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| Girlie LOVES being held, doesn't she? |
I've sent four or five out yesterday, and I felt good about it. This is the stage of querying agents that is fun -- the part where I get to brag about my novel. This time, it's Mythos, which starts with a woman's missing memory and ends with the upcoming Apocalypse.
Here's the beginning:
In the waning light of a Chicago summer evening, a male rested his back against a light pole and gazed at the indigo horizon over the lake. The breeze from the lake caught a strand of his dark hair and blew it across his face. He gazed up at the concrete horizon to see a form falling, falling from a good height. He squinted, and then raced down greasy streets to its impact, his nerves on edge, his heart barely pounding.
He arrived at a dead end where a woman lay sprawled, her head pillowed by a cat that had been crushed by the impact. Just behind her stood a rusty dumpster in front of a wall, which amplified the smell of dying.
He knelt in one flowing movement. He checked her breathing – she breathed still, steadily, as if she slept. He, of anyone on Earth, knew she did not sleep.
The man leaned closer, and his face brushed against curly blonde hair. He could smell the sharpness of blood. “Can you hear me? Let me know if you can hear my voice.” No response.
He did not touch her so as not to injure her further. He did touch the cat, black with a white locket, whose labored breath indicated certain death. He whispered to it, “Well done, brave cat. You have saved this woman’s life.” The cat purred.
He leaned again to whisper in the woman’s ear, his hair falling in his face: “Please do not die. We have just met, but I suspect you are the most important being in my life, my love.” He stroked her hair and murmured words of comfort. Tears ran down his cheeks.
When the sirens approached, he froze for a second.
Then he dissolved into nothing.
**************
The less fun part of querying, of course, is getting rejections. I've never not gotten one. Every time I go through a round of rejections, I swear I will quit querying. But I keep writing, and I keep querying. And spring keeps arriving.
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