Twelve-year-old Isabelle Tresdon doesn’t have a magical bone in her body--but she does have one seriously freaky silver strand of hair.
The Silver Strand is that hair’s story. Okay, well, it’s Isabelle’s story, sure, but she's about to figure out that she’s nothing without that strand. Because of that hair, Isabelle can transform particles of energy into matter. Because of her strand, she will be invited to study magic at
a secret school inside the earth’s core. And because of that school, Isabelle’s
life will change forever. So it’s too bad that her silver strand is about to
suddenly wither and drain Isabelle’s magic and life in just five days. Mastermind Academy
At 55,000 words, The Silver Strand is a children’s fantasy adventure for fans of secret underground worlds, unexpected villains and monsters, high-tech flying devices, and the kind of humor featured in fantasies like Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl. I won a first chapter critique from Deborah Halverson (formerly of Harcourt Children's Books USA), for which she said the following: 'strong opening', 'you've got the voice and pacing down,' 'the voice is on and has great youthful sensibility with fun and quirky elements'. I’m hoping it’ll be up your alley and have included the first two hundred and fifty words for your consideration.
At present I am writing the second novel of this series. I have been a member of the Young Adult Novel Workshop (critique group) on Writing.com for two years, have worked with a writing mentor and undertaken various writing for children courses through the New South Wales Writing Centre, Australia.
Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.
“Shhhh!” Isabelle swiped them away and glared at her loud-mouthed best friend.
No doubt everyone on the crowded school bus had heard, and forty-two pair of eyes stared at the girl with the freaky, silver strand. She glanced around the rows of black vinyl seats. Four rows behind her, a girl hung over the back of her seat, showing off to her friends and blowing gum bubbles. One seventh grade boy dished out dead arms to some poor kid across the aisle. The kids crunched up his face, sucking up the pain of the fist sized bruise forming on his arm.
Repeated elbow nudges fuelled Isabelle’s consideration of punching Bianca’s arm. Raised on a farm, her best friend had learned to lasso a horse at age eight and trained mustangs by ten. Compared to being kicked, trod on or thrown off a horse, Isabelle’s punches would have felt like a playful slap on the arm.
Instead, Isabelle slumped back in her chair and listened to the bus’ shudders and groans at the punishing hill. It had already broken down three times that month with smoke pouring out the engine and pieces falling off. With each bump over an endless stream of potholes on the narrow country road, she bet the wheels were next to go, and they’d roll back down the hill and into a paddock, collecting ten cows along the way.