Title: THALIA, THE STORIES SPINNER
Word count: 50,000
Genre: MG Fantasy
Thalia is a stubborn 13-year-old muse with the power to change any story’s outcome. But she is controlled by a tyrannical writer who threatens her into doing things she wouldn’t do otherwise. This time, he locks her into a manuscript with the reinvented characters of Andersen and wants her to steal Beauty’s mirror, the one that can show someone’s true soul.
But to save the manuscript from destruction and gain her independence, Thalia must reorganize a world with heroes who feel put upon by her. And she must face enemies who may have even greater powers, like the winter queen who wants to steal her muse powers.
Thalia needs to use the secret powers of the manuscript to get up a better defense against her enemies, find the mirror and use it as weapon. Fast; for if she fails, she will end up in the trash with the other crumpled-up, forgotten drafts.
First 250 words:
Thalia flattened her back along the spines of the collected works of Hans Christian Andersen. As a muse, Thalia could make herself as small as an eraser. But today her size did not matter. She was as clumsy as a butterfly without its wings, which didn’t help her crawl along the dusty book shelf. Especially when her creator roamed the library to snatch her. Her legs made a little Bambi split at the thought and she almost stumbled nose first on an overstuffed binder. The binder stood upright on the shelf, dark as ink, packed with rough drafts collected by her writer.
Thalia brushed off the dust covering the silver letters. Her lips whispered the words carved on the cover: “Aeolia: Land of Discarded Characters.” That sounded like music to Thalia’s ears. Somewhere in there, the reinvented story of the Winter Queen was waiting for Thalia to find it. The only story magically alive.
The library cracked. Thalia looked back over her shoulder, on high alert. The writer was here somewhere. She pushed open the binder, her hand shaking like a compass needle. When the first page crinkled, she squeezed between the pages to hide, sweat running down her back. The paper smelled of mildew and leather. Some of the yellowish drafts were probably older than her.
She sneezed under the cloud of dust trapped in the wrinkled pages and slapped a hand on her mouth. It was easy to picture her creator fingering the pages, ready to smash her back into a bookmark.