Eleven-year-old Gladys Gatsby loves to cook, but no one in fast-food-obsessed
East Dumpsford shares her
passion--especially not her parents, who ban her from the kitchen after one
teeny, tiny crème-brûlée-triggered fire. Gladys finds a new creative outlet in
an essay contest in which she writes about her dream job: becoming a restaurant
critic for The New York Times. But when her essay lands on a Times editor’s
desk, Gladys finds herself taking on that job a lot sooner than she expected!
Her first assignment: review Classy Cakes, a fancy new “dessert bistro” in
To sneak into the city and the restaurant, Gladys will need help from every
friend she’s got--and possibly from her worst enemy, Charissa Bentley. The most
popular, meanest girl in the sixth grade is having a birthday party in
Manhattan, and if Gladys can get herself invited, she just might manage to meet
her deadline and hang on to her dream job. New York City
GLADYS GATSBY TAKES THE CAKE is a 48,000-word, humorous middle-grade novel about a girl who can’t wait to be a grown-up, even if that means biting off more (delicious, gourmet food) than she can chew. The novel stands alone but has series potential. I’ve read that you enjoy cooking, so I think that this project could be a great fit for you.
I graduated from
College with a B.A. in Creative
Writing and have a play published in the anthology FISHAMBLE FIRSTS ( ,
2008). My plays and screenplays have been shortlisted for several major awards,
which are detailed on my website, [redacted]. New Island
I would be happy to send my complete manuscript upon your request and have pasted the first page below. Thank you so much for your consideration.
GLADYS GATSBY TAKES THE CAKE
Gladys Gatsby stood at the counter, the spout of her father’s heavy blowtorch poised over the top of the first ceramic cup. Her finger hovered over the trigger button that was supposed to turn her plain little custards into crunchy, tasty treats. That's when she heard a car door slam outside.
Gladys froze for a second, but then she checked the clock. 5:16--still a good 44 minutes before her parents were due home from work, and they were never early. It’s probably just the neighbors, she told herself, and with that, she took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
Several things happened at once. With a hiss, a blue flame several inches longer than Gladys had expected shot out of the blowtorch, passing clear over the far edge of the first custard. With a whoosh, the wind outside changed direction and began to blow in through the kitchen window, setting the gauzy blue and white curtains aflutter. And with a jingle and a grinding noise and finally a click, someone turned a key in the Gatsbys’ front door.
A moment later, she heard her parents’ footsteps in the hall.
“Gladdy!” her dad called. “We’ve got pizza!”
Fudge! Gladys thought. She tried to release the trigger on the blowtorch, but to her horror, the spout kept shooting flame. She pumped on it desperately with her finger, but that only seemed to make the flame get bigger.
Their footsteps were getting louder.