Title: GEMINI CRUSH
Word Count: 70,000
Sixteen-year-old twins Alex and Zoe Swanson used to look identical, but thanks to Alex’s transformation from girl-next-door normal to goth-ish, telepathic freak, the twins not only act like polar opposites, they look nothing alike. Even so, they’re the best of friends and nothing can tear them apart. Except, that is, a family curse that’s tied to Alex’s telepathic ability, pits twin against twin and almost certainly guarantees one of them will die.
Question 1: In your MC’s voice, what costumed character do you relate most to and why?
“The Wonder Twins because we’re twins and Alex has a totally cool power, like Jayna’s, whereas mine sucks, like Zan’s. Alex is a telepath and I block thoughts from entering her mind, which let me tell you feels a lot like getting bludgeoned in the head with a baseball bat, but I’m not bitter or anything.” — Zoe Swanson.
Question 2: As an author, what makes your manuscript a tasty treat (aka unique/marketable)?
Gemini Crush takes a unique look at telepathy by showing how it can drive someone mad, and because the story is told from the point of view of both twins, it shows how different interpretations of the same situation can tear even the best of friends apart. Plus, it’s filled with mystery and romance and has some cool twists at the end.
First 250 words:
Rumor has it crazy skips a generation. But according to my mom the chance of inheriting crazy is less than one percent if neither parent is a nut job. Neither of my parents is nuts, but Gran suffers from some weird disease called paranoid audio hallucination disorder. It means she hears voices in her head. She’s not a murderer or anything, but she’s totally wacked.
Gran sits on the couch, staring at the television. She rocks back and forth, mumbling to herself, and her head twitches, making her blue cloud of hair dance like an epileptic ball of cotton candy.
My mirror image, Alex, sits at the dining room table. Her eyes are unfocused, fixing on a space somewhere between the tip of her nose and her sketchbook. She’s supposed to be sketching designs for the final outfits of our back-to-school wardrobes. Military chic. That’s what we agreed on. She designs. I sew. But she’s not doing her part. Just like she didn’t do her part to help take care of Gran or finish the chores. No thanks to Alex, the house smells like a mix of lemony fresh Pledge and macaroni and cheese.
Taking care of Gran and the household is like number one hundred and fifty on my list of top one hundred things to do on a Saturday night. But I don’t bitch. Not to my parents. I don’t want to add to their problems. I just want things to go back to normal.
But normal feels like a lifetime ago.