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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...

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!

image

 

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!

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