Interview with Kat Zhang and 1st 5 Pages May Workshop Final Revisions

The final revisions are posted for our May round of the First Five Pages workshop. Please read them below and share your thoughts and impressions. Are you hooked? Are you eager to buy a book that starts like this? What else needs some work? What are some of the things you loved?

We've been very lucky to have Kat Zhang with us as a guest mentor this month. Kat is an amazing young writer, with the first book of her mega-hot trilogy coming out in September: WHAT'S LEFT OF ME.

Here's a quickie interview with her to enjoy in the meantime.


Q.       How long have you been writing and what sort of writing training did you receive before writing WHAT’S LEFT OF ME?

I started my first (unfinished) novel when I was twelve, but I didn't actually complete a book until I was seventeen. I started WHAT'S LEFT OF ME that same year, so I didn't really receive any fiction training before then. I did read a ton of "How to Write" books for a while, though, and I've always been a voracious reader :)

Q.       What two mistakes do you see young or novice writers most commonly making?

1. Worrying too much about what comes after finishing a book before actually finishing the book. Finishing the book itself is a big step (at least it was for me, if you can't tell by the 5 years it took me, haha). It's okay to take things one step at a time. In fiction, at least, you need a finished manuscript before any of the rest of it matters.

2. Querying too soon. This is totally me superimposing my own mistakes on other people, but for the longest time, I did not understand what "revision" really meant. My idea of "revision" was basically what the publishing industry calls "line edits." The first project I ever queried (the MS before WHAT'S LEFT OF ME) was "revised" but not actually revised. Again, take your time! A first draft is made to be cut up and rearranged and stitched together again. Don't be afraid to make big changes. 

Q.       If you could give a young or novice writer one piece of wisdom, what would it be?

Write. Keep writing. It's your craft, and it's a skill, and the more you write, the better you get. Also, it'll distract you from all the things in the industry that you can't control. You can spend forever fretting about trends and things like that (and don't get me wrong--they are worth consideration), but in the end, don't waste *too* much energy on it. 

Q.       What is the most important thing  you have learned on your journey to publication?

Enjoy every step of it :) 

--

Thanks so much, Kat! 

WHAT'S LEFT OF ME releases Sept. 18, 2012 from HarperCollins Children's

Learn more at: www.katzhangwriter.com

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Amabel Rev 2

Di couldn’t decide whether to tiptoe away or start running. Being paralyzed with fear made it difficult to do either.

There’s someone in my house! The realization slammed into her again as she stared at the miniature, wooden hourglass on the bookshelf. She had to admit it didn’t look thatscary, standing on a lace doily next to a bowl of potpourri, but those things had been there when she walked past a minute ago.

The hourglass hadn’t.

Coby? She grasped at a desperate hope as the silvery grains of sand tumbled through the rough, glass shell.  No. Her oblivious twin brother was upstairs, no doubt texting the girls he would see at school if he bothered to get ready in time, while Di was alone with a potential robber, axe murderer or raving lunatic for company.

Or even a living army of home-invading knock-knacks, she chided herself, searching for a better explanation. Her parents must have left the hourglass on their way to work and her passing footsteps probably shook out a blockage of sand, allowing it to pour freely and catch her eye. The fact that she’d panicked said more about her ability to overreact at the slightest provocation than about the dubious motives of a stalking time piece.

Anxious to get back on schedule Di checked her watch – and the sight woke her faster than being drenched in a bucket of ice water. How could it be that late already? Ironing Coby’s shirt had stuffed up her routine a bit, but by this much? The bus would be there any minute.

She rushed upstairs to the apocalyptic mess Coby called his room. His scruffy brown hair, stained uniform and grubby shoes were like camouflage amidst the chaos.

“Who lost my schoolbag?” he said through his sixth bit of toast, contributing to the search by kicking piles of dirty laundry and untouched textbooks around the floor.

“No-one. But can you hurry up? Please?”

Coby muttered something, probably rude, but at least he wasn’t playing living-room obstacle football or complaining about matching socks and packed lunches and anything else fifteen-year-old boys say are a waste of time. If he tried that again, Di might just disown him altogether.

Or not.  She sighed. Despite Coby’s unflinching belief that she was adopted, their identical brown eyes and jointly embarrassing full names – Diamond and Cobalt – said they were as close as family could get. So to their mutual annoyance, she felt compelled to fuss.

“Fine,” Di said. “I’ll find the bag. You get ready.”

“Right.” Coby finger-combed his hair as he dashed out, but he still looked like he’d been mugged. By a cyclone.

You’re welcome! Di grabbed her own bag from her room and hurried back downstairs, silently composing the lecture she’d never have the heart to deliver.  As she reached the landing she looked up at the bookshelf and froze.

The hourglass was gone.

Di stumbled sideways off the last step and pressed herself against the hallway wall to cover her back, throwing wild glances up the hall in both directions. If she went back upstairs to warn her brother, she’d cut off any means of escape. But if she tried searching for the intruder, she couldn’t move anywhere without leaving the rest of the house open for them to sneak around.

Di locked her eyes on the hallway phone. And something crashed to the floor above her.

Coby!  She dived back around the corner, without considering who she’d meet or how she might defend herself. Coby appeared on the top step, raising his hands in surrender.

“Before you go mental,” he said as a cricket ball rolled out behind him, “that vase was ugly anyway.”

“I’ll fix it later.” Di waved his words away. “Did you see an hourglass here? There was a little antique one, like, a second ago.”

“Oookay.” Coby raised his eyebrows. “Forget the vase, you’re mental already.”

Di went to protest but decided it was pointless. Coby would have been able to see the bookshelf from his room the whole time she was up there. No one moved the hourglass, because it never existed.

Coby twirled a finger at his ear, officially declaring her insane, then kicked the tennis ball back into his room and disappeared after it. Di ignored him. Sure he’d caught her creeping through the house with a butcher’s knife two weeks ago, looking for what turned out to be just a mouse in the pantry, but that didn’t make her crazy and neither did this.  No it was a trick of the light, made worse by tired eyes after last nights’ study cut into her scheduled seven and a quarter hours’ sleep.

Yeah, right,  Di thought, until an involuntary yawn set her eyes watering enough to blur out everything around her. She blinked it away and found herself staring at the grandfather clock beside the bookshelf.

From the glass case, two solemn figures were staring back.

Di spun around, searching for the source of the reflection, but the stairs were empty. Gripping the banister in case her legs gave way, she started to turn back again. Her neck creaked with every incremental movement but she didn’t have the courage to go any faster. Eventually her gaze reached the base of the clock. She raised her head.

“Found it!” Coby thundered downstairs, slinging his backpack over his shoulder while Di tried not to faint at the sight of him.

“It was under my bed. The ball rolled right next to it,” he said, pushing past Di to the front door. She looked back at the clock. The gaunt faced man and the woman with the imploring blue eyes had gone.

Tired. Plain, sane and tired, Di told herself, unable to believe it but refusing to consider anything else. She brushed the creases from her uniform, ran a hand over her ponytail to ensure there wasn’t a hair out of place, and followed Coby outside.

The bus passed their stop just as Di locked the front door. Coby couldn’t resist a race as the bus dragged itself up the hill and Di chased after him, dying of embarrassment; with her overstuffed schoolbag bouncing on her back, she felt like a giant, uncoordinated turtle.

At least it won’t make me any less cool,  she reasoned as she caught up and climbed on board. Coby headed straight for the back seat, leaving Di, with her rank on the social ladder of about five rungs underground, to that most fiercely coveted of spots: smack-bang behind the driver. Waiting for her as always was her slightly freckly, slightly lanky, best-friend-ever, Josh.

“Since when do you have to run to get here on time?” He gaped at her as she joined him. “What happened, did every watch in the world stop working?”

“Yeah… I mean no… Coby was taking forever.” Di shook her head.

“You okay though? You seem stressed.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Were you up all night reading again?”

“Maybe,” Di admitted. Josh feigned disappointment.

“You need a life,” he teased. He was joking, but the honesty in his hazel eyes hit a painful nerve.

Di turned away, fiddling with her neatly trimmed nails to avoid his gaze. Josh was right; her life was about as exciting as leftover Brussels sprouts.

“Maybe you… you could… come out sometime,” he said quietly. Di jerked her head up and saw, to her astonishment, a hint of colour creeping up from his cheeks to the roots of his dusty blonde hair.

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Hawke Rev 2

I crouched under the covers so Dad couldn’t see the glow from my cell phone. He’d flip if he caught me awake after midnight. I texted, “Beat game. Blew everything up.”

My phone buzzed with a new message, but it wasn’t from one of my buddies. It read, “Justin. Do not skip this class: Essential Lessons for Frost Dragon Egg Maintenance. All Lab. No Lecture.”

Like I’d want an extra class when I had pre-algebra homework every day and yet another book report due for language studies. Some loser must’ve got my number and this was his idea of a hilarious joke.

Maybe the message was an ad for a new computer game. I checked again. The screen name of the person who sent it was “Sphinx.” The game was probably fantasy. I might buy it. Sounded sweet.

I yawned so the corners of my jaw cracked. Maybe I should go to sleep. My dad would peel the covers off me before the sun rose in the morning, even if it was a Saturday. He’d drag me on some hike, or bike ride, or kayak trip. Just once, I wished he’d let me do what I wanted.

I fluffed up the covers so I could see better and tapped in another message, “Can’t make gaming party.” No, instead of bringing my laptop to a friend’s house, I’d be discovering a whole new world of blisters.

A light flicked on in my room. By reflex, I stuffed my phone under the pillow. I was so busted. Trying to think of an excuse, I pushed aside my old plaid camping blanket. But Dad wasn't there.

From the window, electric bright light rippled across the wall. The light shaded into pink and then turned burning red.

A noise from outside roared like a freeway at rush hour and then an enormous thump shook the bed. Adrenaline surging through my legs, I ran to the window, threw it open and leaned outside. My mouth fell open. Frozen lightning hung in front of my house, stretching from the lawn up to the roof. Across the narrow street, red haze swirled around a hulking animal the size of a backhoe. It cast about, as if looking for something.

Smoke drifted into my room, making me cough. The animal snapped its head up. It gazed directly at me with golden eyes big as my fist. The pupils thinned to narrow vertical lines.

I jumped back from the window. “Ahhh…” Stumbling further away across the room, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Then my head hit the opposite wall with a thump that made my ears ring. The creature’s gaze pinned me there like a bug.

The door crashed open beside me and Dad charged through. “Justin! There’s a fire!”

I pointed to the monster outside and tried to say something, but my voice was no louder than a gasping goldfish.

Dad didn’t look towards the window, only grabbed the back of my pajamas and hustled me out onto the landing. Mom just stood there, her hands clasped in front of her heart. Dad took her arm and helped her downstairs while I clomped after them.

They headed straight for the front door. That huge animal was out there like a monster from a nightmare. My tongue stumbled over itself. I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Wait! Don’t go outside.”

My mom and dad rushed out the front door anyway. I hovered on my toes at the end of the hallway.

But as they stood on the shadowed step, they didn’t scream or recoil. I edged out next to Dad, glad I hadn’t just become an orphan. Beyond, there was no giant beast. The silver thread was gone too.

I craned my neck to look up and down the street. Perhaps it wasn’t as big as I’d thought. It was dark out and there were only a few streetlights in our neighborhood. “Did you see a huge animal run away?”

Dad’s voice was distracted. “You probably saw a dog. Scared by the fire.”

That was no dog.

Flames exploded from the roof of the small house across the street with a shower of sparks.

I clutched my dad’s sleeve. “Amber is in there!” She used to be my best friend, back when we were little kids. She and her mom lived in that house alone.

Dad took a step forward. “I’m going in after them. Justin, take care of your mother.”

She threw her arms around him. “No! I can hear sirens. The firefighters will be here soon.”

I could hear them too, but they sounded distant. What if they didn’t come in time to save Amber and her mom?

Just then, Amber ran from behind the burning house, hand-in-hand with her mom, Ruth. They must’ve escaped out their back door. I didn’t realize how hard my heart was pounding until it slowed.

Crossing to our side of the street, the two stopped and held onto each other. Amber’s bare feet stuck out the bottom of her sweatpants.

I squinted as far as I could see into the darkness for the monster. Maybe it really had been just an animal. It was pretty late and I’d been staring at a computer screen for hours. I’d probably killed a half-dozen virtual dragons. I jogged down the sidewalk to Amber. Her eyes looked almost black in the reflected firelight. “Are you okay?”

She glanced up at me, opened her mouth, then closed it with a little shake of her head.

Ruth drew her daughter in close under her arm. “It must have been an earthquake.” She chewed her lip as she watched fire engulf their home. “Maybe it broke a gas line.”

But there hadn’t been an earthquake. “Maybe the gas line was hit by….” I trailed off. I couldn’t tell them about a monster. Even a giant animal sounded crazy.

Sirens blared, getting closer.

Amber’s hair flew about her face. It was curly like her mother’s but inky black like her dad’s. She leaned into her mom, eyes wide and shocked. “All my things, my clothes, my….”

I remembered her room had been filled with stuffed animals. They even spilled from a hammock strung across the ceiling like fluffy guardian angels.

I tried to sound reassuring. “It’s okay. It’s just stuff.”

She stiffened and cast me a cold look. “Easy for you to say. You’d think differently if it were your precious computer.”

I muttered, “I’m only trying to help.”

“That’s funny. I haven’t noticed you around much, not like when, I needed you.”

Amber’s mom stroked her hair. “Honey, this isn’t his fault…”

Amber clenched her teeth hard and stared at the fire as if I’d just stopped existing.

A fire truck and an ambulance rounded the corner, lights strobing. I slunk back to my parents.

Firefighters attached a hose to a fire hydrant and water gushed through the looping coils. The water made clouds of smoke and steam erupt through the broken windows.

It felt like I’d opened an oven door as I squinted against the heat. Right under my feet, wisps of smoke curled up from our lawn. A wide blackened trail led across the street and to the burning house. It was almost like an arrow pointing from my house to Amber’s.

After a while, Amber’s dad showed up. She hugged him tight around the middle. He stood stiff, arms raised. I hadn’t seen him in years. My mom told me he’d gone home to Shanghai, but he was back now.

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Hull Rev 2

Mary Hull

Young adult

Eyes from Heaven

Chapter 1: Neighbor

      The waves crashed against the shore relentlessly. The salt water burned against the tears glistening on my face as I stood in between mom and dad, their arms around my shoulders. The sun’s sizzling beams cast shadows over the figures swarmed on the beach, their faces etched with panic.

     “Hey, you guys swim out that way, we’ll go from here!”

    “Ok, stabilize the head and neck!”

    “Quick, grab the paddles!”

    “All right, we’re all clear, you guys, and you’re clear right?”

    “There’s no pulse! How many minutes have passed?”

    “Thirty.”

     They turned off the machine and sat back on their heels, tiny beads of sweat dripping from the sides of their faces, the realization of failure etched across their faces, synonymous with the shock in their eyes, as they sat on the warm sand, rigid, unmoving as the body was being taken away.

     That was the last time I saw Ben.

    Then he was gone.

I must have been standing under the hot water for a while because my skin felt like rubber. After drying off, I wore khaki pants and a pink blouse. Mom always made it a point to remind me that I was too beautiful to ever choose to dress like a tomboy and growing up I had come to enjoy feeling comfortable in nice clothing.

   The small black box was perched on the dresser. I must have forgotten to put it back, I thought as my fingers traced the box. I opened it and stared at the mirror image of myself. The same fair skin, green eyes and honey colored hair. We were standing in front of our house, now my old house, in Viewbridge. It was the day of the beach trip. That was the last picture I’d take with Ben. I recalled the incessant arguing that started shortly after my parents and I came home from the hospital that night. I felt like an intruder in my own home as I watched my mom and dad go through the motions of work and home duties as if the other didn’t exist. Whenever my dad or I would bring up Ben’s name my mom would get mad and accuse us of not caring about her loss. Mom never talked about Ben after the funeral. She didn’t take down his pictures from the walls or anything like that. She woke up every day, cooked breakfast and went to work as if nothing had happened. She stopped wearing black, which I had heard was done out of respect, the day after the funeral.

    I went back to school the week after the funeral. I didn’t want to but my mom stressed the importance of trying to make life normal again. I couldn’t understand how anything could be normal again, ever. It was strange being in school without Ben. Those who had been at the beach that day made it a point to sit by me at lunchtime for the first few weeks but that didn’t last long. Maybe it was the fact that most of them were Ben’s friends. The few close friends I had somehow sensed that my usual quiet nature had turned into a loner state and completely shut me out.

    My mom didn’t allow anyone to go into Ben’s room but I made it a point to go in there once a night when I was sure my mom was asleep. Being careful to leave everything the way Ben had left it, I’d lie on the floor and close my eyes to remember the fun things we did. All I saw was that last vision of him struggling in the water.

   One month before I finished tenth grade my dad moved out. He rented a two-bedroom apartment near the office where he was president of a news firm. The reality of my dad living somewhere other than our home hit hard the day he left with a u-haul truck. But when my mom came into my room the night dad left with the announcement that she and I would be moving to the town of Meadowcreek, the life I’d come to know in Viewbridge seemed to suddenly vanish. When I told my mom that I wanted to live with dad I’d hope she would understand my reason to be closer to the memories of Ben. Mom, on the other hand, warned me that she would be all alone in a new town and we needed each other to move forward. My dad, always being the non-confrontational one, supported mom’s request for us to move, promising to call and visit.

     We moved to Meadowcreek in May and my mom transitioned rather smoothly to her new TV journalist office. I, on the other hand, only left our new house when mom had to run an errand and asked me to come along. Whenever I’d ask to go to Viewbridge to visit dad, mom would make up an excuse of having planned an outing for us. Dad hadn’t visited since the move and whenever I questioned him why, he’d simply say, ‘I will when your mom feels she is ready.’ Three months passed with no mention of Ben; no phone calls from my old friends.

     I jumped at the hard knock on my bedroom door.

    “Lily! Are you up yet?”

    My mom walked into the room, her eggplant color pantsuit complimenting her shoulder length brown hair and light makeup. I tried shoving the box back into the drawer and in my hurry my fingers got caught in the hinge. I pursed my lips, trying to conceal the throbbing sensation.

       She eyed me with her brows lifted. “Do I have to remind you that this is your first day at a new school?”

         Why did she feel the need to question everything?    

      “Nothing, I was just…”

             “My dear,” she said, her tone firm. “Surely you’re not trying to skip your first day of school are you?”

    I looked her straight in the eyes but I’d never been good at keeping things from her. “No, mom,” I said looking away, “I was just putting something away and my finger got caught.”

           Her voice softened. “Are you all right?”

          “Yeah, I’m fine.”

        She placed her hand on my shoulder. “We must carry ourselves with confidence so those around us will want to get to know who we are.”

          “Ok.”

She reached over and hugged me. “Don’t forget to wear some mascara. Our eyes are the windows to our soul.”

    I remained quiet, waiting for her to leave the room.

    Most of the girls my age I had come across in town were highly fashionable in their taste of clothing and surely I didn’t want to look like an outsider. Even though I totally feel like one, I thought staring at my appearance in the mirror.

       I went downstairs into the kitchen.

“There’s orange juice and bagels on the table,” mom said, rinsing her coffee muff. I watched her eyeing my outfit. The smile on her face meant she approved.      

     She kissed my forehead before heading out the door. “Oh, and for the sake of both of our reputation in town please try to be a bit outgoing and make new friends,” she added with a smile.

         I didn’t reply, relieved that this one-sided conversation had come to an end. For now.

My parents would call me their timid child. There was someone, though, who was uninhibited; eager to challenge everything. My brother, Ben.      

     I opened the front door. The sun’s bright rays welcomed me to my first day of eleventh grade at Meadowcreek High.

             I stepped off the porch and looked to my left at the house next door. It was almost twice the size as our house, although I’d never actually seen the inside. The house had been empty for about a month since the previous owner, Mr. Culling, a widower in his eighties, had passed away. I watched two men, wearing blue uniforms, carrying boxes from a large u-haul truck parked in the driveway up the front porch into the house. It seemed strange to have neighbors again even though no other car was parked in the driveway.

              “You can put the rest of the boxes in the garage!Yeah, right there, thanks!”

      It was a boy’s voice and it was coming from the upstairs window directly across from my bedroom.

The boy suddenly turned and looked at me. Embarrassed, I quickly started walking down the sidewalk.

       I crossed the intersection in front of the school. Meadowcreek High appeared ready to engulf me. I had no choice but to endure what the next two years held for me. 

      “May I help you?” a soft voice asked.        

     “I have a meeting with Mrs. Cash.”

        “This way please.” She smiled and began to walk down the hall. “I’m the librarian, Mrs. Sanders.”

          “Hello.” I felt like a stone wall that had been carved through, my past divulged to all. After all, I was the new girl and knew the other students would seize upon the interest of discovering the reason of my move to Meadowcreek.

    We walked down a long hallway. Mrs. Sanders stopped in front of a door labeled Counseling Office.

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Soontornvat Rev 2

Author: Christina Soontornvat

The cashier leaned over the conveyor belt. Two of his bottom teeth were missing. “That neighbor of yours is a witch, or I’m a bull toad.”

Izzy leaned forward, too. She wanted to make certain she didn't miss a single word. 

Her mom put on a polite smile and zipped up her purse. “I beg your pardon?”

The cashier narrowed his eyes. “You wanna know what she came in here and bought last week?”

“I can’t ima – “

“Beef tongue. Now I ask you, what kind of person buys that? Put it in a potion or something, I bet.

Izzy’s mom started lifting the sacks into the cart. “I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Malloy yet.”

“Oh it ain’t Mrs. You think anyone would marry her? Shoot, no. Marian Malloy would sooner put a curse on a man than say hello. Mind, I’m only tellin’ you this ‘cause you’re new to Everton.”

Izzy slid over to where her younger sister eyed the candy. “Hen, tell Mom you need to go to the bathroom,” she whispered.

“But I don’t,” Hen said.

“I know that! It’s just a stalling tactic.”

“So why don’t you do it?”

“Because I’m listening! I want to hear more about the witch.”

This was without a doubt the most interesting thing that had happened since they moved to Everton. The possibility of having a witch for a neighbor just might be enough to make up for living in a town with no movie theater, no swimming pools, and – worst of all – no library. 

But Izzy’s mom didn’t share her interest, and hurried them out of the store to the parking lot. “Can you believe that nonsense?” she said as they helped load the bags into the car. “I don’t know why this has to be the only grocery store in town!”

Izzy stood next to the open car door, and looked over her shoulder at the faded Piggly Wiggly sign. From the amount of groceries her mom bought, she could tell they wouldn’t be coming back for at least a week.

“Hey mom, I think I left something in there…” She started to jog back across the parking lot toward the store.

“What? Sweetie, what did you leave?”

“Um – my lucky bookmark! I’ll be right back!”

The sliding doors whooshed open, and Izzy trotted up to the cash register. The cashier’s face was hidden behind a cheap tabloid newspaper with a cover that read, Elvis spotted at Tullahoma Waffle House.

Izzy tapped on the counter. “Excuse me?”

“Whatcha need, sugar?” he replied, without putting his paper down.  

“Was everything you said really true? About our neighbor being a witch, I mean.”

The cashier crumpled the tabloid and leaned towards her. “Oh it’s the truth, all right. And you little girls need to watch yourselves out there.”

Izzy bristled. At twelve, she was hardly a little girl. She rose up on her tiptoes. “Why? What could happen to us?”

The cashier’s voice dropped to a whisper, and his eyes scanned side to side. “Anything goes near her house, it disappears. Dogs. Pigs. Anything. She says the fairies take ‘em, but I’ll bet you they all end up in a big, black kettle.”

The front doors of the store slid open. “Izzy, did you find it?” asked her mom, her hands on her hips. “We need to get going before the ice cream melts.”

Izzy shuffled her feet as she followed her mom back out to the car. She took one last look at the rundown store, and then they started the long, pot-hole-riddled drive out to their new, old house.

#

Three drizzly, cooped-up days passed that left Izzy and Hen with nothing to do but help unpack boxes. The worst part was that all but five of Izzy’s precious books were travelling by flat-rate post, and wouldn’t arrive for at least another week. She read and reread those five until she had memorized every sentence. Just when her boredom reached a level that made her think she’d rather go to school than spend another day with nothing happening – something happened.

 “It’s her, Izzy! It’s the witch!” Hen pressed her freckled nose against the window that looked down onto the driveway, and bounced on her toes.

Izzy squeezed in beside her so she could see out the window. She couldn’t believe their good luck.

But when the old woman climbed out of her pickup truck, Hen’s face fell in disappointment. “She doesn’t really look like a witch to me...”

 The woman walking up their porch steps looked more like a farmer than anything else. Her work clothes were stained with mud, and her short, white hair peeked out from under a crumpled men’s hat. The only thing remotely witchy about her was that even though her wrinkles meant she must be at least seventy, she walked fast and didn’t stoop the way most old people did.   

“You can’t tell anything about her just by looking,” said Izzy. She tried to sound hopeful, but so far things didn’t seem very promising.

The old woman didn’t have any of the standard witch traits. And Izzy should know. It was safe to say that she had read every fairy or folktale concerning witches. In fact, she was almost sure she had read every fairytale in existence, and the nine boxes of books in route to their house were proof. She knew that witches came in one of two varieties: hunchbacked hag, or cruelly beautiful sorceress. That’s just the way things were.

“Izzy! Hen!” their mother called from downstairs. “Girls, come down here, please. We have a visitor!”

The sisters exchanged quick looks, and then hurried out of their room and down the stairs. The old woman stood at the front door, dripping muddy water onto the rug.

“Marian, these are my girls, Isabella and Henrietta,” their mom said brightly.

Marian kept her hands in her pockets and nodded at them.

“Won’t you come sit down?” said their mom, leading the way toward the kitchen. “I’ve just made a pot of tea. My husband works late at his new job with the county, and I’m not used to living so far from any other neighbors. It will be nice to have another adult to talk to.”

 “Humph,” said Marian, sitting down at the table. “Far as I’m concerned, the best thing about living way out here is not having folks to talk to.” 

Izzy’s mom laughed as if Marian had made a joke. “And you are certainly welcome to join us for dinner, if you like.”

Hen’s eyes grew wide as ­­­pancakes.

One corner of Marian’s mouth turned up a little before returning to a scowl. “No, I’ve got to get home to my own supper. I only came over because I was driving past your house, which I normally don’t do. I think it’s best that neighbors meet face to face. Prevents problems later on.”

Izzy and Hen pulled out chairs for themselves on the opposite side of the table. Izzy looked at the old woman’s fingernails and wondered if they were stained green from pulling weeds or making potions.

Her mom came to the table carrying a teapot and two cups. “I didn’t realize it rained so much here. The girls start school next week, and I’m sure they’ll be glad to get out of the house.”

Marian drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Everton Elementary is run by a bunch of incompetent gossips,” she grumbled.

“Really?” said their mom, sliding a teacup across the table. “I thought it seemed like a very good school.”  

“What’s ‘incontinent’ mean?” Hen asked loudly.

“Actually, I won’t be at the Elementary school,” said Izzy, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m in sixth grade.”

The old woman scanned Izzy up and down. “Sixth grade? You’re no bigger than a chipmunk.” 

1st 5 Pages May Workshop First Revisions Are Up

Curious to see what the workshop participants have done with the advice they received on the first round? Me too.

Come let us know what you think!

Happy reading,

Martina and Lisa

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Soontornvat Rev 1

Author: Christina Soontornvat

Genre: MG Fantasy
Title: Izzy Doyle and the Changelings of the Edgewood

The cashier leaned over the conveyor belt. Two of his bottom teeth were missing. “That neighbor of yours is a witch, or I’m a bull toad.”

Izzy swiveled around from the stand where she and her younger sister eyed the candy. She tried not to look too eager as she shuffled closer to the counter.

Izzy’s mom put on a polite smile and zipped up her purse. “I beg your pardon?”

The cashier narrowed his eyes. “You wanna know what she came in here and bought last week?”

“I can’t ima – “

“Beef tongue. Now I ask you, what kind of person buys that? Put it in a potion or something, I bet.

Izzy’s mom smirked and started lifting the sacks into her cart. “I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Malloy yet.”

“Oh it ain’t Mrs. You think anyone would marry her? Shoot, no. Marian Malloy would sooner put a curse on a man than say hello. Mind, I’m only tellin’ you this ‘cause you’re new to Everton.”

Izzy leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear. “Hen, tell Mom you need to go to the bathroom.”

“But I don’t,” Hen said.

“I know that! It’s just a stalling tactic.”

“So why don’t you do it?”

“Because I’m listening! I want to hear more about the witch.”

This was without a doubt the most interesting thing that had happened since they moved to Everton. The possibility of having a witch for a neighbor just might be enough to make up for living in a town with no movie theater, no swimming pools, and – worst of all – no library. 

But Izzy’s mom didn’t share her interest, and hurried them out of the store to the parking lot. “Can you believe that nonsense?” she said as they helped load the bags into the car. “I don’t know why this has to be the only grocery store in town!”

Izzy stood next to the open car door, and looked over her shoulder at the fadedPiggly Wiggly sign. From the amount of groceries her mom bought, she could tell they wouldn’t be coming back for at least a week.

“Hey mom, I think I left something in there…” She started to jog back across the parking lot toward the store.

“What? Sweetie, what did you leave?”

“Um – my lucky bookmark! I’ll be right back!”

The sliding doors whooshed open, and Izzy trotted up to the cash register. The cashier’s face was hidden behind a cheap tabloid newspaper with a cover that read, Elvis spotted at Monteagle Waffle House.

Izzy stood on tiptoe at the counter. “Excuse me?”

“Whatcha need, sugar?” he replied, without putting his paper down.  

“Was everything you said really true? About our neighbor being a witch, I mean.”

The cashier crumpled the tabloid and leaned towards her. “Oh it’s the truth, all right. And you little girls need to watch yourselves out there.”

Izzy bristled. At twelve, she hardly considered herself a little girl. But she could ignore the insult if it meant getting more information. “Why? What could happen to us?”

The cashier’s voice dropped to a whisper, and his eyes scanned side to side. “Anything goes near her house, it disappears. Dogs. Pigs. She says the fairies take ‘em, but I’ll bet you they all end up in a big, black kettle.”

The front doors of the store slid open. “Izzy, did you find it?” asked her mom, her hands on her hips. “Let’s get going before the ice cream melts.”

Reluctantly, Izzy followed her mom back out to the car. She took one last look at the rundown store, and then they started the long, pot-hole-riddled drive out to their new, old house.

#

Three drizzly, cooped-up days passed that left Izzy and Hen with nothing to do but help unpack boxes. The worst part was that all but five of Izzy’s precious books were travelling by flat-rate post, and wouldn’t arrive for at least another week. She read and reread those five until she had memorized every sentence. Just when the boredom reached a level that made her think she’d rather go to school than spend another day with nothing happening – something happened.

“It’s her, Izzy! It’s the witch!” Hen pressed her nose against the window that looked down onto the driveway, and bounced on her toes.

Izzy squeezed in beside her sister so she could see out the window. She couldn’t believe their good luck.

But when the old woman climbed out of her pickup truck, Hen’s face fell in disappointment. “She doesn’t really look like a witch to me...”

 The woman walking up their porch steps looked more like a farmer than anything else. Her work clothes were stained with mud, and her short, white hair peeked out from under a crumpled men’s hat. The only thing remotely witchy about her was that even though her wrinkles meant she must be at least seventy, she walked fast and didn’t stoop the way most old people did.   

“You can’t tell anything about her just by looking,” said Izzy. She tried to sound hopeful, but so far things didn’t seem very promising.

Marian Malloy didn’t have any of the standard witch traits. And Izzy should know. It was safe to say that she had read every fairy or folktale concerning witches. In fact, she was almost sure she had read every fairytale in existence, and the nine boxes of books in route to their house were proof. She knew that witches came in one of two varieties: hunchbacked hag, or cruelly beautiful sorceress. That’s just the way things were.

“Izzy! Hen!” their mother called from downstairs. “Girls, come down here, please. We have a visitor!”

The sisters exchanged quick looks, and then hurried out of their room and down the stairs. The old woman stood at the front door, dripping muddy water onto the rug.

“Marian, these are my girls, Izzy and Hen,” their mom said brightly.

Marian kept her hands in her pockets and nodded at them.

“Won’t you come sit down?” said their mom, leading the way toward the kitchen. “I’ve just made a pot of tea. “My husband works late at his new job with the county, and I’m not used to living so far from any other neighbors. It will be nice to have another adult to talk to.”

 “Humph,” said Marian, sitting down at the table. “Far as I’m concerned, the best thing about living way out here is not having folks to talk to.” 

Izzy’s mom laughed as if Marian had made a joke. “And you are certainly welcome to join us for dinner, if you like.”

Hen’s eyes grew wide as ­­­pancakes at this suggestion.

One corner of Marian’s mouth turned up a little before returning to a scowl. “No, I’ve got to get home to my own supper. I only came over because I was driving past your house, which I normally don’t do. I think it’s best that neighbors meet face to face. Prevents problems later on.”

Izzy and Hen pulled out chairs for themselves on the opposite side of the table. Izzy looked at the old woman’s fingernails, and wondered if they were stained green from pulling weeds or making potions.

“So, you girls got an opinion about Everton yet?” said Marian.

“We haven’t really seen much of it,” said Izzy. “It’s been raining since we got here.”

Her mom came to the table carrying a teapot and two cups. “The girls have been so helpful unpacking things for the house. Once spring break is over next week, they’ll be starting school.”

Marian drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Everton Elementary is riddled with asbestos,” she grumbled.

“What’s asbestos?” Hen asked loudly.

Their mom cleared her throat and slid a teacup toward Marian. “Actually, Izzy will be at the Middle School. Sixth grade.”  

The old woman took the cup, and scanned Izzy up and down. “Sixth grade? You’re no bigger than a chipmunk.”

“My Izzy’s always been petite,” said her mom.

Izzy cringed. So what if she stood only an inch taller than her eight-year old sister? She hated the word petite. It made her feel like a small dessert.

1st 5 Pages May Workshop - Hawke Rev 1

Author: Heather Hawke

Genre: MG SF/fantasy
Title: THE LEGACY OF FROST AND FIRE

I crouched under the covers so Dad couldn’t see the glow from my cell phone. He’d flip if he caught me awake after midnight. I texted, “Beat game. Blew everything up.”

My phone buzzed with a new message, but it wasn’t from one of my buddies. It read, “Justin. Do not skip this class: Essential Lessons for Frost Dragon Egg Maintenance. All Lab. No Lecture.”

Like I’d want an extra class when I had pre-algebra homework every day and yet another book report due for language studies. Some loser must’ve got my number and this was his idea of a hilarious joke.

But maybe the message was an ad for a new computer game. I checked again. “The screen name of the person who sent it was “Sphinx.” The game sounded like fantasy. Not likely I’d buy it since I preferred hardcore.

I yawned so the corners of my jaw cracked. Maybe I should go to sleep. My dad would peel the covers off me before the sun rose in the morning, even if it was a Saturday. He’d drag me on some hike, or bike ride, or kayak trip. Just once, I wished he’d let me do what I wanted.

I fluffed up the covers so I could see better and tapped in another message, “Can’t make LAN party.” No, instead of bringing my laptop to a friend’s house for an all-nighter, I’d be discovering a whole new world of blisters.

A light flicked on in my room. By reflex, I stuffed my phone under the pillow. I was so busted. Trying to think of an excuse, I pushed aside my plaid camping blanket. But Dad wasn't there.

From the window, electric bright light rippled across my old Chuck Norris poster. The light shaded into pink and then turned burning red.

A noise from outside roared like a freeway at rush hour and then an enormous thump shook the bed. Adrenaline surging through my legs, I ran to the window, threw it open and leaned outside. My mouth fell open. Frozen lightning hung in front of my house, stretching from the lawn up to the roof. Across the narrow street, red haze swirled around a hulking animal the size of a backhoe. It cast about, as if looking for something.

Smoke drifted into my room, making me cough. The animal snapped its head up. It gazed directly at me with golden eyes big as my fist. The pupils thinned to narrow vertical lines.

I jumped back from the window. “Ahhh…” Stumbling further away across the room, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Then my head hit the opposite wall with a thump that made my ears ring. The creature’s gaze pinned me there like a bug.

The door crashed open beside me and Dad charged through. “Justin! There’s a fire!”

I pointed to the monster outside and tried to say something, but my voice was no louder than a gasping goldfish.

Dad didn’t look towards the window, only grabbed the back of my pajamas and hustled me out onto the landing. Mom just stood there, her hands clasped in front of her heart. Dad took her arm and helped her downstairs while I clomped after them.

They headed straight for the front door. That huge animal was out there like a monster from a nightmare. My tongue stumbled over itself. I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Wait! Don’t go outside.”

My mom and dad rushed out the front door anyway. I hovered on my toes at the end of the hallway.

But as they stood on the shadowed step, they didn’t scream or recoil. I edged out next to Dad, glad I hadn’t just become an orphan. Beyond, there was no giant beast. The silver thread and red haze were gone too.

How could something that big have gotten away so fast? I craned my neck to look up and down the street. “Did you see a big animal run away?”

Dad’s voice was distracted. “You probably saw a dog. Scared by the fire.”

That was no dog.

Flames exploded from the roof of the small house across the street with a shower of sparks.

I clutched my dad’s sleeve. “Amber is in there!” She used to be my best friend, back when we were little kids. She and her mom lived in that house alone.

Dad took a step forward. “I’m going in after them. Justin, take care of your mother.”

She threw her arms around him. “No! You already called the fire department.”

But what if they didn’t come in time to save Amber and her mom?

Just then, Mrs. Yao ran from behind the burning house, hand-in-hand with Amber. They must’ve escaped out their back door. I didn’t realize how hard my heart had been pounding against my ribs until it slowed.

Crossing to our side of the street, the two stopped and held onto each other. Amber’s bare feet stuck out the bottom of her sweatpants.

I squinted as far as I could see into the darkness for the monster. Maybe it really had been just an animal. It was pretty late and I’d been staring at a computer screen for hours. I jogged down the sidewalk to Amber. Her eyes looked almost black in the reflected firelight. “Are you okay?”

She glanced up at me, opened her mouth, then closed it with a little shake of her head.

Mrs. Yao drew Amber in close under her arm. “It must have been an earthquake.” She chewed her lip as she watched fire engulf their home. “Maybe it broke a gas line.”

But there hadn’t been an earthquake. “Maybe the gas line was hit by….” I trailed off. I couldn’t tell them about a monster. Even a giant animal sounded crazy.

Sirens blared, getting closer.

Amber’s hair, curly like her mother’s but black instead of blond, flew about her face. She leaned into her mom, eyes wide and shocked. “All my things, my clothes, my….”

I remembered her room had been filled with stuffed animals. They even spilled from a hammock strung across the ceiling like fluffy guardian angels.

I tried to sound reassuring. “It’s okay. It’s just stuff.”

She stiffened and cast me a cold look. “Easy for you to say. You’d think differently if it were your precious computer.”

A fire truck and an ambulance rounded the corner, lights strobing. I slunk back to my parents. I’d only been trying to help.

Firefighters attached a hose to a fire hydrant and water gushed through the looping coils. The water made clouds of smoke and steam erupt through the broken windows.

It felt like I’d opened an oven door as I squinted against the heat. Right under my feet, wisps of smoke curled up from our lawn. A wide blackened trail led across the street and to the burning house. It was almost like an arrow pointing from my house to Amber’s.

After a while, Amber’s dad showed up. She threw herself at him and hugged him around the middle. He stood stiff, arms raised. I hadn’t seen him in years. My mom told me he’d gone home to Shanghai, but he was back now.

He pushed Amber away and held her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders. He and her mom looked like they were arguing, but I couldn’t hear over the noise.