetition. To break the cycle, he also strikes a deal with the devil. In exchange for mortality, he must help Ava retrieve the stone he stole—and lost—decades ago. He doesn’t know where it is, but knows who last had it: an ambitious man who unleashed death upon his entire city when trying to wield the stone for personal use.
Together, Ava and Enwan embark on a desperate search to find the stone before the devil’s deadline in two weeks. For Ava, failing means being dragged back to hell where she faces torture forever. For Enwan, eternity will remain his most loyal companion, and it will drive him mad. However, the more they uncover about the stone’s destructive powers—and the deadly monsters that inhabit it—the more it weighs on them whether they should give it away.
TW: explicit violence, murder, brief mentions of suicide attempts, past abusive relationship
I am a Brazilian International Relations graduate. Aside from writing, some of my passions are the ever-frustrating world of international politics, action-packed video-games, weaving the darkest and deadliest adventures in Dungeons & Dragons, and The Good Place.
Ava’s successful spy life ends abruptly when she is sent to hell, a place not for the sinners, but for those no one ever cared for or missed. The only way out is to make a deal with the smirking devil that lurks around her eternal prison. His conditions? Find an ancient, all-powerful stone once stolen from him, and kill Enwan, the thief. Brought back from her shallow grave, she puts her knives to good use and watches Enwan bleed out. That is, until he wakes up and gives her the beating of her brand-new life. And as if his unkillable status wasn’t bad enough, it turns out he no longer has the stone.
Enwan’s immortality has become a curse—all his loved ones are long dead, and the world is a monotonous repetition. To break the cycle, he also strikes a deal with the devil. In exchange for mortality, he must help Ava retrieve the stone he stole—and lost—decades ago. He doesn’t know where it is, but knows who last had it: an ambitious man who unleashed death upon his entire city when trying to wield the stone for personal use.
Together, Ava and Enwan embark on a desperate search to find the stone before the devil’s deadline in two weeks. For Ava, failing means being dragged back to hell where she faces torture forever. For Enwan, eternity will remain his most loyal companion, and it will drive him mad. However, the more they uncover about the stone’s destructive powers—and the deadly monsters that inhabit it—the more it weighs on them whether they should give it away.
TW: explicit violence, murder, brief mentions of suicide attempts, past abusive relationship
I am a Brazilian International Relations graduate. Aside from writing, some of my passions are the ever-frustrating world of international politics, action-packed video-games, weaving the darkest and deadliest adventures in Dungeons & Dragons, and The Good Place.
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Dear Mr./Ms. XYZ,
I'm querying you because...etc.
Belinda Marvel is fine on her own, thank you very much. She doesn't need a man, or even friends for that matter. Her mother beat that out of her long ago. With a broomstick. Until she couldn't walk.
Belinda is content in her job at the library. She's a Dewey Decimal maven. Alphabetizing and organizing are her jam. But when she comes across an old black & white photo of her mother in the archives, obviously pregnant and in the arms of a man who is not her father, Belinda falters. Written on the back of the photo are the words, Harry and Evelyn, 1958. Belinda was born in 1961. And she's never heard of Harry.
Soon after she discovers the photo her home is ransacked, with books and pottery and dishes thrown against the walls. Her yard is torn apart, with plants uprooted and flagstones overturned. A stalker terrifies her in the library, sneaking through the stacks after hours.
Someone wants something—badly—and they think Belinda's got it. It could be the photo. Or it could be the "treasure" Belinda hears about from local architect Nate Hammond, who thinks it's in her house and wants to search for it. He calls too often. She doesn't trust him.
Belinda's mother has been dead a year. Harry, her lover, disappeared mysteriously long ago. Nate Hammond might be hiding something. And Belinda's aging, belligerent father isn't talking.
Belinda doesn't care about treasure. What she wants is to find out what happened to the baby her mother must have had in 1959. What she needs is to shed her parents, who cling to her, alive or dead.
The Winter Archives is a first-person Women's Literary Fiction Mystery of 72,350 words. Readers of The Department of Rare Books & Special Collections by Eva Jurczyk will enjoy it.
The Winter Archives is my second novel. I've self-published two books: Camelot & Vine (historical fantasy, 2013 and 2023) and Act As If: Stumbling Through Hollywood With Headshot in Hand (nonfiction/humor, 2014). The audiobook of Camelot & Vine, which I narrated, was nominated for a 2023 SOVAS award for best Narration/Author Performance. (I lost to Bono. You have to admit the competition was tough.) I've published short stories in the anthologies Literary Pasadena (2013) and Ghost Stories (audio anthology, 2019), and creative nonfiction in Air: A Radio Anthology (2019).
Thank you for considering The Winter Archives. I look forward to hearing from you.
I'm querying you because...etc.
Belinda Marvel is fine on her own, thank you very much. She doesn't need a man, or even friends for that matter. Her mother beat that out of her long ago. With a broomstick. Until she couldn't walk.
Belinda is content in her job at the library. She's a Dewey Decimal maven. Alphabetizing and organizing are her jam. But when she comes across an old black & white photo of her mother in the archives, obviously pregnant and in the arms of a man who is not her father, Belinda falters. Written on the back of the photo are the words, Harry and Evelyn, 1958. Belinda was born in 1961. And she's never heard of Harry.
Soon after she discovers the photo her home is ransacked, with books and pottery and dishes thrown against the walls. Her yard is torn apart, with plants uprooted and flagstones overturned. A stalker terrifies her in the library, sneaking through the stacks after hours.
Someone wants something—badly—and they think Belinda's got it. It could be the photo. Or it could be the "treasure" Belinda hears about from local architect Nate Hammond, who thinks it's in her house and wants to search for it. He calls too often. She doesn't trust him.
Belinda's mother has been dead a year. Harry, her lover, disappeared mysteriously long ago. Nate Hammond might be hiding something. And Belinda's aging, belligerent father isn't talking.
Belinda doesn't care about treasure. What she wants is to find out what happened to the baby her mother must have had in 1959. What she needs is to shed her parents, who cling to her, alive or dead.
The Winter Archives is a first-person Women's Literary Fiction Mystery of 72,350 words. Readers of The Department of Rare Books & Special Collections by Eva Jurczyk will enjoy it.
The Winter Archives is my second novel. I've self-published two books: Camelot & Vine (historical fantasy, 2013 and 2023) and Act As If: Stumbling Through Hollywood With Headshot in Hand (nonfiction/humor, 2014). The audiobook of Camelot & Vine, which I narrated, was nominated for a 2023 SOVAS award for best Narration/Author Performance. (I lost to Bono. You have to admit the competition was tough.) I've published short stories in the anthologies Literary Pasadena (2013) and Ghost Stories (audio anthology, 2019), and creative nonfiction in Air: A Radio Anthology (2019).
Thank you for considering The Winter Archives. I look forward to hearing from you.
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
I greatly admire Ann Cleeves’ Vera Stanhope novels and Hallie Ephron’s novels (and books about writing mysteries).
My novel, THE WIDOW DETECTIVE, is a police procedural (87,000 words). The lead character is Ruta Petrauskas, a 55-year-old detective sergeant in a midwestern university town in America. Her husband has died of cancer, and she finds distraction from her grief by immersing herself in criminal investigation. Her young assistants are Cody Tran, a 23-year-old second generation Vietnamese-American, who is a strict Roman Catholic, and Lauren Welch, an ambitious, smart 23-year-old Black lesbian. The action is set in December before the Christmas holiday.
The first victim, Johnny Drexel, is a college student whose battered corpse is found in a parking garage; he was a heel and a charmer, so there are many possible suspects. The second victim is a college student who fell down the stairs; the third victim is a young police officer who has figured out who the murderer is. Ruta and Cody must find the murderer before more people are killed.
In this character-driven mystery novel, Sergeant Ruta Petrauskas sets aside her own grief over the recent death of her husband as she searches to discover the murderer of an unlikeable young man. She is the child of Lithuanian immigrants (as am I) and is a career detective in her midsize central Minnesota city's police department. The suspects are relatives of the victim, students who knew him, lovers, and eventually the president of the university.
I teach Shakespeare at St. Cloud State University (Hamlet and Macbeth and Richard III are great murder mysteries), and I have loved mysteries since childhood (Trixie Belden). I have published a collection of literary short stories, Nice Girls and Other Stories (2003), winner of the New Rivers Press Award; it sold a couple thousand, which is pretty respectable for a short story collection from a small press. I’ve published about a hundred flashes in online magazines, most of which are still alive. Presumably I can flog my novel on those websites.
Thank you for your consideration.
My novel, THE WIDOW DETECTIVE, is a police procedural (87,000 words). The lead character is Ruta Petrauskas, a 55-year-old detective sergeant in a midwestern university town in America. Her husband has died of cancer, and she finds distraction from her grief by immersing herself in criminal investigation. Her young assistants are Cody Tran, a 23-year-old second generation Vietnamese-American, who is a strict Roman Catholic, and Lauren Welch, an ambitious, smart 23-year-old Black lesbian. The action is set in December before the Christmas holiday.
The first victim, Johnny Drexel, is a college student whose battered corpse is found in a parking garage; he was a heel and a charmer, so there are many possible suspects. The second victim is a college student who fell down the stairs; the third victim is a young police officer who has figured out who the murderer is. Ruta and Cody must find the murderer before more people are killed.
In this character-driven mystery novel, Sergeant Ruta Petrauskas sets aside her own grief over the recent death of her husband as she searches to discover the murderer of an unlikeable young man. She is the child of Lithuanian immigrants (as am I) and is a career detective in her midsize central Minnesota city's police department. The suspects are relatives of the victim, students who knew him, lovers, and eventually the president of the university.
I teach Shakespeare at St. Cloud State University (Hamlet and Macbeth and Richard III are great murder mysteries), and I have loved mysteries since childhood (Trixie Belden). I have published a collection of literary short stories, Nice Girls and Other Stories (2003), winner of the New Rivers Press Award; it sold a couple thousand, which is pretty respectable for a short story collection from a small press. I’ve published about a hundred flashes in online magazines, most of which are still alive. Presumably I can flog my novel on those websites.
Thank you for your consideration.
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
I am seeking representation for my Contemporary YA/New Adult novel Half Blind, about a young woman who helps save and then ‘kidnaps’ a horse. Given your interest in these genres and animals, the novel might be a good fit for your list.
Zenaida (Zee) Uaine works as a stable-hand at Ballinger’s dressage stables but she wants to be a veterinarian. When a horse is injured in a car accident that also injured an Olympic hopeful, Zee is stubbornly determined to save the horse. Old angers surface when she discovers the injured person is the high-school princess Zee blames for ruining her chance for acceptance at veterinarian college. When asked to euthanize the horse, Zee lies to obtain and secretly rehabilitate the horse. If her deception is discovered, her stable job and chance at vet college will evaporate.
I am a debut author with two more novels in draft form. I work as a technical writer, am a life-long animal lover and former horse-owner. According to the International Equestrian Federation (fei.org), there are 855,000 people active in the Canadian horse industry; and Wikipedia estimates there are 30 million riders in USA. Some of those probably buy books about horses.
Complete at 70,900 words, the novel Half Blind merges two of my loves—writing and horses. It would appeal to readers of Shelby Van Pelt’s Remarkably Bright Creatures with its characters empathetic to animals, and the gentle love story in Geraldine Brooks’ Horse.
Zenaida (Zee) Uaine works as a stable-hand at Ballinger’s dressage stables but she wants to be a veterinarian. When a horse is injured in a car accident that also injured an Olympic hopeful, Zee is stubbornly determined to save the horse. Old angers surface when she discovers the injured person is the high-school princess Zee blames for ruining her chance for acceptance at veterinarian college. When asked to euthanize the horse, Zee lies to obtain and secretly rehabilitate the horse. If her deception is discovered, her stable job and chance at vet college will evaporate.
I am a debut author with two more novels in draft form. I work as a technical writer, am a life-long animal lover and former horse-owner. According to the International Equestrian Federation (fei.org), there are 855,000 people active in the Canadian horse industry; and Wikipedia estimates there are 30 million riders in USA. Some of those probably buy books about horses.
Complete at 70,900 words, the novel Half Blind merges two of my loves—writing and horses. It would appeal to readers of Shelby Van Pelt’s Remarkably Bright Creatures with its characters empathetic to animals, and the gentle love story in Geraldine Brooks’ Horse.
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Thanks Nathan for offering this. Here it goes:
In CHILDREN OF SHADOWS, there is an ancient light power, left by Neolithic mystics, who foresaw the day alien shadow spirits would land on Earth. The shadows wipe out the majority of life, technology, erase memories and take all children as hosts.
(Personalized bit) So, I thought you’d enjoy my 112,000 word speculative novel.
When Christopher, fourteen, is gifted with light power, he knows he must use it to destroy the shadow spirits, but he is pushed down a hill by the girl who gave him the light. Christopher’s father awakes in his car from a dream of Christopher in the field, but he does not see his face. With no memory of life before the dead silence around him, the desire to find the one in his dreams and a potential family drives him on to find his son.
In order to save as many children as possible from an unknown fate, they must travel a post-apocalyptic South East England to the crater where the shadows landed. When they reach the alien pod, and Christopher confronts the girl who pushed him; she turns out to be his sister, who ran away from home the day the shadows came and found the light in an ancient cave before passing it onto him. After a dream battle, she sacrifices herself to destroy the pod. Christopher absorbs her memories from the time before the pod landed, but he also absorbs her shadow. Now he must advance on a longer quest across the country for a mystical cure to free himself of an increasing darkness inside, or let it take over and give in to its impulses.
A sequel to this novel and multiple spin-offs do exist in my mind, but it can stand alone; the book is in three parts which serve in a way like a trilogy of their own. Though the main character of the novel is a teenager, I believe it will appeal to both YA and adult audiences, similar to Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials universe. I’m a 21-year-old English author of 22 self-published books that I began when I was twelve. This novel is the first based in places I’ve lived or visited in England, places with meaning to me. I also write on Substack (https://harveyhamer.substack.com), chronicling my writing journey, weekly roundups, and serialising the start of this story as a novella.
Thank you for your time,
Harvey
In CHILDREN OF SHADOWS, there is an ancient light power, left by Neolithic mystics, who foresaw the day alien shadow spirits would land on Earth. The shadows wipe out the majority of life, technology, erase memories and take all children as hosts.
(Personalized bit) So, I thought you’d enjoy my 112,000 word speculative novel.
When Christopher, fourteen, is gifted with light power, he knows he must use it to destroy the shadow spirits, but he is pushed down a hill by the girl who gave him the light. Christopher’s father awakes in his car from a dream of Christopher in the field, but he does not see his face. With no memory of life before the dead silence around him, the desire to find the one in his dreams and a potential family drives him on to find his son.
In order to save as many children as possible from an unknown fate, they must travel a post-apocalyptic South East England to the crater where the shadows landed. When they reach the alien pod, and Christopher confronts the girl who pushed him; she turns out to be his sister, who ran away from home the day the shadows came and found the light in an ancient cave before passing it onto him. After a dream battle, she sacrifices herself to destroy the pod. Christopher absorbs her memories from the time before the pod landed, but he also absorbs her shadow. Now he must advance on a longer quest across the country for a mystical cure to free himself of an increasing darkness inside, or let it take over and give in to its impulses.
A sequel to this novel and multiple spin-offs do exist in my mind, but it can stand alone; the book is in three parts which serve in a way like a trilogy of their own. Though the main character of the novel is a teenager, I believe it will appeal to both YA and adult audiences, similar to Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials universe. I’m a 21-year-old English author of 22 self-published books that I began when I was twelve. This novel is the first based in places I’ve lived or visited in England, places with meaning to me. I also write on Substack (https://harveyhamer.substack.com), chronicling my writing journey, weekly roundups, and serialising the start of this story as a novella.
Thank you for your time,
Harvey
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Dear (agent)
I am reaching out to you for representation because you have a background in litigation. And because you love the outdoors. I think you will find my debut novel of interest with its unique judicial system. It also has an unreliable rooster as an aside (he should make friends with the Cranky Chicken).
Kili Kisomio seems like a normal, mischievous 10-year-old farm girl living on a tropical island hidden from the cutting-edge, post-apocalyptic world—until the voice of an ancestor calls her to a sacred quest in a language she doesn’t understand. That night, while sneaking out in search of the interpretation, an accident leaves her face permanently scarred—but in the morning, she’s compelled to deny her calling. Keeping her secret would mean living a lie, while telling could mean expulsion from her society, a thriving commonwealth bound by oath. Kili must learn to overcome her fears and accept her heroic destiny, or else shoulder the blood of her people—forever.
KILI KISOMIO AND THE SECRETS OF MILIVEA is an 80,000 word dystopian twist for ages eleven and up. It is THE GIVER meets ELLA ENCHANTED and will appeal to readers of Davina Bell’s THE END OF THE WAR IS BIGGER THAN LOVE. It stands alone as a tale of self-acceptance, but also sets the stage for a series with subsequent titles KILI KISOMIO AND THE IMMORTAL and KILI KISOMIO AND THE WAR.
I first conceived Kili’s story at age eleven when my sixth-grade teacher declared that a true utopia could never exist. I have since lived on a tropical island, and now live in the heart of Southern Utah working with young adults as a music teacher.
Thank you for your consideration.
I am reaching out to you for representation because you have a background in litigation. And because you love the outdoors. I think you will find my debut novel of interest with its unique judicial system. It also has an unreliable rooster as an aside (he should make friends with the Cranky Chicken).
Kili Kisomio seems like a normal, mischievous 10-year-old farm girl living on a tropical island hidden from the cutting-edge, post-apocalyptic world—until the voice of an ancestor calls her to a sacred quest in a language she doesn’t understand. That night, while sneaking out in search of the interpretation, an accident leaves her face permanently scarred—but in the morning, she’s compelled to deny her calling. Keeping her secret would mean living a lie, while telling could mean expulsion from her society, a thriving commonwealth bound by oath. Kili must learn to overcome her fears and accept her heroic destiny, or else shoulder the blood of her people—forever.
KILI KISOMIO AND THE SECRETS OF MILIVEA is an 80,000 word dystopian twist for ages eleven and up. It is THE GIVER meets ELLA ENCHANTED and will appeal to readers of Davina Bell’s THE END OF THE WAR IS BIGGER THAN LOVE. It stands alone as a tale of self-acceptance, but also sets the stage for a series with subsequent titles KILI KISOMIO AND THE IMMORTAL and KILI KISOMIO AND THE WAR.
I first conceived Kili’s story at age eleven when my sixth-grade teacher declared that a true utopia could never exist. I have since lived on a tropical island, and now live in the heart of Southern Utah working with young adults as a music teacher.
Thank you for your consideration.
Last edited by cleauthor on February 5th, 2024, 10:57 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Exciting blog, Nathan. So glad I discovered you. It's been a treat to read everyone's submissions.
Subject line: A mixed salad of Stranger in a Strange Land, The Time Travelers Wife and Piranesi.
Dear…,
You’ve expressed a keen interest in speculative fiction so have you ever wondered where twenty-first century’s manipulation of genes and cell function might lead humanity in the centuries to come?
The way things are progressing, I have little doubt it will be directly to me. My name is Sixay and in 2490 I have just been delivered to the Heliacal Egoism Fellowship Centre on Ganymede, Jupiter’s largest moon. Throughout the galaxy I would be referred to as an RWU or a unit—though there are many who would use the slur “husker.” Fortunately for me, despite my provenance, I am treated as an equal member of this idyllic community, interacting freely with the acolytes and arbetare who work and study here.
Emerging from my stasis chamber, I lack anything resembling a history, relying heavily on my new friend, Firmlander, to teach me about life at Enda Tanké. But when evocative visions and confusing memories begin to surface, becoming too powerful to ignore, I am sent to the Seneschal who explains what I am and how I came to be here. Their guidance ensures I find the courage to pull my entangled particles strand by strand from ‘The Array.’ As I slowly recover my past, navigating a profit driven world that views me as nothing more than a commodity to be used, traded or sold, I eventually discover why I was brought to this present, and I must ultimately decide which version of me rings most true; the human I was or the revenant I have become.
Entanglement is a compelling character driven first person narrative about a woman’s search for her identity. In 120,000 words it pulls together threads from multiple genres to weave a future fiction tale that reads like reality: a story of friendship, regret, trust and betrayal. Though set 400 years in mankind’s future, Sixay’s experience is timeless, because at its heart it is a love story.
I'm Cara Pearson, an American expat living in Cape Town, South Africa. When Sixay found her way to me, by way of my beautiful daughter, I felt an authentic compulsion to make her story my first completed novel. I am now working on book two, because Six has so much more to do.
(Insert sentence targeting the agent’s specific interests), I would be grateful if you could read my submission in the hope that you find Sixay a captivating voice and come away with a strong desire to help her story reach more than her current eleven fans. If that would be the case, I look forward to working with you.
Subject line: A mixed salad of Stranger in a Strange Land, The Time Travelers Wife and Piranesi.
Dear…,
You’ve expressed a keen interest in speculative fiction so have you ever wondered where twenty-first century’s manipulation of genes and cell function might lead humanity in the centuries to come?
The way things are progressing, I have little doubt it will be directly to me. My name is Sixay and in 2490 I have just been delivered to the Heliacal Egoism Fellowship Centre on Ganymede, Jupiter’s largest moon. Throughout the galaxy I would be referred to as an RWU or a unit—though there are many who would use the slur “husker.” Fortunately for me, despite my provenance, I am treated as an equal member of this idyllic community, interacting freely with the acolytes and arbetare who work and study here.
Emerging from my stasis chamber, I lack anything resembling a history, relying heavily on my new friend, Firmlander, to teach me about life at Enda Tanké. But when evocative visions and confusing memories begin to surface, becoming too powerful to ignore, I am sent to the Seneschal who explains what I am and how I came to be here. Their guidance ensures I find the courage to pull my entangled particles strand by strand from ‘The Array.’ As I slowly recover my past, navigating a profit driven world that views me as nothing more than a commodity to be used, traded or sold, I eventually discover why I was brought to this present, and I must ultimately decide which version of me rings most true; the human I was or the revenant I have become.
Entanglement is a compelling character driven first person narrative about a woman’s search for her identity. In 120,000 words it pulls together threads from multiple genres to weave a future fiction tale that reads like reality: a story of friendship, regret, trust and betrayal. Though set 400 years in mankind’s future, Sixay’s experience is timeless, because at its heart it is a love story.
I'm Cara Pearson, an American expat living in Cape Town, South Africa. When Sixay found her way to me, by way of my beautiful daughter, I felt an authentic compulsion to make her story my first completed novel. I am now working on book two, because Six has so much more to do.
(Insert sentence targeting the agent’s specific interests), I would be grateful if you could read my submission in the hope that you find Sixay a captivating voice and come away with a strong desire to help her story reach more than her current eleven fans. If that would be the case, I look forward to working with you.
Last edited by CPearson on January 28th, 2024, 12:12 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Run For Your Life
“Sheriff Moira Potts.” Mayor Rob Applebee rubbed his finger over the brass nameplate on my office door. “We need to add, ‘Goose Down’s first female Sheriff.’ One of three in Ohio.”
“Humph.”
“It’s a big deal, Moira,” Rob said. “You should be proud.”
“You’re just saying that because we’ve been friends a long time. I feel like a kid playing dress up and people are waiting for me to screw up. I must have been crazy.”
His powerful arms pulled me in for a hug. “Probably not PC, but I think you needed one of these.”
He let me go, lifted a stack of file folders and loose papers off a chair, and looked around my cluttered office for a place to set them.
I pointed to the only empty spot in the room on the floor next to my desk.
He sank into the chair across from me with a deep sigh. “How can I help my favorite lawman, I mean lawperson, feel better? Another hug?”
“It will take more than that to get me out of this funk.”
“Has something happened?”
“Nothing new. Crank emails, dog poop on my front porch. Jock strap in my mailbox. Snarky comments on my age, I’m a woman, and I never would have won if my opponent hadn’t been an attorney who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And the topper was yesterday when the old guy at the coffee shop called me ‘honey’. I was wearing my uniform, for crying out loud.”
“Anything you think is serious? Threatening?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“So, you have something to prove.”
“You could say that. Let’s forget all that for a while. How are the wedding plans coming?”
“Killing me,” he said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “Chris has me running my feet off.”
“Don’t be a baby. You’ll make it. You’ve got over two weeks.”
“Thanks,” Rob rolled his eyes. “How’s our best man?”
“He’s good. Meeting him for lunch.”
Rob went to high school with Alan, my — what do I call him? Boyfriend? Too old to be a boy anything. Beau? Sounds like something out of a Jane Austen novel. I’ll stick with plain Alan. Dr. Alan Schneider. We’re still in the early stages of our relationship. He’s nine years older than me and was married before.
“That’s it?”
“Now you sound like my mother.”
“Sheriff Moira Potts.” Mayor Rob Applebee rubbed his finger over the brass nameplate on my office door. “We need to add, ‘Goose Down’s first female Sheriff.’ One of three in Ohio.”
“Humph.”
“It’s a big deal, Moira,” Rob said. “You should be proud.”
“You’re just saying that because we’ve been friends a long time. I feel like a kid playing dress up and people are waiting for me to screw up. I must have been crazy.”
His powerful arms pulled me in for a hug. “Probably not PC, but I think you needed one of these.”
He let me go, lifted a stack of file folders and loose papers off a chair, and looked around my cluttered office for a place to set them.
I pointed to the only empty spot in the room on the floor next to my desk.
He sank into the chair across from me with a deep sigh. “How can I help my favorite lawman, I mean lawperson, feel better? Another hug?”
“It will take more than that to get me out of this funk.”
“Has something happened?”
“Nothing new. Crank emails, dog poop on my front porch. Jock strap in my mailbox. Snarky comments on my age, I’m a woman, and I never would have won if my opponent hadn’t been an attorney who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And the topper was yesterday when the old guy at the coffee shop called me ‘honey’. I was wearing my uniform, for crying out loud.”
“Anything you think is serious? Threatening?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“So, you have something to prove.”
“You could say that. Let’s forget all that for a while. How are the wedding plans coming?”
“Killing me,” he said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “Chris has me running my feet off.”
“Don’t be a baby. You’ll make it. You’ve got over two weeks.”
“Thanks,” Rob rolled his eyes. “How’s our best man?”
“He’s good. Meeting him for lunch.”
Rob went to high school with Alan, my — what do I call him? Boyfriend? Too old to be a boy anything. Beau? Sounds like something out of a Jane Austen novel. I’ll stick with plain Alan. Dr. Alan Schneider. We’re still in the early stages of our relationship. He’s nine years older than me and was married before.
“That’s it?”
“Now you sound like my mother.”
Re: NEW - Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog
Dear Ms. XXXXXXXX,
My name is XXXXXXX and I would love for you to represent my debut book, After Her Death, a completed 90,000-word dual timeline women’s fiction novel. I’ve found your website a fantastic writing resource over the years and I’m excited to finally pitch to you.
2005, Illinois: Adopted as a baby, Meghan Hardesty knows nothing about her biological family, but since becoming a mom she yearns to find out. Especially since she’s the black sheep in her adoptive family of farmers. When she finds a photo of her doppelganger in a client’s home, she wonders if she’s found her birth family. Unfortunately, the client, an immigrant from Iran, is dead.
1918, Northwestern Iran: Merav Galili, the second daughter of a Kurdish shepherd, is betrothed at nine-years-old to a cousin she’s never met. As her family expands, Merav’s traditional way of life is challenged by the conflicts (both internal and external) she encounters while traversing borders and history in search of a peaceful life.
As Meghan seeks for heirs, the evidence she finds points to an unexpected but real link between herself and the immigrant. She must navigate connecting with her family of origin while not alienating her traditional, patriotic parents.
While Merav grasps to keep the threads of her family from unraveling, Meghan hopes she’ll find her family of origin and with it, the belonging she so desperately seeks.
Lexi, an adoptee, mother of seven and beta reader for my novel said, "I felt very 'seen' reading Meghan’s story and it gave me a lot to think about. It was really deep and rich while being respectful."
Faith-based readers who love dual-timelines and stories about the search to belong such as Lisa Wingate’s A Thousand Voices and Before We Were Yours, Michelle Shocklee’s Count the Night By Stars, Shelby Van Pelt’s Remarkably Bright Creatures, and Heidi Chiavaroli’s The Orchard House will enjoy my novel.
My brief bio . . .
Thank you for your consideration,
My name
My name is XXXXXXX and I would love for you to represent my debut book, After Her Death, a completed 90,000-word dual timeline women’s fiction novel. I’ve found your website a fantastic writing resource over the years and I’m excited to finally pitch to you.
2005, Illinois: Adopted as a baby, Meghan Hardesty knows nothing about her biological family, but since becoming a mom she yearns to find out. Especially since she’s the black sheep in her adoptive family of farmers. When she finds a photo of her doppelganger in a client’s home, she wonders if she’s found her birth family. Unfortunately, the client, an immigrant from Iran, is dead.
1918, Northwestern Iran: Merav Galili, the second daughter of a Kurdish shepherd, is betrothed at nine-years-old to a cousin she’s never met. As her family expands, Merav’s traditional way of life is challenged by the conflicts (both internal and external) she encounters while traversing borders and history in search of a peaceful life.
As Meghan seeks for heirs, the evidence she finds points to an unexpected but real link between herself and the immigrant. She must navigate connecting with her family of origin while not alienating her traditional, patriotic parents.
While Merav grasps to keep the threads of her family from unraveling, Meghan hopes she’ll find her family of origin and with it, the belonging she so desperately seeks.
Lexi, an adoptee, mother of seven and beta reader for my novel said, "I felt very 'seen' reading Meghan’s story and it gave me a lot to think about. It was really deep and rich while being respectful."
Faith-based readers who love dual-timelines and stories about the search to belong such as Lisa Wingate’s A Thousand Voices and Before We Were Yours, Michelle Shocklee’s Count the Night By Stars, Shelby Van Pelt’s Remarkably Bright Creatures, and Heidi Chiavaroli’s The Orchard House will enjoy my novel.
My brief bio . . .
Thank you for your consideration,
My name
Last edited by ibaurora2 on February 14th, 2024, 11:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
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