Dragon’s Egg: Chapter 1, continued

“Ms. Banon? Letha?”

I groaned, and thought how all I ever do lately is wake up. I just wanted to sleep.

“Good morning, Ms. Banon. I need you to wake up now. I’m Doctor Chennupati. How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts. My stomach, too. I feel groggy. What happened to me? Why am I here?”

“You were brought in by ambulance six days ago, after a car accident. You’ve been unconscious since then. Do you remember anything?”

“Six days? I was driving to work… That’s all I remember. How badly was I hurt?” I looked over my body, the shapes under the blanket. It looked like everything was there. I wiggled my toes, reassured by their feather-light rustle against cloth.

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Dragon’s Egg: Chapter 1

Earth, Now

I felt drugged and weak, drowning as I fought the undertow of oblivion to waken. Fighting the feeling was like resisting an anesthesiologist’s mask; it seemed impossible that I would be able to open my eyes.

I groaned, then gave myself a pep talk. “Get with it, Letha. Get up. It’ll be better when you get in the shower. Do not be late again!”

There was a wave breaking over my head, and then a startling, waking jerk. I realized that I had fallen back asleep, but it was no easier to get up now than it was before.

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Dragon’s Egg: Prologue

Edengaard, 36 Earth Years Ago (Year: Leda 948)

“Alburn, you can’t suggest such a thing!” Allegra’s furious whisper echoed, bouncing off the stone walls of the zorala, as she emitted the furious odor of molten metal. “Letha has only four years – little more than a hatchling! Taking her to Earth, cloaking her as human… ”

“We must, Allegra. It’s the only way to protect her.” Alburn’s light gray eyes darkened in anger, nearly – but not quite – battle black. “Jakken has taken our queen.”

The small Therati gathering stilled, and the shocked scents of cedar, woodsmoke, and salt filled the air. Janwyn looked to her mate, Boulder, for answers, but he shook his large bronze head and addressed Alburn.

“What is this, Alburn? What do you mean, ‘taken’? No one ‘takes’ the Kiqu.”

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Sample Chapter for James Patterson Co-writing Contest

Check out the sample chapter I’m submitting for the James Patterson Co-writing Contest! I’m really excited about this story, and so impatient to get the whole thing out there. The submission deadline is tomorrow, and I’m doing the final tweaks tonight, so if you have any feedback (which I would LOVE), be sure to submit it in the comments ASAP!

Thanks again for all the support!

The chapter I’m submitting is the second chapter, when the main character, Charlie, has just come home from a week-long business trip to find someone else living there.

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Loving the Feedback! Keep It Coming!

I am thrilled with the feedback I’ve been getting on the synopsis and hook for the James Patterson co-writing competition. Your insights are truly helpful in fine-tuning an idea I’m really excited about. Thank you!

I’ve listened to the comments I’ve received so far, and done a bit of tweaking. What do you think of the updated version of the book summary? (Joan, I tried, but I couldn’t get it to work with the husband’s name in the first sentence.)

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The Prophecy

This is the prophecy (that will be explained in the story). It was written in 1753, and gives information on the disaster Callie will be battling, the year of her birth, and the year of the disaster. I’d love to get feedback on what you think the different lines mean!

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Chapter Three: Looking into the Abyss

“And when you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks back at you.”
– Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

The next seven days were a blur of numbness and passive activity, as Dr. Jared and assorted nurses tested, poked and prodded every inch of his body; fed, medicated and cleaned him; and asked him a never-ending stream of questions formulated, he assumed, to check the effect of his wound on his memory, personality and cognitive abilities.

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Chapter Two: A Necessary Evil

“Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him.”
– Fyodor Dostoevsky

His rage was fueled by love, stuttered with grief and loss. Behind him, his beautiful four-year-old Molly, the light of his life. She lay crumpled and torn, tiny arm extended to him, her baby-fine, flyaway blonde hair now stained crimson with the life that had drained from her precious body. Before him, the man


that had terrorized and murdered her.

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Chapter Two: The Devil’s Helper


For the time being, this chapter has been scrapped; I’m considering alternatives to the character Samantha.



“Where the hell is Samantha?”

The irritation in her boss’s voice set Sam’s heart pounding and pushed her to double-speed. She tugged at the three-quarter sleeves of her Ann Taylor short jacket and smoothed her short, dark auburn hair as she hurried towards Ms. Lotan’s office, mind whirling with excuses for her tardiness. She discarded traffic, flat tires, and alarm failure; she’d used these before with less than satisfactory results. She would have to use the old stand-by: non-specific illness. Not that it had more credibility than car incidents or power failure, but if delivered with a convincingly unhealthy face, it was acceptably difficult to argue. The trick was to present a sick face, and not an exhausted, I-slept-through-the-alarm-so-I’ve-only-been-up-for-25-minutes face.

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Chapter One: Lilith

Of Adam’s first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
That, ere the snake’s, her sweet tongue could deceive,
And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.

– Dante Gabriel Rossetti, “Body’s Beauty”

My name is Lilith Lotan. Trite, I know, but we love trite down here – at least, the upper class does. The damned don’t know the difference. I am perceived as the President and CEO of Abbadon Industries, but I prefer to be addressed as Queen, or Your Majesty. I can get away with it, too – because I create the realities here.

That’s what Hell is: your reality, created by someone who not only doesn’t care about you, but actively sets out to make you miserable. I don’t physically torture you, or even influence your existence to the point that that it has no more meaning. I just create situations of sustained discontent through the use of carefully planned, and – if I may say it – brilliant disappointments. I don’t push the damned to total desolation – there’s too much drama in that, which in turn gives the damned a redeeming nobility through their ability to endure. I’m going for the almost-but-not-quite unbearable unhappiness, caused by the kind of events that you can’t really complain about to others without receiving “other people have it so much worse” looks of disdain.

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