Adventures in YA Publishing. Martina asked me to post today and introduce
myself. I live in Oklahoma
with my husband, two kids, two cats, a dog, and my mom. I write YA fantasy,
both contemporary and traditional. I am much better at rewriting and editing,
so I usually spend an ungodly amount of time dragging myself through the
drafting process. One of my favorite things in the world is critiquing, because
I love the process of shaping a manuscript into a book.
Openings. I figured what better way to mark my beginning with the blog than a
post about beginnings.
are. They help you decide whether to buy a book or put it back on the shelf.
They help agents and editors decide whether to read on or send a rejection. So
what makes a great opening?
beautiful enough that you want to see more of the author’s art.
no sinister premonitions about the day. It seemed like just another Monday,
innocent but for its essential Mondayness, not to mention its Januaryness. It
was cold, and it was dark—in the dead of winter the sun didn’t rise until
eight—but it was also lovely. The falling snow and the early hour conspired to
paint Prague
ghostly, like a tintype photograph, all silver and haze.
was grey. This was no surprise; but the common eye could not see the particular
heaviness of the atmosphere or the unusual weight of this special day’s
charcoal clouds: the sky was pregnant with a potent wind, for The Guard was
searching for new hosts.
what that’s about?” So you read on to find out.
the snow, a small red spot of warm going cold, surrounded by wolves.
girl who looked like this once.
times she’d been told that she would kill her true love.
makes you worry about this character you know nothing about, because there is
an immediate threat to them.
and scrambled backward into the darkness, holding the baby close in her other
arm. Beyond the fire, the wasteland was still, as if the wind and even the
stones had frozen in the night to listen, and then she heard it again, a faint
chink, like a footfall in pebbles. Someone or something was out there, watching
her.
clinging there. Long enough for the bone-cold water to drive the feeling from
his legs. Long enough for his fingers to tire of holding his head above water.
Somewhere in the distance, the eerie wail of the hounds quickened his
heartbeat.
keeping his hold on the old well’s uneven sides, willing his heart to slow. They
can’t smell you in here. They’ll lose your scent in the stream and they’ll
never find you here.
Stiefvater
Other – These are the openings that don’t really fit into one of the above
categories. The ones you read and just know the book is going to be great.
haunted eyes. Those rosebud lips . . . they’ll scream so
prettily.
favorites in the comments.
Thanks so much for having me, Martina!







