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Genre: Mystery & Suspense
About altolLocation: The Great Frozen Tundra (Wisconsin) Home Region: Age:26 Favorite novels: The Elegant Universe, Prodigal Summer, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Neverwhere...really, asking what my favorite novel is, is like asking me to eat only one potato chip. Favorite writers: Neil Gaiman, Shel Silverstein, Barbara Kingsolver, J.K. Rowling, Lord Byron, to name a few. Favorite music: It all depends on what I'm writing- usually, a mixture of sigur ros, clint mansell, hard rock, and new age. Oh, and throw in a couple of 80's tunes too, for good measure. Non-noveling interests: Watersports, mountain biking, asian cuisine, puddle jumping, star gazing, and my two dogs, Loki and Shiva. |
Joined: octobre 20, 2008 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 0 NaNoWriMo buddies: 5
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Brief Author Bio: I am a down-to-earth Wisconsin gal with a keyboard and an overactive imagination. My writing ideas often start as scribbles in the margins of something I should actually be doing, and tends to cannonball from there. I began my career as a writer with early horror, stunning the second grade with such classics as "How the Easter Bunny Went Bad". I have been told by several teachers and friends that I am my own worst critic and that no one could be more horrible to my writing than me, but I hold out hope in finding such an editor someday. I am constantly demolishing my work and sifting through the wreckeage for useable pieces. I'm pretty sure not being able to brutally edit my works is going to slowly drive me insane. This year, I am determined to finish NaNoWriMo! No excuses! In any case, cheers! I am looking forward to meeting new people and improving my writing! |
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Synopsis: The Pretty Horses
Take one small town cop with a closetful of skeletons. Add a drunk profiler with a grudge against the world. Mix in a murderer with a bone to pick. Fold in a couple of dead girls.
Stir like crazy.
Excerpt: The Pretty Horses
He picked up his knife, shifted it in his hand until the smooth bone handle lay in a familiar way across his palm. Yes, soon it would be time to take another sacrifice, and this one would be different. She would be light and color to the world she inhabited, and her absence would leave the lives around her dimmer, diminished. Then they would search to find the thing that had removed their precious creature, and they would find him instead: his message, and his work.
He would let them find this one soon. The police were always so bored- he would let them have something to look forward to besides roughing up the drunk drivers and the 2-for-1 doughnut Tuesdays at Jerry’s Bakery. Yes, he would throw them a scrap or two and see how they picked at it, which angles they worked and which places they sniffed- and then the real work could begin.
He ran the pad of his thumb along the knife blade in his hand, and took another bite of his apple. The next one they would mourn. The next one they would miss.
And then they would be sorry.
They would listen then.
They would have no other choice.
Soon, very soon, it would be time to set about making things right. To replenish blood with blood. To snatch eyes for eyes. He would heap lumps of beautiful, bloody flesh on the scales until they balanced out, and in the end, the world would sit a little righter for his work.
“Soon,” he whispered, to the night and to the knife and to the ones that waited.
“Soon.”
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