Title: MUSE POWERS IN DANGER
Word count: 50,000
Genre: MG High /Fairy Tale Fantasy
Thalia, a 13-year-old modern muse has the power to slide into any story and change its outcome, but she is not free; she serves a tyrannical writer. And he will flatten her into a Flat-Stanley character and dog-ear her if she does not steal Beauty’s mirror, the one that shows a person’s soul and foretells the future.
When the writer throws her in a special manuscript made out of discarded characters from rough drafts, Thalia is on a mission: to save them from destruction and gain her independence by changing the story lines. But that’s without counting on the winter queen who kidnaps Beauty and wants to acquire Thalia’s muse powers to walk into the human world and steal the hearts of human children.
Thalia needs to make friends fast and escape foes sent by the queen to save the day or end up in the trash with the other drafts.
First 250 words:
In the library. On a dusty top shelf, over the writer’s desk.
As a muse, Thalia could make herself as small as an eraser. But being as clumsy as a butterfly without its wings didn’t help her crawl along the book shelf. Especially when her creator roamed the library to snatch her. Her legs made little Bambi splits at the thought.
She finally reached the pack of rough drafts collected by her writer. The overstuffed binder stood upright on the shelf, dark as ink.
Thalia brushed off the dust. She whispered the words carved on the cover in silver “Aeolia: Land of Discarded Characters.” For Thalia, that sounded like music to her ears. Somewhere in there hid the reinvented story of the Winter Queen, the only story magically alive. She had to find it.
She looked back over her shoulder, on high alert. The writer was here somewhere. Fear pumped in Thalia’s veins like through an IV. She pushed open the binder, her hand shaking like needle to the pole. When the pages crinkled, she squeezed between the pages to hide, sweat running down her back. In there, it smelled of mildew and leather. Some of the yellowish drafts were probably older than Thalia. She sneezed under the cloud of dust trapped in the wrinkled pages.
She slapped a hand on her mouth. It was easy to picture her creator fingering the pages, ready to flatten her back into a Flat Stanley. She cringed at the thought of the writer dog-earing her head.