The Writer’s Voice Entry: FIELD OF BONES

Query: 

Dear Wonderful Judges,

Seventeen-year-old Cade Shor just murdered his girlfriend—with a kiss.

He didn't mean to kill Hailey—he's not even sure how it happened. But with new instincts driving him to kill again, he doesn’t have much time to figure out how to stop the bloodshed and the assassin now hell-bent on taking his head.

Cade starts looking for help with his best friend Ana, but neither of them expects punk-ass Malachi to be the answer to their questions. He explains that Cade’s a Reaper—an immortal tasked with releasing the souls of the dying from their bodies. As a Ward, Malachi is tasked with guiding and protecting Reapers—but he hasn’t told them everything.

What Cade doesn’t know is that he’s a direct descendant of the most powerful Reaper on record, and his killings have caught the attention of a formidable group. To them, he’s a loose cannon and a risk to their establishment.

If Cade doesn't learn how to control his body's new addiction to the life force of the living—and fast—an assassin will be the least of his problems.

FIELD OF BONES is a completed 86,000-word paranormal YA novel written in Cade and Ana's alternating POVs, and is a standalone novel with series potential. Thank you for your time.

First 250: 

I don't usually think much when making out with my girlfriend, but right now I think I might be dying.

A part of me has shifted—broken off and crashed over my lungs and heart, leaving shrapnel in the muscles lining my ribcage. Fire drips down my chest and spreads smoothly across my body like God exhaling into me. My skin prickles with electricity and my mind overflows with neon color and laughter. I've never been into drugs, but when you feel like you might explode from the raw power flooding your veins, high barely covers it.

I'm not high—I'm on the moon. I'm on freaking Jupiter.

It’s incredible—too incredible—my heart is seconds away from giving out, my brain on the verge of shutting down, and this kiss. This frickin’ amazing kiss.

I think it’s killing me.

“911, what's your emergency?”

The colors fade from my mind and it's like I'm waking from a dream I could spend eternity in, but the real world doesn't feel right—it's cold, dark, empty. I'm in a car but I can't remember whose it is. Bright street lights from the parking lot loom over me like a spotlight.

Then I see her.

Slumped over in my arms, barely breathing, pale and cool to the touch. As I sit her up, her head lolls on her shoulders, limp, delicate. The crisp smell of autumn wafts through the open window, lingering in my lungs, spicy and fresh; the scent of bright decaying leaves and earth, fused with the haze of stale cigarettes.