Theme Reveal 2024 #AtoZChallenge and #WEP check in update

I missed the window for the theme reveal hop. Honestly, I wasn't sure I'd try to participate this year.

At the last moment (today is the end of March), I decided I'd try. I didn't really know what I'd be willing to spend a month blogging about. Well, what goal in my life would my soul most regret if I'd "stroke out" 🧠🚫💀⚰👻 in April?

Back in 2016, I started writing a story. A friend of the family, actually the child of the friend, endured some... 🐮💩...unfair and harsh realities due to her stepmother. As part of the legal deal and decision, the case cannot be discussed. There's no newspaper article. (Which is like, to me, 😩😵🤯, unacceptable. How can they sweep all of this under the rug! And force a gag order on a child??)

I can't do anything about the law. I, being an outsider, am not under the legal gag order. I obtained my knowledge prior to that deal and ruling. And I am not connected. So, Freedom of Speech for my American butt says that I can whip up a fictional story. I can create a character and give her a similar situation. (The mother in my story is nothing like the real stepmother, who I feel should be in prison for multiple reasons. But I can't fix that.) 

The thing is, the girl was made to feel very alone. And that, in my opinion, wasn't right. The way communities shut out the child for something she didn't do and had no control over, it enrages me. I can use that to write a fictional story. 




There is a cropped screenshot Google result showing how I know my story has a target audience. I do not know how many of those children are teens or YA. But I know there are readers who could use a protagonist with a similar situation. 

My main character is also dealing with racism. Not only have I based that antagonist character off of a real educator I know, but the current political climate of my country shows just how much racism is on the rise. 

This story has been getting rejected since 2017.  

A big obstacle is that my main character is a Latina, and is eager to celebrate her quinceañera. As a lot of agents rejected the query because they didn't know that word (SERIOUSLY??? "Most Latino New Yorkers live in New York City, where they number more than 2.4 million strong and account for one quarter of the city's population." How can agents in NYC not know that word with a population that size living where they work? Get your heads out of the sand, people!!!), so I changed the query wording to include "15th birthday." 🤦 Then they asked if I'd make my main character a different age, at least already 15. You know why? Because non-Latinx Americans would celebrate a sweet 16, not a quinceañera! Apparently, I haven't found an agent who knows a publisher who can market to the Latina ya market. 

I didn't start writing this story so I could just have another little white girl character. I started it because of an injustice done to a real child. She is not allowed to discuss it. But I can tell her story, disguised under the protection of fiction and by adding enough secondary attributes to give plausible deniability in case someone should ever figure things out. (And yet I'm writing a blog post. Go figure.) But I really don't want to change the age.

Yet, because of the events in the story, I know it cannot be MG. Even YA might be pushing my luck.

Honestly, this could all be for nothing. The election in November could land America with political leaders who will burn every book at every school. (Seriously, see the horrors of the school libraries in Florida. They drained them. Fiction, non-fiction, doesn't matter.) 

A big reason I want to traditional publish this book is to increase its chances of landing in libraries. My target audience is more likely to need to borrow from a library, and not everyone has book money. 

ANYWAY

So I am going to try to use April to beg for help to improve this book and create a new query letter. 

Here's the latest (without a personal info paragraph, obviously). I'll be revising this story. Please help!

 

I am trying. I suffered a stroke in January. My right side has been slowly recovering since. My right hand, the dominant hand for me, is still not fully recovered. I haven't typed this slow since I was a child first learning. I had spent weeks focused on just moving my fingers. "J K L ;" the letter L and the semicolon took the longest. My typing teachers would be appalled right now, because my current finger placement is not correct. 

I don't know if I'll make it through the challenge this year. I'm trying, though. 

From a writing prompt

Actual writing ahead!
A short story/ flash fiction from a prompt. A closed writers' group on Facebook hosts this thing.

THE TWINS AND THE PIT

“Sometimes, love means clinging on to someone, and sometimes it means letting them go.” I flex my fingers around her hands.

“No! You promised not to let go,” her eyes widen, her attempt to sound authoritative overridden by the fear oozing from her voice.

“But when you love someone, sometimes you have to let go,” I manage not to laugh, to keep my voice serious.

Her fingernails dig into my skin. “You will not drop me. I'll tell mom about your box.”

“What box?” I tighten my grip. The kids behind me light up with chatter.

She smiles up at me, her hands relaxing. “Seventh floorboard from the door. I took a video of what's in there. And I backed it up on my friend's cloud drive. Oh, and I have another of you from last Tuesday, when you added to the box. It's not clear what's in that bag you were carrying, but you take it to your room, and then there's the sound of the board moving, and then you come out with an empty bag and insult me. Mom will certainly put it together.”

“Slimy twit! You're not supposed to spy on me.”

My twin sister rolls her eyes. “Pull me up. We've won.”

“Which friend?”

“What?”

I let go of one of her hands. “Which friend has the backup copy?”

“You're not going to let me fall!” Her dropped hand reaches for me. She tries to yank herself up. We both know she can't.

The kids behind me snicker until I turn my head toward them. “Anyone not wanting to land in the pit should leave. Now.”

No one doubts my resolve. They run like roaches from the light. I turn toward my twin.

“If you drop me, mom will ask what happened, and I'll tell her why you let me fall.”

“When I drop you, it'll take time for you to get out. And you'll be covered in the goo of the pit. I'll get home first. I'll tell mom you jumped, and that you've been planting evidence against me. I'll show her the box and say it's yours. That I was keeping something else in there. Her mind will be made up before you get home.”

“No! No, you can't do that. Help me up. Just help me up. I'll get rid of the videos. And the backups.”

“And you won't spy on me again?”

She shakes her head. A tear slips out and rolls down her cheek. It drops to the goo far below.

But what is one tear compared to wax, mud, decaying plants, bits of trash, and thousands of insects? They say the pit was once for swimming in. That important people raced around in it, back when it was full of pristine water. Back when there was so much water that people wasted it for things like that.

Now we just hold each other over it and see who can keep their partner from falling in the longest. My sister and I hold all the records.

“Which friend has the backup?”

“Sett,” my sister answers with a huff.

“Poinsettia? You gave her the backup copy? Why her?”

“Like she's storing anything else on her cloud? Besides, she's the only one who wouldn't turn on me and blackmail you herself.”

“No, Fuzzbrain, I'm the only one who wouldn't turn on you.” I lift my sister up. She's clean, as always, because I've never let her fall into the pit. And I never would. But she doesn't need to know that.

“Why do you have that stuff in the box, anyway?”

“You aren't old enough to understand.”

She punches my arm as we walk home. “I'm the same age as you, Troll.”

“I've matured faster.”

“You wish. Race you to our front door?”