I asked for a packet of bubblegum, preferably Big League Chew (it's easier to get through in a short period of time) so when they came to get me I could yell "I came here to chew bubblegum and get fried and I'm all out of bubblegum!" I pray it may add a bit of spice to the end of my life.

Bleary blue birds

Bedeck burgeoning birch branches.

Boats bringing bedlam

Bedevil benign beaches.

Bronze bells blare balefully:

beware band brandishing blades!

Broken barns, burnt banners

Brief battles.

Beheaded, bloody bodies…

Banished bliss.

Barbarous beyond belief;

Bellicose bandits’ bacchanalia.

1) A Very Small Case of Thievery

Look, I didn’t steal the book. Okay, so all signs point in that direction. But I promise you, the thievery of Universe had nothing to do with Ren Northwood.

I was slinking along the metal shelves of the Wray Public Library when it happened. I breathed in the scent of old paperbacks, running a finger along the side of the wall. I snagged a book off one of the shelves, frowned at the tattered cover, and started to put it back.

″Ren,” a voice said from behind me. I whipped around to see a little girl staring at me with wide gray eyes, holding a book under one arm.

“Um, yeah?” I said, slipping my own book back on the shelf. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” she replied.

What kind of answer was that?

“Does one of your parents work here?” I said. “Do you need help finding them?”

She rolled her eyes and stalked past me. “Alright, listen up, because I’m only telling you this once.”

I shook my head, looking at her closer. She seemed to be only six or seven years old, with pale skin and dark, choppy hair. I guessed that she had cut it herself.

“Okay, kid, can you at least tell me how you know my name?”

“I’m not a—nevermind. Do you see this?” She waved the book in my face, and I sneezed.

The girl leaned over to place it in my hands, her breath smelling of oranges.

“This . . . is something very special, and very dangerous.” She glanced behind her, looking apprehensive. “I have to go soon. Please be careful with it, okay?”

I looked down at the book in my hands. The plain green cover was fraying at the seams, and its riveted pages dug into my palms. The title was written in peeling gold, so covered in dust that I could barely see it. I could just make out the letters. Universe. I hooked a thumb under the cover, but the girl took in a sharp breath, and I quickly pulled away my hand.

“Not yet!” she repeated. “You’ll know. When the time is right.”

I glanced back up at her. “You’re letting me keep this?”

“Yes, yes.” She waved my question away.

“But . . . why me?” I said. I shouldn’t have let hope rise in my chest, the thought that maybe I had been chosen for some sort of great adventure.

The girl squashed that hope with one withering look. “In fact, no one else wanted it. I’ve been walking around this library for the past half an hour trying to get someone to take it.

“I can’t stay any longer. If you spill anything on the book, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Leave it on your windowsill at full moon. That should . . . recharge it.”

“Um,” I said. “What exactly do you mean, recharge it?”

“Recharge its powers,” the girl said in a soft voice. She must have caught my doubtful expression, because she added, “You can believe me or not, I don’t really care which. At least the book will be gone.”

The little girl turned to leave, but I grabbed her arm before she could disappear.

“Wait—can you tell me why no one wanted it? And where are you going?”

She just shrugged me off with a smile. “Fate has many places to be at this hour. It’s such a big, big universe and souls are such small, small things.”

“Ask for Fate— for me—in an emergency,” said the girl. “Emergency only, you hear me?”

She turned the corner of the bookshelf and disappeared. When I poked my head around the corner, I saw nothing but dust and books.

. . .

I stood there for a while with Universe in my hand. I stared at it, and got a faint sensation something in there was staring right back at me. I decided the logical thing to do would be to leave the book, forget about talking to the strange little girl, and go back home with a different novel.

Before I could put the book back, I heard a familiar voice from the other side of the library. I looked over to see my older brother, Chance, talking to a librarian.

“I’m looking for my brother. His name is Ren . . . he’s thirteen, curly red-brown hair, kinda short—”

“Chance?” I said, and he turned around with a sigh of relief. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you for the past half an hour.”

I frowned. I was sure I had only been talking to Fate for a couple of minutes.

“What were you doing?” Chance asked. He ran his hand through his hair—dyed black for as long as I could remember.

“Picking cherries. What do you think I was doing?”

I suppose I got my sarcasm from him.

Chance rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you found a book. Though it looks rather . . . well loved.”

“I got it from this little girl,” I said. “I think her name was Fate. She wasn’t very nice.”

“Lovely.” He wasn’t listening. Chance traced the scar that ran from the bottom of his left eye to his cheek. He was seven years older than me, but he never seemed a whole lot smarter. He always invented different stories when I would ask how he got the scar, so I always assumed he had done something stupid and cut himself.

“Are we leaving now?” I tried to put the book back on a shelf but couldn’t find a way to wedge it in.

“You’re not taking it? Don’t you need more books?” Chance said.

I didn’t respond as I tried to find a place to put the book.

 “What’s it about?” he said. 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t supposed to open it.” 

At this, Chance gave a little frown and leaned in to look at the book. A look of dread flitted across his face and he pulled away, glancing at me. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He was a terrible liar, but I didn’t say anything. Mostly to spite him, and a little bit because I felt strangely drawn to the book, I grabbed it from the top of the shelf and brought it with me. When we reached the library’s desk, Chance turned around to look at me.

“You’re checking it out after all?” he said, glancing down at Universe.

“Yes.” I stared at him, waiting for Chance to object. But all he did was take the book from my hands and bring it to the desk.

Strangely enough, the book did not seem to belong to the library. After quite a bit of confusion, a librarian finally concluded that it must have been left by someone—which was the truth—and therefore could not be checked out. I suppose I should have been expecting such a thing. Fate had not been so kind as to fix all of the little details of taking her book out of the library after getting it in, so now I would have to solve the issue on my own. Hopefully without becoming a book fugitive.

I tuned back into what the librarian was saying. “So we’ll have to take the book for now. It must be somewhat rare—I looked up the title and couldn’t find anything. Otherwise I would let you keep it. When it’s all fixed up, it will go through the process of being catalogued and marked before it’s available to loan. If you’d like, we can mark you down on a waiting list.”

“Are you sure I can’t have it now?” I said. “I’d be really careful.”

“Not yet, sorry.”

Chance cleared his throat and gave a nervous little smile, sliding the book across the table toward him. “Thank you for your help, though. Where should we put it?”

The librarian waved her hand in the direction of a heavy metal cart. “Just on that shelf, please.”

She hurried off and Chance stared after her with narrowed eyes. When he was satisfied that she was gone, he took my hand and began to walk in the direction the librarian had pointed. After we passed the cart in question, however, I tugged on the yellow and red sleeve of his sweatshirt and looked him in the eye. 

“Where are we going?”

“Where do you think, Ren? Home.”

“What about the book?” I asked.

He smiled again, tugging me along as we walked out the door. “It doesn’t belong to the library. It’s yours, now. Merry Christmas.”

“It’s probably worth a lot of money,” I said. I wanted the book, but stealing it seemed . . . wrong, I guess.  

“I’d hate to see our faces in the paper,” I said instead.

“You’re too modest.” Chance was walking faster now. He held the book as if it was a small child about to throw a fit, and he had to get it out before a tantrum would erupt and screaming ensued. 

We reached the car, and I slipped into the passenger seat. Chance began to drive home, past sloping hills and withered yucca, with the mountains looming in the distance.

“Can I have Universe?” I said, turning away from the familiar scenery.

“Not yet.” Chance tightened his grip on the steering wheel. I forced myself not to point out those two words had been used far too much in the past few minutes. I made a face at him before grabbing a school notebook and a pencil from the dashboard.

I, Renwyn Northwood, am officially dying of boredom. Two years of living in the Nowhere Town of Wray, Colorado, can do that to you. Especially if you live in a falling-apart house, next to a mountain that spontaneously blocks your wifi, and can go to only one library in the whole town. And the only interesting thing that ever happens, your brother has to go and take away.

My pencil snapped, and I looked up. 

Chance had turned to read over my shoulder. At my glance, he said, “What are you writing?” 

“My death note,” I told him. “I’ve discovered my diagnosis. The people that own our house next will discover it beside my dead body.”

“Well, I’d give you the book, but I’m driving.”

“What kind of excuse is that? You’re not even driving right now.”

He glanced back at the road and swerved to avoid a truck spitting up an unreasonable amount of smoke. The driver yelled something over the wind at him.

“They say it will snow soon. A big storm,” Chance said to distract my glare.

I squinted out at the horizon. It did seem like a storm was approaching. It snowed too much in Colorado.

“Who says?” I asked.

“You know.” Chance shrugged. “The weather people.”

“It’s only December.”

“Maybe we’ll get snow for Christmas.”

“Maybe.”

We pulled into our driveway. In the middle of nowhere, as usual. I closed my eyes and wished I was anywhere else, then opened them. My wish had not been granted. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” I said

“Should I have kept driving?” He stepped out of the car and walked toward the house. I had to run to catch up with him, grabbing his arm. 

“I mean stolen the book,” I said. Chance kept walking, face emotionless, the book under his arm. He opened the door, then slammed it shut behind him. I stared at the flaking wood for a minute, before finally easing open the door. It creaked, and chips of peeling paint fluttered off of it. Chance stood at the counter, unleashing his irritation upon a loaf of bread. A wedge of cheese sat beside him, heralding the telltale arrival of the only meal he could cook without utter failure.

“Grilled cheese. Something new and different,” I said.

Chance looked up, cutting his finger with a knife. He cursed. “Why did you do that?”

I watched a trickle of blood seep into the bread, which I could now see was whole grain. This day was just getting worse and worse.

“You’re getting blood all over my sandwich,” I said. “Besides, how am I supposed to eat it if we don’t have any ketchup?”

“That’s disgusting. Nobody puts ketchup on grilled cheese,” Chance said, wiping the blood off his finger with an old towel.

“I do.” I grabbed the bread from his hands. “I’m going to bike to the gas station to get some.” 

“I wouldn’t. I already told you, there’s a storm brewing.”

I walked into the living room and opened the window. Sure enough, a freezing wind blew my hair into my face as I poked my head out, frowning up at enormous, ice-heavy clouds. It was unnatural. Storms didn’t come that fast.

“Close that window!” Chance shouted from the other room. I closed the window and stomped past him.

“I’m going out anyway,” I said. “You can have my sandwich if I die.”

“Fine! Get struck by lightning for all I care.” In a smaller voice, he said, “at least wear your helmet.”

 Opening the door, I stepped out into the snowstorm. I tried to take a breath and got only a mouthful of frigid snow. Coughing the snow out, I turned myself right back around. The door slammed shut behind me, the house a welcome relief from the cold, and I collapsed on a chair to thaw.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in, Ren. That ketchup sure came fast.” Chance set the burnt grilled cheese in front of me.

“I’m not going out in that,” I told him. The grilled cheese was still smoking, but I ate it anyway. 

“What did I tell you? Want some apple cider?”

“Yes, but I’ll make it.”

. . .

We sat at the table, watching the snowstorm and sipping cider. I stared down into my mug pensively.

“Hey, Ren?” Chance said. I looked up as he tugged something crumpled and white out of his pocket.

“I was digging around the filing cabinet while you were at school today and I found—” he unfolded the object and smoothed it out— “this.”

It was a photograph, a black and white picture dusted with age. The picture was a shot of Chance holding a toddler up on his shoulders, laughter frozen on both of their faces. 

“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the little boy.

Chance smiled. “That’s you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I think our dad took it.” Chance held the photograph out to me. “Here. You should keep it.”

I hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t want to lose it.”

“Please, Ren? Just in case,” he said.

Just in case . . . what? I wondered. Something happened to Chance? Something happened to the house? What did he mean? I started to open my mouth, but Chance was already putting the photograph into my hands. I took it and rubbed a smear off with my sleeve, noticing a signature on the back that must have been my dad’s.

“I wish they were here,” I said, touching the signature.

“Me too, Ren. Me too.” Chance glanced at the clock. “You have school tomorrow. You should get to bed.” Then, with a little smile, my brother handed me Universe. “For good dreams.”

Title: Universe

Genre/Age range: Middle Grade Fantasy (11-14 age range)

Author: L. B. Houston

Word count: 60,000

Why project is a good fit: My project is a good fit for Trident because I see your agency represents sci fi and fantasy.

Summary/hook:

Ren Northwood hasn’t stolen the book. Well...he may have helped steal it, just a little, but it’s mostly his older brother Chance’s fault. And to be fair, this isn’t a regular book. It has a whole world within--literally.

But before the two can find out what the book really is, Chance is sucked INSIDE, and it’s up to Ren to rescue him. Even worse, the world within the book, called the Haven, needs saving from an ancient evil. Ren will need the help of two almost human friends and a whole lot of courage to save Chance and the rest of the Haven, before whatever created the evil spreading across the planet catches up to them.

But like, no pressure or anything.

Your bio: I’m a writer and illustrator of middle grade fantasy. I’ve been writing and painting most of my life. My artwork has been featured in galleries and shows across the state, including Artstreet, Appleton’s Art in The Park, UWGB’s Lawton Gallery, and the Art Garage. I am also part of the Visual Arts strand at East High School. In 2018, I won second place in the Delta Kappa Gamma writing contest. 

Platform(website): https://lbhoustonauthor.wixsite.com/books

<a href="https://twitter.com/Lbhoustonwriter?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw" class="twitter-follow-button" data-show-count="false">Follow @Lbhoustonwriter</a><script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>

Education: East High School

Personality / writing style: I write funny, dark, MG books, with a strong character voice and high stakes. I like to sneak in the occasional pop culture reference, though most of my themes have an environmental aspect.

Likes/hobbies: writing (of course), painting and illustrating my novels, being in nature

Hometown: Green Bay

Age: 14

Please email me at lbhoustonauthor@gmail.com if you are interested!

On good days I can see you plainly

But on bad days you disappear

Like the stars behind the clouds

I know you're still there but

I can't quite seem to find you

I look in my brain

Making sure to tiptoe

Around the demons and monsters

Looking under many memories

Of a happier life I thought I lived

But you aren't there

I look into my heart

Stepping over the cracks and the scars

Looking into the most hardened parts

Chipping away at the rough edges

I looked in the the softer spots

Yet you weren't there

I looked into my soul

In the sea of potiential

In the deepest regrets

In the dark spots

Looking with only my little light

You still weren't there

I gave up.

------

@chainedinshadow

A man sits at his desk with a quill in hand and ink at his fingertips. The tip of his feathered pen scratches the yellow paper, then he switches to a pencil. He sketches a beautiful portrait of someone he met in his dreams and wrote a description on the corner of the page. The sound of pitter-pattering rain grows louder, followed by the roar of thunder. The night sky is a murky black and brown, the same color as the muddy streets of London. Only the half-burned candle was this man’s friend as it witnesses his work. A thick padlock hangs at his door for security reasons yet it rattles faintly. The man could not hear due to the storm, but he did hear the heavy padlock fall to the wooden floor. He turns around to see, but then he hears his door creaking wide open. The man looks up to see a beautiful woman in a flowing lavender dress. This haunting woman steps forward while the man trembles in fear. This bad omen approaches the man, her hand reaching for his neck when she saw his work. This woman, who creeps into my soul, who can easily stop my heart, who commands the unknown, I shall bow. The beautiful woman stares at the paper and instead of going for the neck, she places her hand on the man’s face. She lightly and swiftly sat on his lap and kissed his lips deeply. He waits for death, but to his surprise, he remains alive.

One Kiss brings Death, but One Kiss brings Blessings.

I will sing of Molly Maguire:

Come down to the pits of coal.

We’ll weep for Molly Maguire

And those good Irish boys of old.

Their axes dug the anthracite

That burned so hard and long.

They worked to death for petty coins;

The foremen done them wrong.

The blackness ruined lungs and breath,

Men worked their flesh to bone.

They dug their Catholic souls to death;

They’d die in the darkness alone.

For tons of coal were in the ground,

And Irish lives were cheap.

Their coal would fill the furnace and

The owners pockets so deep.

When a man could take no more,

Needed more than whiskey and piss,

He’d join the Molly Maguires:

A man would raise his fist.

They burned the company office down,

They cracked the foreman’s head.

When company men came lookin’ around

They knifed the bastards dead.

The Pinkertons came in October

When the moneyed men had enough.

They got more than just the Mollies:

Beat ‘em and shot ’em and cuffed.

They hanged the Molly Maguires

Before that year’s first snow.

Judge doomed each man on the docket

Whether he was a Molly or no.

Ghosts pace in the cells where they held them,

The hole where they broke ’em of hope.

Ghosts gaze at the beams of the rafters

Where they broke their necks with the rope.

And the Irish, they suffered and hungered

And struggled on down in the mines.

And the owners still lined their silk pockets

Just like they did beforetimes.

Let us sing of Molly Maguire:

Come down to the pits of coal.

We’ll drink to Molly Maguires,

All those good Irish boys of old.

Multiple liberties taken - in a folk song, shouldn't they be? - but here's a bit of history for the curious: https://explorepahistory.com/hmarker.php?markerId=1-A-3B9