NB to those on Twitter - if you like, you can also comment there, using the hashtag #submissionspotlight10 I will then transfer tweets here later for all to see.
This is from Penelope (not her real name). As always, note that a normal sub would require a synopsis and more than 500 words, but this is not what I've asked for so you should simply imagine them. Also, imagine that Penelope has put the publisher's name and the date, and correctly headed the letter, as she would have done. Finally, please ignore any oddities of layout / line breaks - I'm having problems with formatting today.
By chance, it's similar in age-range, market and genre to the one we had last month. Interesting to compare??
The King is slain. Princess Tremorgan must embrace her destiny and free her brother from the enemy before it's too late.
TREMORGAN'S GIFT is a fast-paced YA fantasy novel, complete at 85,000 words. It is the first book in a planned trilogy. Please find included a synopsis and the first 50 pages.
Princess Tremorgan flees her home after witnessing the brutal slaying of her Father, the King of Agoria. Lord Drostan, her father's murder, wants the crown for himself and he'll do anything to get it. Pursued by Drostan's henchmen, the 'Silver Snakes', she sets out on a desperate quest to find her brother. Aided by her Palatine bodyguard, a telepathic shapeshifter, and a reluctant wizard, Tremorgan must unlock the legendary magic of the Stone of Remembrance. She cannot afford to fail. If she does, the Prince will die and the throne of Agoria will fall into Drostan's hands.
My short story, /Fire of Hope/, was published in an anthology titled FUEL FOR THE SOUL in October 2009. I'm co-founder of The Mad Scribbler's Tea Party (a critique group) and a member of the Dunedin Writer's Workshop.
In terms of web marketing, I have my own blog (*****) and I can use other webmedia, such as podcasts, to promote my books. I'm happy to make myself available for book signings, interviews and readings.
Thank you for your time and consideration of my work.
The ringing notes of a bugle pierced the cacophony of sound filling the castle bailey. /They come. They come./
Princess Tremorgan pushed open the horn-paned windows and leaned out. Below her the bailey seethed with the movement of servants, nobles and their horses. They came for the Oath-giving: four days of celebrations
where the Agorian nobles would swear fealty to her father, King Asreal. A feeling of excitement filled the castle. Over the towers coloured pennants snapped in the breeze and somewhere a fiddler played a merry tune.
Tremorgan's fingertips whitened on the window ledge, her eyes searching the noblemen's faces. In three days a grand feast would be held to celebrate her fifteenth birthday and her father would chose one of them to wed her. Her mouth dried at the thought.
Beyond the cream stone walls of Castlewood, green land dropped away to sheer cliffs and the wild Western Sea. To the east she could see the fringe of Castle Forest and the dark ribbon of the Eastern Path. A breeze tugged strands of ebony hair from her pearl-studded hairnet. The air was heavy with the sweet perfume of blossom and new cut grass.
The bugle call rang out again. /They come. They come./
Hoof beats clattered across the drawbridge and into the cobbled inner bailey. A black robed figure led the company of knights. A silver snake, poised as if to strike, glared at her from the black shield hanging at
his mount's withers.
She shuddered and stepped back from the open window.
“You look troubled, Tre.” Her father pushed aside a fistful of documents and raised his brows.
She forced a smile.
“Your birthday?” he asked, steepling his fingers.
Shrugging, she wrapped her arms across her chest.
“Do you trust me Tre?”
Surprised, her eyes darted to his face. “Of course I do.”
“But you would rather choose for yourself?”
Her heart leapt. “You would let me choose my own husband?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No. But, if you have a preference I'll take it into account. You have three days to make your choice, fair enough?”
Bobbing a curtsy she said, “Thank you, O king.”
He chuckled. “Now, play the lute for me. I need a distraction.”
“What troubles you?”
“Oh, nothing.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Rumors of giants in the Black Mountains.”
“Giants?” Tremorgan snorted. “What nonsense!” Obediently, she lifted the instrument from its case and settled on a chair. She strummed the lute strings, listening and tweaked the tuning pegs. Satisfied, her fingers
danced over the strings and sweet music filled the chamber.
Walking to the window, King Asreal clasped his hands behind him. A smile curled his lips as he watched her play.
He cocked his head, listening, a frown creased his brow.
“Stop!” His cry sliced through the melody.
Tremorgan's fingers stilled and the music died on a discordant note.