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Critique Workshop #1 EXQUISITE SENSES

  Posted by Michelle4Laughs , 10 February 2014 · 400 views

Genre: YA Speculative/Thriller
Word Count: 86,000
16-year-old Leila creates random music out of thin air when she’s upset. Her best friend Dane, also 16, hears what other people aren’t saying. It’s all brand new and pretty freaking weird. They’re trying to figure out how and why this is happening to them when Dane’s mother Tara is kidnapped - an attack they barely escape themselves. Now the kidnappers are hunting them, and to understand why (and survive the manhunt), they must uncover the family secrets that tie them – and their talents - to their pursuers. Murder, tragedy, groundbreaking science, and bad pharmaceuticals are just the beginning.
Both Leila and Dane narrate their flight from a snowy Minnesota farmhouse  to Peru’s ancient ruins, where learn that they have only 48 hours to unravel the kidnappers’ plans or Tara will never come home. But they can’t do anything until they escape from underground Peru – and trigger Leila’s newest and most powerful talent.
EXQUISITE SENSES, a YA Speculative/Thriller, is complete at 86,000 words.
First 250
The crowd in the hall finally thinned. I slipped out of the practice room where I’d been hiding and quickly opened my locker, hoping I’d succeeded at avoiding my friends. They were all waiting for me to talk about it.

I just wasn’t ready to discuss my Humiliation (but not Heartbreak) at the Hands of the Hose bag, Antonio. Alliterative agony. I’d been dodging them, and they knew it. The nice thing about best friends is, they let you do that.

I closed my locker door and was trying to find the will to go to class when he slithered up behind me.


so did not want to do this right now.


I sighed heavily and turned to face him.

And there it was again – the song. Shocking, loud, filling all the space around and between us. The same song that blasted me when I was crying in the shower this morning. The one about fire and burning and tears.

The temperature in the hall rose about 20 degrees.

Antonio Ruiz gazed up at the PA speakers and then into my locker. The song pulsed with rage. I could feel the tiled floor vibrating under my feet, sending shockwaves of rhythm and keening fury up my spine.

“You’ve got your speakers in here now?” He shouted above the din.

I coughed violently, like I’d been punched, and the song fell abruptly away, leaving behind a sticky, uneasy quiet.


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