Monday, February 9, 2015

SVS 3: WYRD, MG Contemporary Fantasy

Title: WYRD
Genre: MG Contemporary Fantasy 
Word Count: 52,000 

My Main Character would prefer to live in: 

…the sun! Hedda has been spending too much time in Jotunheim with the frost giants, so a nice get-away to a small Caribbean Island would be sweet. She could relax and wiggle her toes in the warm sand and gaze out at the glittery sea. Until she remembers the Midgard Serpent is so big it spreads through all the oceans. Wait, what's that on the horizon? 

Dear Agent,

When twelve-year-old Hedda discovers she’s a descendant of Beowulf, the legendary Scandinavian warrior, she panics. Guess she’s missing the bravery gene.

But Hedda better find it fast, because she and her know-it-all cousin Rohan are captured by real, live trolls while picking blueberries in the woods. Even worse, the trolls need their help. Solveig, the troll king’s daughter, has been poisoned by an ancient sword. And as it’s the Solstice, humans can cross the Rainbow Bridge to ask the gods for help. Rainbows are pretty and all that, but no way is Hedda risking her life for a troll. Yet, when she meets Solveig and discovers that she’s the last in the line of dwindling trolls and that their pasts are connected, Hedda knows she must do something.

Now, Hedda’s going to have to tap into some of that courage that pumped through her great (x 68) granddaddy Beowulf’s veins 1500 years ago. She and her cousin will have to outwit, outrun and out-battle the frost giants, the Midgard Serpent and even the goddess Hel. And then there’s the oh-so-twisted Loki, who still holds a deadly grudge against Beowulf for killing his son, Grendel. So when Beowulf's kin dares enter his realm, Loki is out for blood. Hedda’s blood.

First 250 words:

Her mom’s last words at the departure gate in Hartford rang in her ears: “It’ll do you a world of good, Hedda.”

More like a world too far away. 3687 miles to be exact. Hedda had googled it. Now here she was on the other side of the world in Sweden, tromping through the woods while trying to keep up with her cousin Rohan.

Didn’t her mom realize no matter how far Hedda travelled, she could never escape the sadness of missing her dad? And it didn’t help this heavy feeling was now best buds with her nerves. They were ganging up on her, ruining her life. She just wanted them to go away. Far away. Maybe 3687 miles away.

“Skynda dig!” her cousin shouted in Swedish.

“This must be some amazing blueberry patch!” Hedda called back in English. No way was she speaking Swedish again after Rohan made such a big deal about her using the wrong form of think at breakfast. Really, Swedes needed three different words for think? I don’t think so!

Rohan didn’t reply, and he didn’t slow down. And it wasn’t because he didn’t understand. He was good at English, just like Aunt Gunilla, who believed all American kids were spoiled and did nothing but watch TV and eat junk food all day. She’d already given Hedda a long list of chores, including picking blueberries for her big Midsummer’s Eve party on Friday.

Hedda stumbled over another gnarled root, which stuck out of the forest floor like the bone of some ancient beast.

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