Archive | September 2013

Endre Blog Tour: ST Bende guest post

Hei hei, y’all. I’m ST Bende, and I love IndyCar racing, McVities cookies, and all things Scandinavian (except for fish).  I write New Adult stories based on Norse mythology, and I have a soft spot for a certain Swedish actor who may or may not bear a striking resemblance to Elsker’s hero, Ull. What, we don’t all base our heroes on our True Blood crushes? Oops. 😉

I wrote The Elsker Saga as one very long entry in my journal. When I decided to publish it, Really Long Journal Entry (my fab working title) was split into two books — ELSKER and ENDRE.  Though ENDRE now kicks off with a dream set in Jotunheim, my initial effort at splitting the books started off with a more lighthearted scene. I thought y’all might get a kick out of seeing ENDRE’s original opener; the considerably sillier interaction between The Elsker Saga’s heroine, Kristia, and her Cardiff University flatmates, Emma and Victoria. Skal!

“Please tell me you’re joking Kristia.  Are you quite certain those will be all the clothes you need?”  My flatmate Victoria sat on the edge of my bed, critically eyeing my open suitcase.  “It’s so… tiny.”
“Victoria,” I rolled my eyes and tossed in a second pair of jeans.  “I’m only going for three days.  And I already have some stuff there.  I keep basics in my room, just in case.” 
“Still sleeping in the guest room, eh?”  My other flatmate Emma pursed her lips from my desk chair.
“Still engaged to the world’s most traditional guy, if that’s what you’re asking.”  I shot her a look.
“Pity,” Victoria radiated disappointment.  “Well, soon enough.”
“Right.  Soon enough.”  My stomach churned just saying the words.  Three months and two weeks from today I’d be married to a guy who was more myth than man.  I wasn’t ready to think about our honeymoon just yet.
“Well fine.  If you’re absolutely positive this is all the clothing you’ll need for three days in the country with the hottest guy on campus…” Victoria pulled a silk scarf from behind her back and dangled it over my bag.  “Then I suppose you won’t be needing this.”
“Oh my gosh!”  I grabbed at it and fingered the delicate fabric.  “This is amazing.  Where did you get it?” 
Victoria shrugged.  “It’s one of the pieces they let me design for the fall line.  I thought it would match your charcoal sweater, but if you don’t need it…”
I pulled the sweater from my suitcase and held up the scarf.  “It’s perfect.  Thanks Victoria.  I’ll take good care of this for you.”
“Keep it,” Victoria waved her hand.  “It’s a sample.” 
“I wasn’t sure in the beginning, but it really is nice living with a fashion major.”  I folded the scarf and carefully placed it on the top of my case. 
“Please,” snorted Emma from the corner of the room.  “You’ve lived with her all of five months.  Try putting up with her for nearly four years!” 
Emma and Victoria had been flatmates since their first year at Cardiff University in Wales.  Though they teased each other mercilessly, they were the best of friends.  I’d joined them in the Student Houses the previous fall, when I’d transferred from a small college near my hometown of Nehalem, Oregon.  The feisty girls living in Unit 3 had quickly taken me under their wing, introducing me to McVitties caramel biscuits (loved them), Sports Wives (my favorite British television show), and curries (still on the fence). 
It was a cool Friday afternoon in February, and my fiancé Ull would be arriving to pick me up soon.  As they did most weekends, the girls were helping me pack before they headed out to spend the evening at their favorite dance club.  Dancing wasn’t exactly my forte – I was hardly the most graceful snowflake in the blizzard by any stretch of the imagination.  I much preferred spending the weekends at Ull’s country home in the Cotswolds.  Ýdalir was a gorgeous cottage that housed a big secret.  It was home base for Ull, Inga, Gunnar and Olaug; the Norse deities who opted to moonlight as three college students — and one grandma — rather than live like the gods they actually were in Asgard.   It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but who was I to complain?  Ull’s residential preference meant I’d gotten the chance to fall in love with the Norse God of Winter, narrowly escaping the mind-numbing boredom of small-town life I’d known for all but the last five months of my twenty years.  Study abroad had seemed like an innocent enough way to expand my horizons.  Of course, I had no idea the horizons extended so far beyond this universe. 
“I think that’s it.”  I gave the room a final once over and zipped my powder blue suitcase.  “Ull won’t be here for another thirty minutes.  Want me to help you do your hair, Em?”
“Ooh, yes.”  Emma jumped up from her chair, eyes shining.  “I just bought this.”  She zipped out of my room and came back holding a weird domed comb. 
“What is it?”
“It’s supposed to give you lift at your crown.  See?”  She demonstrated on her red hair, sticking the contraption in blindly.
“I don’t think that’s quite right,” Victoria tried not to laugh.
“Well obviously I can’t see it,” Emma rolled her eyes.  “But if you want to do that sparkly job with my eye shadow, I’m sure Kristia can figure this one out.”
“You’re the math major, Em,” I warned.  “Spatial awareness is your thing.  If you can’t do it I seriously doubt I’ll be able to.”
“Oh, tush.  You’ll work it through.  If you can land the legend who never asked out anyone in all the time he’s been at Cardiff, then I’m quite confident you can manage the Hair Helper.”
“The Hair Helper?”  Victoria raised one freshly waxed eyebrow.  “That’s the best they could come up with?  Have they no marketing department?”
I quickly covered my mouth.  Emma’s indignant expression didn’t need any more ribbing. 
“Come on ladies,” I ushered them into our flat’s tiny bathroom.  “Let’s make us a Hair Helper Hottie.”

 Endre by ST Bende

Book II of The Elsker Saga

Release: September 9, 2013
Genre: New Adult Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Entranced Publishing, Rush

Sometimes, finding your destiny means doing the exact opposite of what The Fates have planned.
Winning the heart of an immortal assassin was a dream come true for Kristia Tostenson. Now she’s knee deep in wedding plans, goddess lessons, and stolen kisses. But her decision to become immortal could end in heartbreak — not only for Kristia, but for the god who loves her. Because while Ull would do anything to protect his bride, even the God of Winter is powerless against the Norse apocalypse. Ragnarok is coming. And the gods aren’t even close to ready.

Add it on Goodreads
Buy it on AmazonKobo and B&N  


Tour wide Rafflecopter

Review Snippets:

If you’re looking for a different take on New Adult that has plenty of swoon-worthy moments, some nail-biting action, and a mythological world you can lose yourself in, this book is for you.”

WOW… just, wow! The main question or demand lol I have is… There better be more coming?!”

About the Author:

Before finding domestic bliss in suburbia, ST Bende lived in Manhattan Beach (became overly fond of Peet’s Coffee) and Europe… where she became overly fond of McVities cookies. Her love of Scandinavian culture and a very patient Norwegian teacher inspired the books of The Elsker Saga (TUR, ELSKER and ENDRE). She is an audio co-host of #NALitChat, and helps compile indie new releases for the USA Today HEA blog. She hopes her characters make you smile and that one day, pastries will be considered a health food.

Find ST on Twitter, her blog, or send her an e-mail. While you’re at it, introduce yourself to @UllMyhr — when he’s not saving the cosmos from dark elves, he loves meeting new friends. Especially the human kind. 

Author social media links

Twitter: or @stbende
Email:  stbende(at)gmail(dot)com


“What do you want to know?” Ull lowered his sunglasses lazily and eyed me with a look that made my insides burn.
“Well,” I paused. “Uh… what am I supposed to do if I’m attacked?”
“You mean if this happened?” Ull launched himself off the chaise, wrapping one arm around my waist and dragging me across the beach. He cradled me in his arms and landed in the froth where the ocean met the shore.
“See? I’m totally defenseless?” I gazed up at him, my back pressed firmly against the wet sand. He hovered over me, supporting his weight on his forearms.
“I am afraid you are.” Piercing blue eyes locked in on mine. Between the depth of his stare and the heat from his abs, I forgot everything else.
“Um …” I bit my bottom lip.
Ull tilted his head to one side, a small smile playing at one corner of his mouth. “Now what did you want to know?”
“I–” I broke off as a wave washed over us. The warm saltwater lapped up to my waist then retreated, leaving a film of sand over my legs.
“You were asking me how to defend yourself?” Dangit, it was hard to focus with Ull’s dripping body pressing against mine. Yes, I wanted whatever it was I’d asked about. Self-defense, right. But there was something else I wanted more.
I bent my knee and twined my calf around Ull’s. I shifted my hips just an inch and stared into those endless blue eyes. They sparkled in the sunlight. My arms were trapped beneath his torso, so I turned my palms upward to touch the spot where his chest met his shoulders. It was so smooth, so firm, and so very, very warm. My eyes never left his as I moved my thumb along the line of his shoulder, down his biceps and down to the crook of his arm. I drew a slow circle inside his elbow and Ull blinked.
“Kristia,” he whispered.
“Yes?” I tried to reach up to stroke the stubble lining his square chin, but my arms were pinned.
“You are not trying to defend yourself.”
“So?” I raised my head and kissed his jaw. “Maybe I don’t feel like fighting you off.”
“Mmm,” Ull closed his eyes as I kissed my way up to his ear. “So if someone came after you, you would just let them do this?”
He swiftly rolled onto his back, forcing me on top of him. He shoved his fingers in my hair and tugged gently, pulling my head back. He kept the other hand just above the bottom of my bikini, firmly pressing my hips into his. I squirmed against the hold, trying to find a way out of his grip. Though I tactically had the upper hand, I couldn’t move.
“Well I wouldn’t let just anyone do this.”
“I should hope not,” he growled softly. He raked his teeth along my throat and paused at the hollow of my neck. “Because this could end very badly for you.” He ran his tongue along my collarbone. I shivered.
In a lightning-quick move, Ull flipped me onto my back and pinned my arms above my head with one hand. I gazed adoringly at the fierce assassin glowering over me. “And this. What would you do if someone did this to you?”
“Uh,” I blinked. If I told Ull what I really wanted to do right now, I’d turn every possible shade of crimson.
“Focus Kristia.” Ull stared at me. “What would you do if you were trapped?”
“I… uh… I’d,” I blushed. “You seriously want me to fight you off?”
“If you are so bent on going through with this little exercise, then yes. Give it your best shot. And then I believe, you promised to pay me for the lesson.”
“Gladly.” I narrowed my eyes and wrenched my arm as hard as I could. It didn’t budge. I tried again but it was futile.
“You are outmaneuvered and I am twice your weight. Try something else.” Ull commanded.
I threw my shoulder into his chest and tried to roll to one side.
“You cannot out-force me. Look at the difference in our masses. Think tactically, Kristia. What can you do that will debilitate me?”
My eyes widened. “You don’t want me to–”
“I want you to find a way to get me off you. Do what you have to do.”
I closed my eyes and raised a knee to his groin. Ull groaned and rolled off me.
“I’m so sorry! You said to–”
He raised a hand and waved at me, turning away.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“That was good.” He rolled back with a grimace. “But if someone is bent on capturing you, they will come back for more. And quickly. Your next step should be to run.”
“If you want I can get some ice for–”
“Run, darling.” It was a threat. “Now.”

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GenreCon 2013

Me (in the middle) with authors Stacey Nash & K.A.Last
Networking turned into blogging pals into friendship




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In two weeks time I’ll be kicking it with
authors, agents, editors and other publishing industry peeps at the GenreCon
opening night reception.
I’m really excited about this event, as
it’s one of the most well rounded programs I’ve seen for a writers’ conference.  There is a lot of focus on the business of
being an author, which in this day and age can be just as important as writing
an amazing story. There’s an expectation in the publishing industry that
authors will understand marketing, social media and self-promotion, which will
include public speaking stints.
In this year’s conference program, as well
as having the opportunity to learn more about the craft of writing,  you have the opportunity to find out more
Creating book trailers
Effectively reading an excerpt
from your novel
Contracts and copyright
Self-publishing an ebook using
Lean Pub
The future of genre fiction
How to maximize your daily
I’ll be on the panel ‘Networking is not a
dirty word’ on Saturday with Kate Eltham, Joel Naoum and Ellen Forsyth where we’ll
be talking about how to effectively engage other people in the publishing
industry without behaving like a creeper.
If you can make it to Brisbane 11-13
October, you should be at GenreCon. Hopefully I’ll see you there. Make sure you
say hi. 

For those of you not going, what’s your favourite thing about attending conferences. 

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My #PitMad entry: Dirty Rainbow

This is my PitMad Twitter Pitch contest entry. I’m still finalising the full query as I will be querying it once Pitch Madness activities are over. Here are the twitter pitches I will be using and an excerpt. 

I hope you enjoy them.

Twitter pitches:



Jenna is afraid of cyborgs. But she should be afraid of the people who ordered

their existence them, like her mother. #PitMad


With men extinct, women have created utopia. 17yo Jenna discovers the price for a perfect society will cost her the one she loves. #PitMad

Jenna fears cyborgs. But she should fear the ones who made them because everything in her utopia home is recycled, even humans. #PitMad


With men extinct, women create utopia. For 17yo Jenna, perfect

society crumbles when cyborgs take her BFF away because of her mum #PitMad




With men extinct, women created utopia. But for 17yo Jenna,

perfection comes at the cost of her friend’s life & it’s her mum’s fault #PitMad





knows the dirty secret of women’s success after men died out. Telling = destroys

her mum’s career. Not telling = losing BFF & GF #PitMad




With men extinct, women created utopia. But when her friend

disappears, Jenna finds paradise has a price & her mum’s collecting. #PitMad




An accident takes her BFF. Cyborgs take her GF. But why did

Jenna’s mum want her memories erased? #PitMad




Jenna must free her best friend & girlfriend from her

mother’s cyborg-controlled facility before she loses them forever. #PitMad





Unity Mantra

From the mistakes of the past we create a better future. Through acquiescence we remain united

and forge a prosperous tomorrow. We were once in the dark, but we now know the

way and will remain on the path in the light. Together we will keep humanity

strong, peaceful and united.

Family Mantra

Mothers keep us

safe, Mothers keep us strong. Mothers know best and can do no wrong.

Chapter 1

A three letter word shouldn’t sting this much, but it does.

“Imp,” hisses Kiri Robyns as she shoulders into me. I try to deflect her jibe off me as she glides past, but her insult lingers on me like the pain in my arm.

“What did you say to her?” My best friend, Hetty, screeches to a halt.

For a moment Kiri and her glued-to-the-hip-side-kick, Rosetta, freeze. Wet clumps of hair stick to their foreheads and their hands tighten around their towels. They must be coming back from the water hole.

“Just leave it,” I murmur, pulling Hetty up towards the walking track that leads to the lookout.

The two of them laugh as they continue the opposite way to us, back towards New Canberra.

“Why don’t you stick up for yourself more? Or at least let me?” Hetty complains, as she does nearly every time some shallow person points out I’m an imperfect.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” I reply, between puffs as we start on the sharp incline. “If people are going to judge me on the colour of my eyes then –”

“They’re not worth it.” Hetty finishes my sentence for me as she’s heard me parrot this a thousand times or more. Her voice labours as well. “I seriously don’t understand it though. I would think that they would want to kiss your butt with your mum and all that.”

“Oh, is that why we’re friends?” I tease, knowing there’s no truth in it. “So you can suck up to the Australian Ambassador’s daughter?”

She sticks out her tongue then laughs. “You know what I mean, Jenna.”

I smile at her, and then groan as we hit the steps that lead to our destination. My whole lower body protests in pain at the halfway point. But it’s so worth it once we hit the top.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” sighs Hetty, looking out over the city. She stretches her arms up, pulling her T-shirt up above the hem of her shorts.

I smile. “For sure.” I love escaping up here, especially with Hetty, away from Mum and her diplomatic duties.

Below us, a forest of eucalypts surrounds our city. The songs of the magpies echo around us and the scent of blossoms lingers in the air. The cluster of houses and buildings in the distance looks so insignificant next to the bushland.

Hetty jumps up onto the safety wall that edges the lookout – the only barrier between us and the sheer cliff below. It’s not that high, just enough to stop kids from wandering straight off the edge.

“I wonder why more people don’t come up here? We always seem to have it to ourselves,” she ponders. “Apart from the occasional cyborg domestic unit checking the bins.” She gestures to the yellow rubbish disposal units that abut the barrier.

“Don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe they don’t want to do the long walk?”

She balances on one foot, steadies herself, and leans forward. Her torso arches back, and she grabs her free leg from behind to create an elegant circle with her body, arms and leg. I wish I had taken gymnastics as an elective; she looks so poised and beautiful.

“Well, they don’t know what they’re missing.” Hetty lowers her leg and straightens up. “Do you think our kids will come up here?”

Our kids?! My heart skips a beat and my stomach drops as I freak out inside, tensing up all over. I don’t want to muck up what Hetty and I have with romance. I don’t see her that way. I’ve never seen anyone that way.  

“You know they’ll probably be best friends like us,” she says, her blue eyes smiling along with her mouth. All my muscles relax. Many people in our position become life partners, but I want romantic love like my parents, not just companionship. Though since men became extinct, many women opt for
their best friend as their life partner and no one bats an eyelash.

Hetty takes a couple of steps then does a cartwheel on the wall.

My heart skips another beat. “Don’t do that, you might fall.” An image of her body bouncing off the cliff face like a ragdoll flashes through my mind. I edge closer to her.

“Don’t be silly. I do this move all the time in gymnastics class.” She moves a bit faster now and does a round-off, an elegant movement like a cartwheel but with her feet landing simultaneously. Her foot doesn’t come down flush on the wall and she wobbles, tipping over on the cliff side of
the wall. I lunge and manage to grab her arm; mine feels like it nearly comes out of its socket. Hetty looks up at me as she dangles with nothing underneath her but air. My body doubles over the wall, her weight pulling me forward.

“Jenna! Don’t let me go!”

My arms start to burn under her weight and from the hot sun beating down on us both. I look down at my best friend with determination, my long brown hair spilling over my shoulders. I will not drop her. She will not fall.

“Hetty, I need you to use your legs. Push against the rocks with them. When I pull, you need to walk your way up to me. I can’t do it without you. Ready?”

 Hetty looks up at me, her eyes wild with fear. But she nods. I try to block out the jagged rocks
that jut out sporadically down the cliff face and the tree-laden ground some hundred metres below.

“Okay. One, two, THREE!”

I pull with all my might and Hetty begins taking tentative steps. Sweat trickles down my arms and onto my already clammy hands. My blue tank-top shows my strain with damp patches. The concrete barrier to the lookout digs into my hips through the thin material of my leggings. She straightens up as I pull her towards the safety wall with a giant heave. Her arms are now level with the wall and she reaches for the ledge with one hand. But before she has secured her grip on it, she slips from my other hand.

“Hetty!” My scream echoes through the valley, accompanied by her cries of terror, then a sickening thump. Still calling her name, I look over the edge and see her body crumpled on a ledge some thirty metres below. Her short blonde hair, normally immaculately styled, is matted with blood. Her brown legs protrude from her dark shorts at awkward angles. Sickening dark splotches cover her blue t-shirt.

I tap my communiqué earpiece. “Emergency assistance.” The words burn my throat, which is hoarse from yelling.

“This is emergency assistance. Please state the nature of your situation,” says a chirpy voice. 

“My friend, she’s fallen. She’s hurt.” Words don’t come coherently.

“Tracking your position now. An emergency response unit will be with you soon. Please advise the injured party’s name?”

“Hetty – Hetty Phillipas.” I want to scream the words, but reel myself in.

“Are you able to reach the injured party?” the Communicator asks.

I grimace. “No, she’s too far down.”

“Please advise what you can see in relation to the injured party.” The cheery disposition continues, and bugs the crap out of me. How can she be so blasé about this? Then the penny drops – because that’s how she’s programmed to be. I try not to think about the fact that I’m talking to a

I force myself to look at over the edge again. “Hetty, can you hear me?” There’s no response. Not even a groan. I can’t see her moving at all.  Just blood. “No. Nothing. She’s not moving.”

“Your heart rate is rising to an unhealthy zone. Please stay calm and the emergency response unit will be there soon. Initiate your deep breathing techniques to reduce your heart rate.”

I want to yell at the Communicator that I don’t want to calm down, but I comply, steadying myself on the concrete wall and inhale deeply through my nose. The air smells tainted. I exhale slowly, like an extended sigh, and give in to the meditation.
My senses shut down and there is only me – and the memory of what just happened, her body falling, her eyes pleading, the scream echoing.

It’s counter-productive, but I peek over the edge once I’ve finished. The view over to the ledge hasn’t changed. Hetty is as still as a mangled statue. I slump to the ground, my knees bent before me like a shield with my arms locking around them as protection for my head. It should be silent at a
sombre moment like this, but the trill song of bush birds, the occasional laughter of kookaburras and the continuous buzzing of insects fill the void.

The events replay over and over again in my mind. Every scenario I try to keep her safe still results in her falling.

The whooshing sound of the emergency response unit’s transporter brings me back to the here and now. Three Carer cyborgs alight from the transporter and two come straight toward me.

“Jenna McBride?” Her voice is low, calm and soothing. I still stiffen.

“Yes.” I try not to stare at the bald head. Even without hair, her face is beautiful. Her green eyes look at me vacantly.

“Where is Hetty Phillipas?” My hand gestures towards the concrete safety wall skirting the edge of the cliff. “Please make your way to the transporter for Carer assessment.”

I nod numbly and begin walking over, turning back briefly to watch her vault over the wall. There’s a soft thump as she hits the ground below. Soft moaning rises from over the edge. I block it out and focus on the shiny green transporter, taking slow and careful steps like Hetty should have
as she balanced on the wall. The second Carer passes me. My eyes linger on her identification tattoo – 384V.

“Jenna McBride, please stand still for your well-being analysis,” instructs the third one once I reach the transporter. She has the same face – like all Carers do – but grey eyes.

My body goes rigid as the cyborg holds a scanner in front of me. The blue beam trails up and down my body, looking for imperfections, impurities and anything else that would cause me harm. A soft tingle flutters through me.
392V – a higher number on her identification number indicates that she’s younger.

“Your blood-pressure is elevated and your body is showing signs of shock.” The grey-eyed Carer hands me a small container. “In here is your Recovery Tea. Consume it as per the instructions. Continue your meditation daily as well to ensure a swift healing.”

A swooshing sound from behind me causes me to turn and I catch sight of the bald head of the third cyborg disappearing over the edge. My mind races; we’ve come up to this lookout so many times, sat on the concrete safety wall surveying New Canberra below and laughing about the girls at
school. It was our weekly ritual – our best friend alone time. We’ve never given much thought to the sharp cliff face the barrier protected us from. It’s always been a safe place for us. Now I wonder if we felt too secure. Maybe Hetty wouldn’t have been showing off.

“Your parental units have been notified and are awaiting your return to your dwelling. Please enter the transporter.” Her voice isn’t as peppy as the Communicator’s was earlier.

“But I have to make sure she’s okay.” My desperation rises at the thought of leaving without her.

“We are not leaving until Hetty Phillipas is secure. However, your assessment shows a need for calm. Wait in the transporter and we will leave once the injured party is retrieved.”

The urgency subsides, but I stand my ground.

“Please comply,” she cocks her bare head, “as it is undesirable to restrain you.”

I glare into the vacant grey eyes, but it’s pointless to argue. The cool seats provide welcome relief against as the material makes contact with my skin. The Carer reaches into the front and presses a button. The scent of lavender wafting through the air follows. I inhale deeply and feel calmer immediately.

It feels like only moments later that the rear doors close, with Hetty inside, I assume, and the three cyborgs enter the cab of the transporter.

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask the one that has to sit in the back seat with me. Hetty and I have been friends my whole life. After seventeen years, I can’t imagine a day without her.  

She turns her duplicate face to me, her purple eyes staring hard, her tattoo 384V marring her otherwise perfect features. “She will recover.”

Her words give me some relief, but no comfort.

Pitch Madness SJ-7: ECHOES BURNING

YA Historical (Western) Science-Fiction
Word Count:  70,000
Pitch: It’s 1869. A corrupt banker is bent on taking over the
town. Lucy’s newspaper is under attack, but she needs to figure out who killed
her Pa. And the blacksmith…can shoot fire from his hands?
I hate bone orchards.
Under the too bright sun, I
shiver in my itchy black dress as they lower Pa into the ground. This is what
we all become sooner or later. Nothing but bones, leaving behind pain and
My family stands dry-eyed
together and people will talk of it tomorrow. I glance over at my younger
sister. Her flawless face pulls into a frown as she yanks at the neck of the
mourning dress Mama made her wear. How long will it take Charlie to climb back
into her boys’ clothes once this is over? I forget sometimes how beautiful she
is. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her in a dress.
I force my attention back to
the preacher. He seems to be finishing up. My eyes sting, but I have nothing
left. Nothing but a dark void my father used to fill with his kind ways and
quick wit.
Mama is pale and drawn, her
lips thinner than normal. She hasn’t slept since Pa died. I guess the bed is
too empty. Eugene has been sneaking into bed with Charlie and me, so our sleep
hasn’t been all that good either. He tosses and kicks something horrible.
We leave before the diggers start
filling in the grave. None of us care to watch. Charlie’s hand reaches for mine
and I hold on tight, glancing over my shoulder at the mourners we leave behind.
Are the vigilantes here? Why didn’t they save Pa?

Pitch Madness Agent Round


It’s been a long week of reading through all the amazing pitches and our wonderful readers have narrowed the slush, and your game hosts have chosen sixty pitches, along with four pitches saved by our slush readers, for the game. If you’re new to Pitch Madness you can check out the details here and our fantabulous agents here.

(Scroll down to view all 16 picks for my blog or find them in the sidebar to the right.)

For the other blog hosts go here:

Brenda Drake 

Shelley Watters

Summer Heacock
Comments are set to moderation so the agent’s won’t see their competitors’ bids. Please no comments other than those from the agents. After the game later on September 10, we’ll release the moderation and let you all comment on the entries.  

Please note: We will email submission details for all requests by the agents. After the contest, agents will make requests to us for the pitches they loved and didn’t not win.


Congratulations to those who’ve made it into the game! For those who haven’t made it, we are hosting a Twitter Pitch Party on September 12 from 8AM to 8PM EDST on the hashtag #PitMad

How do you twitter pitch? You can find all the details here.


A huge thank you to my team! You can check out the teams here.



MG Adventure
Word Count:  55,000
Pitch: A thirteen-year-old boy learns his
not-so-imaginary friend is real when he uncovers an ancient family legacy of
Norwegian trolls and Vikings. Now to guard his inheritance he must outwit a
murderous kidnapper. 
Jack Brown is always in
the middle row on picture day. He looks like an average almost-thirteen year
old. He wears his brown hair just shaggy enough to hide his too-big ears and
sweep of freckles. But nothing can hide his lopsided nose.
Every day since kindergarten
he’s worn the same outfit: work boots, jeans and a button-up flannel, brown, of
course – his least favorite color – because that’s the uniform of the Brown’s
Family Nursery and the color of his super dull life.
There is only one thing
that is special about Jack. But his uniqueness expires at midnight when he
turns thirteen. And he can’t do anything about it.
With his face twisted
into a frown, Jack stepped off the bus on the quiet country road and lobbed a
rock down his wooded driveway, irritated. Once the bus slipped out of sight, he
turned to a large, quivering bush.
“This is it, Nada. Aren’t
you scared? What if you turn into a pile of goo or something?” he asked.
A giant, gray troll
appeared beside him and smiled with a big, goofy smirk. “Jackabean, that’s
crazy. Trolls don’t turn into goo. We turn into slime.”
Her snaggletoothed grin
and deep voice made it hard to tell that Nada was a girl. Luckily the yellow
bed sheet, worn toga-style, cleared up that mystery.
Nada shook her fat fist
in the air. “Maybe you should use those big ears for listening. I told you I’m
not imaginary. I’m your troll!”

Pitch Madness SJ-15: BECOMING HERO


YA Magical Realism
Word Count:  80,000
Pitch: Comic-book superhero Skye takes on awful plot twists every
day, but when his parents die in a nasty cliche, he’s had it. He shoots his
author. Will murder save his world, or damn his soul?
Comic-book Universe: Issue
Rain trickles across a fading
green dumpster in a narrow alleyway. A dark shadow, a superhero gone bad,
stalks the rooftops above, heaving a giant gun off his back as he readies it
for his prey.
Skye ignored the stench of the banana
peels and burger wrappers crushed against his face and forced himself to
breathe steady. He clenched his fingers tighter around the bleeding wound in
his shoulder, trying not to think about the infection he’d get from hiding in
the dumpster. Just breathe. In, out. In, out. Any change in that pace,
and his hunter might hear him. Hunter–that’s how he had to think of his best
friend now.
The thought sunk into Skye’s chest
like another punch. Dammit. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his
teeth against the hot tears. How could he—
“I suppose you’re wondering how
I could do this to you,” said a soft voice just above him. Skye heard
light footsteps on the dumpster lid, but didn’t reply. Mark had walked past his
hiding places before.
“You can hear me, right? I know
you’re nearby. Please just show yourself. Just end this.”
Skye heard Mark’s feet crunch against
the pavement. He heard the rustle of plastic bags being kicked; a nearby window
“None of this would have
hurt if you’d just let me take you out the first time. I didn’t want your
parents to die. Come on, Skye, you think I wanted Jackie to die for you?”

Pitch Madness SJ-14: SAVING DANGER

MG Contemporary Fantasy
Word Count:  40,000
Pitch: Lucretia accidentally traps 5-year-old new
stepbrother, Danger, in a comic. She enters its pages to save him. But it’s an
impossible task when he’s in charge of the story and won’t follow any writing
I glared at my
reflection in the hotel mirror. Pepto-Bismol pink glared back at me as I tugged
one of the many ruffles strangling my gown. “It looks like a cupcake vomited on
Grandma Rosa stood
next to the mirror. At the same time, she chuckled and stared at me sternly. An
impressive feat. She responded in her faint Italian accent, “It’s not so
I scowled. “Does
she think I’m the same age as Danger?” In a few short hours, Danger would be my
stepbrother. I didn’t know whether it would be worse to be stuck with him or
his plastic mother for the rest of my life. “I’m thirteen—not five.”
She sighed. “Your
father sure knows how to pick ‘em.” Grandmother pursed her lips, realizing her
comment not only bashed Erin, soon-to-be Stepzilla, but also my real mother.
“What I mean is—”
“Don’t worry
about it, Grandma Rosa.” I ignored the dropping-an-anchor down-my-stomach
sensation that always followed the mention of my real mother and forced a fake
smile. “If this is what she thinks her junior bridesmaid should look like, I
can’t wait to see her gown.” My usual clothes were black like Grandma’s
though mine were younger and less shapeless. Her mourning look was pretty
obvious. “What do you think she’ll say when she sees your dress?”
We didn’t have to wait
long to find out. Erin, her head a mountain of curling iron curls peeked into
the room—without having the courtesy to knock.

Pitch Madness SJ-13: THE ART OF BREAKING


YA Magical Realism
Word Count:  89,000
Pitch: After dying and coming back as an
Imaginary friend, Luca must give up her dreams of being a normal teenager—and a
once-in-an-afterlife romance—or risk breaking the Imaginary world and losing
her best friend.
rules of summer were simple—only one ice cream sandwich per day, no swimming
without appropriate supervision, and always be home before dark. On the day
Luca Grable died, she broke all three. The first two were acts of seven-year
old rebellion. The third was an unintentional side effect of drowning in her
best friend’s pool.
even dying couldn’t keep Luca from growing up. It was one of the perks of
becoming an Imaginary friend instead of going to heaven. She got to keep aging
along with her best friend as long as Katie needed her. And there was nothing
her mentor Math could do about it, no matter how late she was for their weekly
could, however, put her on bathroom duty. Again.
checked her watch as she hauled ass the last few feet to the entrance of
Imaginary House. Ten more minutes and not even being a few months shy of legal
age could save her from scrubbing toilets and bleaching tile grout every
Saturday night for the next month.
flung herself through the front gates, gripping the smooth metal bars for
balance, and shot up the sidewalk. The house cast crooked shadows on the lawn
from the various additions that jutted out at odd angles from the main
building. A few younger Imaginaries chased each other around the half-acre of
thick grass, using the shadows as safe zones. Their laughter pierced the air.
Their knees were stained with grass and dirt and remnants of melted chocolate.

Pitch Madness SJ-12: PIRATE JENNY


YA Historical
Word Count:  60,000
Pitch: 17yo Jenny discovers that the mother who abandoned her
is the Red Lady pirate. When her mother is imprisoned, Jenny must decide to
either rescue her or let her swing from King Henry’s noose
The ship stole
into the harbor just after dark. I happened to be looking out the upstairs
window at the full moon reflected on the blue black water. I liked how the
image wavered back and forth as the waves moved. Was the ship a reflection of
the light?
I blinked and the
image vanished. Thinking I had imagined it, I turned back to the room with the
cleaning rag in my hand, I jumped. Meg watched me from the doorway.
“Girl? You
dreaming again? Get to work before I whip you.” Meg flew at me with her hand
I ducked and
scurried out of her way. I ran down the stairs taking two at a time.
“Get back here,
Meg was old and
had a substantial girth so I knew she would not be able to catch me. I giggled
as I rounded the corner and ran smack into Thomas, who carried a full tray of
goblets filled to the brim with ale. Of course they spilled all over him, me
and the floor. I landed on my bottom, my dress soaked.
He glared at
“Fetch me six
goblets of ale and take them to the table by the window.” Thomas shook himself
like a dog would, sending more droplets of the nasty smelling brew all over me.
“I smell like ale,” I
wailed as I wrung out a handful of hair dripping with the stuff. I stood and
tried to get around him but he caught my arm.