Title: GERALD AND THE AMULET OF ZONRACH
Category: Upper MG
Genre: Humorous Fantasy
Word Count: 77,000
In the realm of Wyverndawn, a wizard’s height is the mark of his power, and shrinking an entire inch is disastrous for twelve-year-old Gerald. Looking for promotion of an inch or two, Gerald decides his superior wizarding skills are just what his village needs to improve the view. But the spell he bought – from a guy who knows a guy – is a tad more powerful than even he anticipates.
Question 1: In your MC’s voice, what costumed character do you relate most to and why?
If I were a costumed character I would be Willy Wonka. I adore chocolate and if I help enough kids I could even be promoted a few inches.
Question 2: As an author, what makes your manuscript a tasty treat (aka unique/marketable)?
Young children are obsessed with their height and will declare that they are not four feet six but four feet six and three quarters. Readers will like the idea that Gerald can gain height if he casts successful spells, so the better he is the taller he will grow.
First 250 words:
A flash of blinding blue light filled the room, followed by a billowing cloud of dark, acrid smoke.
Gerald’s eyes locked onto the bedroom door. No-one wanted to hear that word from a wizard and definitely not one only five feet tall. He had dreams of exceeding six feet but only the best wizards in the land ever reached those dizzying heights. Every successful spell he cast could gain him an inch in promotion, but if it failed he could also be demoted. And Gerald had the distinct feeling the latter was about to apply to him. It seemed unfair that the only profession afflicted by this rule was his. Hopefully no-one had noticed this little faux pas.
A rumble under his feet, steadily increased in strength until the floor beneath him rolled like a ship in a storm. Trying to stay upright, he staggered to the window at the front of his weather-beaten cottage. The small hill supposed to be growing outside – to improve the view – failed to materialize. But the cotton ball clouds, normally gently drifting on the warm summer breeze, were now whizzing by. The sight of villagers clinging to structures for dear life deepened his frown of consternation. His flint grey eyes nearly popped out of his head when the village herbalist flew past his window and, as he followed her progress across the green, he spotted Lord Moleheart hanging onto a tree like a flag in a gale.
“Kack!” said Gerald.