Storyletter The 1st

Dear reader,

When I was 8, I wrote my first story: Scruff Jones, Private Eye, about a hardboiled detective who also happened to be a talking otter. With his spunky squirrel partner, Scruff took on the animal underworld over the course of 4 pencil-scribbled pages torn from an old notebook.

I never finished Scruff’s story, but his creation was my first attempt at a dream that had been kindling ever since I first perched on the top of my dad’s recliner and listened to him read Redwall to me and my siblings.

The dream remains simple: I want to become a great novelist.

Now, my first novel, HAILEY’S HORIZON, is finished. This newsletter, my STORYLETTER, is the chronicle of its journey to publication.

Every STORYLETTER, beginning with this one, will have two parts:

·      The JOURNEY JOURNAL, with the latest updates on HAILEY’S HORIZON’s publication progress and

·      The STORY SNACK, an exclusive excerpt from one of my original short stories.

So it begins:

JOURNEY JOURNAL

Before I get a publisher, I need a literary agent.

So, shortly after my author website went up in late August, I began sending out query letters to literary agents all over the US.

As of today, I have sent 40 letters, and received 11 replies from agencies!

Technically, they were all rejections.

But hey, sometimes you have to ask out 10,000 women before you find the right one.

Thankfully, no agency is going to tell me ‘It’s not what you sent, it’s how you sent it.’

I can only say to myself, Finding Nemo…

Whoops, wrong Pixar movie.

Onward! That’s it.

STORY SNACK

HILLTOP

Part 1 of 3

Hanging above the flaming horizon, the sun was almost obscured by the cluster of skyscrapers standing like dominos in the distance. From his vantage point atop the deserted hill, Cole watched dying daylight set fire to the glass of the far-off buildings. 

The sunset from this spot was always breathtaking, and Cole stood staring for a moment. The feeling of unpleasant anticipation that had been twisting his insides all day began to unwind fractionally as he replayed the countless times he’d shared this panoramic spectacle with family and friends.

Cole’s watch beeped. That sense of dread re-tightened its grip. He silenced the alarm with a touch, then turned his back on the sun and faced the hilltop.

The site was roughly square, the size of a baseball field, sparsely adorned with dying grass and a scatter of stones at random intervals. Unnaturally flat, its edges sloped sharply down to the surrounding farmland, leaving the hilltop in its own tiny, isolated world.

Cole was a medium-sized man of average build, and his youthful face would have been similarly unremarkable if not for a pair of blue eyes so pale they resembled twin gas flames as he carefully scanned the scene before him.

No. The only new arrival, other than Cole himself, was a gust of evening breeze that pushed past him, making his jacket flutter. He was alone.

Cole reached up and ran a hand through his cropped auburn hair.

So, Peter was late.

“Or you’ve decided not to show,” Cole murmured. Again, the knot inside loosened ever so slightly.

Glancing at his watch, Cole considered turning and leaving, but instead, he stepped off the edge of the hill and walked forward. He had nowhere else to be tonight. He could wait a little while.

Stopping at a spot in the middle of the open space, Cole slowly turned in a complete circle, taking in every detail.

Nothing had changed since he’d last been here. The fading embers of sunlight that lit up the dead grass in front of him gave Cole the impression of a coating of amber that had preserved the spot exactly as it had been, fossilized, untouched by the onrush of time.

Cole closed his eyes.

Against his will, a spool of memories began unreeling—

Sprinting across the green grass, laughter, his chest burning as he chased friends through a mosaic of picnic blankets…A snowball hitting him and sending him sprawling over the ice-hardened ground…Sparks exploding up from a blazing fire and mixing with the steam from the hot dog he had thrust into the embers…

And now, more recent events—

Sitting beside a taller man with eyes like his fixed on the horizon…Their rising voices, turning to shouts…The sudden sense of falling, the horrific snap! like a stale breadstick breaking…the gut-wrenching realization, as if all his insides had suddenly vanished.

Cole’s eyes snapped open. His head swam momentarily, and he realized he had been holding his breath. He sucked in a deep inhale, letting it out again as he fished for his pack of American Spirits.

Breathing deeply, he sat down on the dry grass, propped his back up against a nearby stone, and fumbled in his jacket pocket for his Zippo.

He lit up his cigarette and took a deep drag. As he exhaled a plume of white smoke, he felt his pulse begin to slow again.

The distant sunset blurred the horizon, dull crimson light sliding slowly into darkness.

He took a second drag and checked his watch again. Blowing out a lungful of smoke on a long sigh, he wondered if he was disappointed his brother hadn’t shown up, or relieved.

Leaning back against the cool stone, Cole closed his eyes again and smoked his American Spirit, tuning into the stillness of the hilltop. He didn’t like the place, and would rather not have come. Still, now that he was here, he felt no impetus to leave.

Limbo had no vagrancy laws.

His eyes closed. Lulled by the mix of warm evening air and total silence, Cole dozed.

A sharp pain awoke him. He sat up straight, hissing a soft curse, dropping the glowing nub onto the dry grass—then cursed again as he remembered where he was.

            Still groggy, he hoisted himself to his feet and ground out the smoldering butt with one heel, then crouched down to retrieve the cigarette end.

            “Picking up your trash. There really is hope for the future,” said a voice from behind.

End of Part 1

Look for the next installment of STORYLETTER in 2 weeks!

Until then, I am,

Yours sincerely,

-Zossima Granger