Sixteen year old Barbara Wisnewski doubted her life could get any suckier. But when her totally dysfunctional parents seem to get their lives together she discovers she’s not part of the equation; homelessness and destitution are staring her right in her freckled face.
Left to fend for herself in her poverty-stricken upstate
Barb learns of a teen pregnancy crisis in another town, and the awesome benefits those unwed moms-to-be receive, including a place to live. In a moment of brilliance, she thinks she has found the way out. Barb enlists a group of other disenfranchised schoolmates to form a Pregnancy Pact and decides the arrival of a visiting touring motorcycle club will help them get what they want.
MOTORCYCLE BABIES is 46,000 words of YA commercial fiction told through Barb’s diary entries. I believe it ticks all of the boxes you mentioned: heartfelt, emotional, realistic, dramatic, family-related, and character-driven. Barb's unique life situation and setting will take you through a journey of heartache and hardship to come to a beautiful conclusion.
I am a member of SCBWI. A number of my short stories have been published and a humorous play I wrote (adapted from my novella) was produced.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
I hate my life and nearly everyone in it. Don't know why Mom gave me this diary. Like I should document my rollicking fun life for posterity. Yeah, right. Stuck in this s***hole with nothing to do. New-frigging-Krumpsberg, for G**’s sake. This wasn’t even a stop on the Underground Railroad--not even desperate slaves would want to stay here.
Then there’s my father. A total waste of space. Seriously. He just sucks the life out of the room, drinking and yelling at the TV, 24/7. I wish he'd just die and leave us alone. Then me and mom could enjoy ourselves for a change. She works two s***** jobs ‘cause he refuses to work. Maybe she does it to keep away from him. That's why I work after school and weekends at Aunt Pitty Pat’s--the only decent restaurant in town--just to be out of this mad haunted house. It's not haunted by ghosts--that might actually be kind of fun--it's haunted by him and his constant belching and farting. I could tape a s***load of those pine tree air fresheners to him and he’d still reek like a dumpster.
Mom says the Waste of Space (she doesn't call him that, she calls him, ‘Your father,’ which sincerely makes my skin crawl) has ‘emotional problems’. She makes air quotes when she says it, but not when she says, ‘your father’. He’s just a lazy a** drunk.
Now the deets about Murrow. My BFF. He’s gay.