Welcome to Son of a Pitch! The ninth entry… Please save comment area for the participating authors’ feedback. I will put my thoughts at the bottom of the post. Because I can. If you don’t want to know what I think, close your eyes. If you read my opinions and agree, want to add, or completely disagree… GO FOR IT!
Just kidding…feel free to add your opinions…
Title: Doleful Creatures
Age and Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 103,000
QUERY
There’s a secret in the wood near Purdy Farm. Older than the hills. Older than the sky.
The Man in the Rock knows the secret. But the only creature who can hear him talk is Jarrod, and no one listens to him. Jarrod the Magpie. Jarrod the Distant. Jarrod the Murderer. Everyone’s seen the blood on his wingtips. Everyone knows he sent his own Rebekah to her doom. And those who don’t see the blood? Aloysius the badger tells them. He saw Rebekah die. He saw his own Landi die. He saw the shores of the beaver ponds, smeared with blood, littered with grimacing, cold faces. He spreads the tale to all who’ll listen. And many who’d rather not hear it at all.
And The Lady is coming. The Lady who causes marigolds to sprout where she walks; the same who brings the ice, the cold, the dark and lightning and who quiets with death the creatures who dare seek the joy promised long ago. Her stooges are legion – sneaking, digging, seeking. They’re looking for the guardian of the secret, the secret that will set The Lady free forever.
Jarrod is the only one who can stop her.
But Aloysius watches. And wants revenge.
FIRST 250 WORDS
This is the tale, as the magpies tell it.
When the sun rose on the last day, He Who Notes the Sparrow’s Fall wished for music.
There were many willing to sing.
The meadowlarks sang in round, their tunes braiding the air with the thistles, the soil with the sky.
The hawks and eagles sang, their shrieks and burbles like water tumbling over sharp rocks in a mountain stream.
Came too the too-kreee birds, the killdeer, the yoo-hoo birds. Each group sang and He Who Notes the Sparrow’s Fall closed his eyes to listen to each song, sighing, smiling, never singing along though he knew the tunes by heart because he wanted to hear the others sing.
Then she came.
She, his sister. Where she walked the marigolds sprouted and when she sang, tulips sprang from the ground, drawn in the same electric frisson that caused feathers and fur to stand on end. And when she sang, the song was so beautiful the stars drew closer to hear and he sang along, never overshadowing her voice but always in tune, swaying willow branches to match the cottonwood fluff floating over the water.
Many, more shy, more modest, listened from holes, from branches, from deep within or from bare perches where they could feel the sunlight and the music and the breeze.
From them, too, he coaxed songs, laughing as a school of fish spat bubbles out of the water, pattering patterns to imitate the fall of rain, the splash of raccoons fishing, the tumble of fall leaves on still water. He listened solemnly as a family of skunks chanted their song of root and earth.
Now you get to listen to my thoughts! WOOHOO!
QUERY
There’s a secret in the wood near Purdy Farm. Older than the hills. Older than the sky.
The Man in the Rock knows the secret. But the only creature who can hear him talk is Jarrod, and no one listens to him. Jarrod the Magpie. Jarrod the Distant. Jarrod the Murderer. Everyone’s seen the blood on his wingtips. Everyone knows he sent his own Rebekah to her doom. And those who don’t see the blood? Aloysius the badger tells them. He saw Rebekah die. He saw his own Landi die. He saw the shores of the beaver ponds, smeared with blood, littered with grimacing, cold faces. He spreads the tale to all who’ll listen. And many who’d rather not hear it at all.
And The Lady is coming. The Lady who causes marigolds to sprout where she walks; the same who brings the ice, the cold, the dark and lightning and who quiets with death the creatures who dare seek the joy promised long ago. Her stooges are legion – sneaking, digging, seeking. They’re looking for the guardian of the secret, the secret that will set The Lady free forever.
Jarrod is the only one who can stop her.
But Aloysius watches. And wants revenge.
*drops mic* *walks away* I got nothing. This is gorgeous. It’s different and I love it. I want to read it all right now.
FIRST 250 WORDS
This is the tale, as the magpies tell it.
When the sun rose on the last day, He Who Notes the Sparrow’s Fall wished for music.
There were many willing to sing.
The meadowlarks sang in round, their tunes braiding the air with the thistles, the soil with the sky. (Love.)
The hawks and eagles sang, their shrieks and burbles like water tumbling over sharp rocks in a mountain stream.
Came too the too-kreee birds, the killdeer, the yoo-hoo birds. Each group sang and He Who Notes the Sparrow’s Fall closed his eyes to listen to each song, sighing, smiling, never singing along though he knew the tunes by heart because he wanted to hear the others sing. (Maybe commas in here to help…never singing along, though he knew the tunes by heart, because he wanted to hear the others sing…otherwise it all ran together and my brain didn’t like it.)
Then she came. (Oooh!)
She, his sister. Where she walked the marigolds sprouted and when she sang, tulips sprang from the ground, drawn in the same electric frisson that caused feathers and fur to stand on end. And when she sang, the song was so beautiful the stars drew closer to hear and he sang along, never overshadowing her voice but always in tune, swaying willow branches to match the cottonwood fluff floating over the water.
Many, more shy, more modest, listened from holes, from branches, from deep within or from bare perches where they could feel the sunlight and the music and the breeze.
From them, too, he coaxed songs, laughing as a school of fish spat bubbles out of the water, pattering patterns to imitate the fall of rain, the splash of raccoons fishing, the tumble of fall leaves on still water. He listened solemnly as a family of skunks chanted their song of root and earth.
Overall…this is wonderful. I want to know more about this world, because my head is screaming FAERIE! And I hope I’m close. She came…something is going to happen…I need to know. The repetition of sing, sang, song…a bit much.
Thanks for submitting! I hope I helped, if not ignore me. Though I don’t have much to say about this one.
Writers unite!
Kathleen Palm 
This is lovely! With the query, the only thing that bugs me is the cadence of the repetition seems slightly off to me; you might try varying the length and form of your phrases. And in the 250, I agree about adding commas, but I got nothin’ else. Beautiful entry.
Query
Your writing is light and lyrical. It defies the traditional form and yet accomplishes so much more. Just gorgeous.
Your 250
Again, light and lyrical. Wish I had more. Would love to see what follows. Best of luck!
(My internet is being dumb- so I’m using my phone. Please forgive typos in advance. Thanks.)
I’m intrigued. I love all things fantasy and write magical realism–so slightly weird is my jam. 😊 I’d say clean up your punctuation to make it flow for a new reader (sometimes we are so familiar with our own stories and the cadence and flow–that we overlook those pesky commas. 😉)
Another suggestion (and this is t a criticism): read it out loud. Make are everything is hitting the ear how you like.
As far as the query- I love the weirdness. I think this is t the traditional query, but for me it works. That IS a gamble though, when you are querying presses or agents. If you decide to query after the contest, I’d suggest a test run of a smaller batch. Then you can gauge if you should use a more traditional (character, hook setting stakes) query.
Overall- if live to read this.
So basically everytime I tried to type ISN’T it says is t. Just FYI. Lol 😉
AND I AM VOTING FOR DOLEFUL CREATURES BECAUSE YES! Vote. Vote. Votity vote vote.
This one has my vote!
I am VOTING for Doleful Creatures!
I couldn’t post my votes until now (I’m a schoolteacher by day). But this piece has my vote! From Team Megara!
And I’m late to the party. But feeling giddy. I will take your advice and, as Pigpen says in the Charlie Brown Christmas Special, “I shall attempt to run a neat inn.”
Good luck! I love this!