Eeep! After a near-death experience with my trusty Mac, I managed to secure a spot in The Writer’s Voice contest, hosted by Cupid of Cupid’s Literary Connection, Brenda of Brenda Drake Writes, Monica of Love YA, and Krista of Mother. Write. (Repeat.). Sooo thrilled! Without further ado, here’s my entry…
ENTRY NUMBER: 101
GENRE: MG Fantasy
PLOT SUMMARY FROM QUERY:
Thirteen-year-old Grim Grinnert has no idea how he got stuck as an Apprentice in Chronicity, the Town of Time. All he knows is that he wants to go home, because there’s something wonky about this place where HoroHounds are used to search the centuries and a class assignment can send you to the Peloponnesian War. Even his mother’s stale-pizza-and-flat-soda suppers would be an improvement on the Count, who’s keeping him under lock and key, or his TimeWheel teacher, who’s trying to off him.
But the Watch, the robotic police force of Chronicity, has other plans for Grim. He’s missing the hourglass birthmark that’s supposed to brand everyone who enters Chronicity, and they’ve given Grim one month to convince them he’s not a Timbukker – an illegal. With the help of his two best friends and a 400-year-old girl he may or may not have a crush on, he sets out to determine how and why he stumbled into Chronicity. If he fails to prove his innocence before the Watch watch they’ve strapped to his arm hits zero, they’ll send him someplace horrible… like 1932. Forever.
Tick tock, says the clock. And in Chronicity, time is the one thing Grim doesn’t have.
CHRONICITY, a MG fantasy, is complete at 54,000 words.
Grim hated his name. It wasn’t short for Griffin, or Grissom, it was just Grim, and he’d never understood why his parents called him something that meant “extremely unpleasant”. Some kids at school, mostly girls, thought it sounded mature, but to him it just sounded depressing. Why couldn’t he have had some nice, normal, average name, one that didn’t make him stick out like a sore thumb?
But then, his parents never had been exactly average. And although the Grinnerts lived in an average town, on an average street, in an extremely average house, it only took one peek inside to see that they were anything but.
The front foyer was filled to overflowing with every sort of gadget, gizmo, and useless doodad imaginable. There were machines that paired socks and threw away the strays, prototypes of vehicles that ran on powdered Tang, and widgets that molded earwax into jewelry (this last had been a pretty profitable business until someone at Broadbend General Hospital got curious as to why all the patients had such impeccably clean ears, and discovered Grim’s dad posing as a nurse and Q-tipping everyone in sight).
Every room in the Grinnert house was as cluttered as the foyer, with one exception. Grim’s bedroom was as neat as the rest of the house was jumbled. Only two things proved that someone actually lived there: a coat rack that held one windbreaker and a tattered baseball cap, and a single homemade picture frame on the nightstand.