Also, there's great opportunity at YAtopia to get your two sentence pitch seen by an agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette. Open until March 24 at midnight or until 150 entries.
Here's the first 250 words of my YA historical fantasy, A Handful of Scars. Please give me your feedback - I'll be visiting the blogs for all my commenters in return (as always).
It all started when my mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday.
“Our old place back at court,” I said, glancing around our one-room hut and at my frayed sleeves. I don’t miss all the finery so much as I miss the respect we used to have. People bowed to us when we passed by. Now they throw clods of manure.
My mother didn’t say anything but her shoulders slumped. Hornets. I’ve never learned to think before I speak. I hadn’t meant to upset her. It’s not her fault that… no, stop right there. Not going back to those old memories.
Our door-guardian bared its teeth and flicked its tail at me. Just being protective of my mum, but I hate it when it gets hissy with me. I shot an imaginary arrow at it.
My mother frowned. I shrugged.
“You know what I want for my birthday, mum.” I sidled up to her. “Same thing I’ve always wanted. A living-stone.”
“Sidain.” She said my name like a sigh. “You know I can’t. It’s too dangerous. If they catch you with one – ”
The door-guardian interrupted with a squawk, flapping its wings wildly. It couldn’t fly – it’s not a real gryffin, just a pathetic clay imitation of one, animated by my mother’s living-stone. But I have to give it credit for its sharp ears. Someone was approaching, someone our guardian didn’t trust.
My mother spoke a charm and the gryffin froze into a statue, just as the door burst open.