I think I see what Amy's saying. The first line of the new query, while cute and catchy, is almost too precious-- almost as if it's going to be the intro to a rom com rather than an epic fantasy. Which I know sounds odd, given that you have the word assassin in there, but there's just something a little too breezy and light about it.

I can totally see what you mean.

Hey, look, actual writing! Just a snippet of something that came to me today. Might be the beginning of a new project. Dunno yet.

"Don't look back, somethin' might be gainin' on you." ~Satchel Paige

New Orleans, Louisiana August 28, 2005

His entire life he'd heeded those words. His daddy's mantra, borrowed from the great Satchel. "That's as good advice as any given by a man, no matter what color his skin is." So no, he'd never looked back. Always looked forward. Always forged ahead. But the joke was on him now. Because that thing that was gaining was coming from ahead, rushing headlong towards them with speed and fury and an unforgiving wrath that roared and howled at the injustice, but refused to let up, to divert its course. Oddly, he wasn't frightened. No, if anything, he was hopeful.

Hope.

A simple word holding so much weight. There was hope it would all be swept away—the dirt and filth and lack of decency. Hope that the demons and monsters would be swallowed whole and erased—leaving nothing in their wake but perhaps the merest spun sugar dust sparkling in air washed clean and new. Evidence that once, they'd been good.

Despite appearances to the contrary, they'd been good.

Once upon a time.

It had all once been so very, very good.

Wow! Compelling.

Because that thing that was gaining was coming from ahead

I like how you shift this Barb!

I'm done with Chapter 2 of Cog, 3,100 words in. I'm trying to crank this book out quickly because I have another outlined novel on deck.

It starts as thus in Chapter 1, but the opening is very unlikely to survive revision:

Cog brushed a few stray crumbs from her dress, the remains of her dinner—cake and ice cream. Her mother had given her the dress earlier that day and insisted that she wear it, saying it would compliment Cog’s hazel eyes. It did, beautifully. She stretched out on the soft mattress of the four-poster bed in her spacious new room and felt the cool breeze of evening tickle her. The open window overlooked the manor’s garden and she could catch the scent of honeysuckle on the air as she stared at the ceiling. It was, she thought, the worst day of her life.

You know, it occurred to me - I'm a writer. I mean, I get paid to write. Not much, it's part of my poorly-paid job, but still .... I work for an association and we're dropping our little monthly magazine and switching to a quarterly journal. When we had the monthly thing, there were issues where I pretty much wrote the entire thing. For the first issue of the quarterly, I cranked out a five-page feature - longer than I've been used to and it was painful getting it all done. But I'm a writer. jeepers

But I'm a writer. jeepers

YUP! ::moves over on the bench to make a spot::

And Gud, you've got me wanting to know how cake and ice cream, new clothes, and a new room is the worst day evar.

Anyone care to look over an author survey for me? Due tommorrow and I'm still sick enough that I'm afraid I'll do an awful job of proofing.

send it to my profile addy Typo. I need the distractions today.