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Genre: Literary Fiction
About KaldakaLocation: U.S.A Home Region: Age:17 Favorite writers: Tolkien, Pratchett, Gaiman, Rowling, Dessen, McInnes, Flannagan Favorite music: Vienna Teng, Murray Gold, Hans Zimmer, Howard Shore, Harry Gregson-Williams, Billy Joel, The Beatles, Mason Jennings, almost anything from Glee, Era, K. T. Tunstall, The Hush Sound, the soundtrack from Amelie, Regina Spektor, Josh Groban, Imogen Heap, Simon & Garfunkel Non-noveling interests: Cooking, singing, sword fighting, Virtual Hogwarts, reading, writing, graphics |
Joined: novembre 9, 2005 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 28 NaNoWriMo buddies: 53
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Synopsis: Whatever They Choose To Be
In 2001, after a 7.9 earthquake hit El Salvador and killed almost 900 people, the magical community came out of hiding and acknowledged that the earthquake had been caused by magic. The next election brings Nathan Ayers to power as president, who immediately places down firm restrictions on magic-users, including execution for some offenses.
12 years later, Anna Baines, whose father died in the earthquake when she was 9 and who has lived with President Ayers and his son Jared ever since, becomes determined to return magic users to freedom so that she no longer has to hide her psychic gifts. Drawing Jared and Kathleen Siskin (her best friend and roommate at college, called Katie) into it with her, she soon meets Owen Lane, a warlock and Jared's close friend, and the four friends take a road trip fresh out of college, learning about magic and revolution and freedom along the way.
And in the end, the question is no longer 'Will we win?' but 'Do we deserve to win?'
A story about what is right and what is wrong, the bonds of friendship and love, and freedom. Jared, Anna, Katie and Owen are torn apart and forced back together by a revolution they may not deserve to win.
Excerpt: Whatever They Choose To Be
(two short related snippets from the most recent tangent)
Somewhere in Virginia the four of you turn off the roads and there's a small house, nothing special, sitting on it's acre of land with a weary look to it, as if it has given up long ago. The woman who answers the door is white-haired, but she looks young. Anna had told you this, had told you about the woman who paid the color of her hair for the workings of her hands.
You would think her hair would be black, but it falls down her back in white waves.
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Don't blink. Don't say what you're thinking. Somewhere in Virginia a woman is selling the curve of her lips for the subtle weave of space. Kiss her once more before she does.
