Writer's Voice Entry

Dear Writer's Voice,

I am so excited that the lottery selected me! Here is my entry, a YA contemporary entitled SAVANNAH'S GRACE, complete at 58,000 words.

Query:

Sixteen-year-old Vanna Jackson knows her father harbors a secret. What she doesn’t know is - she’s it.

She knows there has to be a reason why they travel the country like nomads, always avoiding the South. Why he staunchly refuses her pleas to go to school, and why he’s so wary about her developing a friendship with the next door neighbor. 

When her father takes a solo trip out of town, Vanna discovers a book that changes everything. It’s a book about her life. Only her name isn’t Vanna, it's Savannah Grace, and she's a little girl that was kidnapped fourteen years ago. As she’s reunited with her mother, she should be happy, but she’s torn, missing her father, the only person she’s ever really known and loved. She struggles to find a connection with her new family. Her unwelcoming sister holds a secret to her past and refuses to give it up. But it's only when she meets Hunter, a totally hot geek who plays in the marching band, that she feels more anchored to her new surroundings.

As the secrets unravel and trouble erupts at school, Vanna’s forced to decide between defending her cruel sister or sticking up for her new boyfriend. Maybe in the midst of it all, this lost girl might just find herself

First 250 words:

I knew my father harbored a secret.

But I didn’t know what it could be. It had to revolve around the trip he so desperately needed to take. A place he wanted to go, alone. He had circled and scratched out a set of four days continuously throughout the spring, leaving red marks all over the taped-up wall calendar. He’d broken up with two, or maybe three, girlfriends in that same time span.

As I pushed whole grain cereal around in a red plastic bowl, I realized that he might be toying with the idea of letting the newest girl babysit me. Sighing, I eyed up the dried, hard morsels clinging to the left side of my bowl, ivory milk in a puddle on the bottom. He wouldn’t leave me with her. She’s the dumbest one yet.

Usually, my father met them in a coffee shop, a bookstore, or a restaurant, where they were clerks or waitresses. He’d sweep into their lives with the ferocity of a tornado, promising them grand things they’d long since forgotten. He’d get the ones with smudges of life stamped all over them. 

A hard thump echoed from Dad’s bedroom. I didn’t react to the sound. My eyes remained steady on my soggy breakfast. Another bump, this time louder. And then a giggle. Moments later, the source of the ear-racking noise breezed by. I refused to look up or even say hello. I fought to remember the skinny girl’s name. What was it again?