THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE is a 101,000-word adult fantasy novel with series potential.
The Olympians were supposed to be confined to nineteen-year-old Ava’s textbooks, but it’s hard to believe they aren’t real when Artemis shows up at her house. No less of a shock is the news that the Muses have chosen her to stop Ares on his rampage across the
All Ava has ever wanted is a real home. The Olympians offer her one, and they seem to care about her more than any human ever has. Ava is as unprepared as they come, but she’s willing to fight for them. Learning how to use a sword and ride a pegasus is only step one, but Ares is marching toward
Because of its base in mythology, magic, and history, THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE could be described as Shadow and Bone meets American Gods. I’m an intern with Entangled Publishing and a high school English teacher. I have written three short films, each placing first at the Prairie Grass Film Challenge. I earned my B.A. in English writing under award-winning author James Calvin Schaap.
Thank you for your consideration,
THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE
After the war, the neighbors would whisper, “We saw how it started, you know--we were there when she was born.” The child’s mother--lovely woman, really--had loved entertaining. But then came the child, and after that, the wasting illness. When the illness left, it took the mother with it, leaving the child--a girl named Ava--the motherless daughter of a red-faced, small-eyed man.
That man never should have had a child. The neighbors all knew it. When they stopped by to say how sorry they were about the mother’s death, he wouldn’t answer the door, nor would he return their phone calls. Most unforgivably, he left the casseroles on the steps until the wild cats ate them. No one was surprised when Ava was sent to live with her mother’s parents.
For a while, the neighbors forgot about her. But one summer evening, six years after the toddler left, a rusty
Ava, now an eight-year-old child, had been sent back to her father. Her grandparents had died now, too. The girl wasn’t crying, wasn’t screaming. She simply held on to her seatbelt and refused to get out of the car. She clutched a picture frame.