In Defense of the Elusive Agent

Like many aspiring writers, I stalk querytracker.net and agentquery.com with regularity. I need to know things like who’s accepting (or not accepting) queries and the exact hour they will open up again, should I use Mr. or Ms. when addressing the query letter, and reconfirm the submission guidelines.

What? You don’t believe me? Ok, I’ll tell the truth. I really log on to see who’s saying what about which agent. This is important stuff! Has the agent signed anyone new? (Oh yeah, I good naturedly hate that person.) Are they on vacation? What’s the response time for rejections? Partials? Fulls? What’s their form rejection sound like? Are they the no answer=no interest type of agent? This is breaking news stuff.  Some of the information is really helpful and those brave enough to post their rejections (and ultimately their success stories) remind us that while writing can be very lonely, there are people out there who get it. Still, there are the few who feel slighted by the response (or lack of response) they receive and they let everyone else know about it.

As artists, we aren’t always the best at accepting rejection. It’s not too hard to convince us that we were unfairly and personally judged by the high and mighty agent who’s making so much money on his/her other clients that he/she doesn’t want to take on a talent such as ours.

But I’ve had the chance to interact with some great agents in the business at conferences. I follow their blogs more religiously than I follow the Indianapolis Colts (*gasp*) and I get tweets from even more. (Thank goodness for social media!) I’ve learned a lot from them. More importantly, I’ve learned a lot about them and the jobs they are so passionate about.  Which is why I feel I am qualified (*chokes back laughter*) to give you my take on the life and times of an agent. (And since I’m in query mode, I will add I am in no way sucking up to any agents who might find this post.)

Here are some comments I have seen or heard regarding the role of agents and my take on them.

1.       “The agent never responded to my query. I bet she/he isn’t even looking for new clients.” Okay, and this may or may not apply to the top unnamed agents at the top unnamed agencies (You know who they are… the ones that roll of the tongue when you start listing your dream team), but writers are an agents bread and butter. You know that word “commission”? (Don’t worry… we’ll get to that soon.) Well, in case you forgot, commission normally indicates that, if you don’t sell something, in this case, someone’s manuscripts/foreign rights/film options/etc, you don’t get paid. Sure, they may be able to pick up side jobs and take on other responsibilities in the office to make ends meet, but ultimately, they want the commission. The more contracts they get for their clients, the better quality of meat they can eat for dinner.

2.       “I sent in a steamy erotica that would make Heff blush, but all I got was an email that said it wasn’t for them.” Just out of curiosity, did you send it to an agent who reps children/YA books? Are you sure they were looking for your style of writing? Uh, no, I just sent it to every agent on the list. Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. Some agents are listed on QT and AT as taking everything under the sun, which is why it’s always a good idea to double check on their websites before you send off your query. If you don’t, you’re wasting their time and adding unnecessary hash marks to your rejection tally.  

3.       “The agent only asked for 3-5 pages. How could they possibly know my story isn’t for them?” (This is perhaps my favorite one, quite possibly because I am guilty of allowing this indignant thought to pass through my mind.)  Let’s try that honesty thing again: it only takes a couple of pages to figure out if your editing process consists of fixing the mistakes caught by spell check. Second, there’s this thing called a hook. You know… the thing that hooks a reader in? You don’t know what that is? That could be your next problem.  When you’re searching for that hidden treasure in a stack of books, how long does it usually take to know if it’s the right one for you? What’s that? 3-5 pages? Same here. (Though my book club has taught me there are rare exceptions to that rule, ie. Story of Beautiful Girl)

4.       “Why does it take an agent so long to get back to me? Aren’t they waiting by their computer for my jaw dropping letter?” Perhaps a better question is, “Would you want to be represented by someone who just sat at their desk and answered the queries of others?” I would guess that, when we reach the illusive promised land of representation, we would actually prefer our agent spend time trying to sell our latest work. You know, so everyone can get paid.  Now there are those agents who can reject (or request) quickly. In fact, my fastest rejection is nine minutes. (That one did leave me using #3 as I pouted my way to sleep.) We live in a society of instantaneous gratification. But rising to the top of the slush pile takes time. Suck it up and get to work on your next masterpiece.

5.       “15% Commission? 20% for foreign rights? WTF?” Remember when you first started writing and you had that doe-eyed, romantic impression that, as a published writer you could spend your days at the keyboard spewing forth all the passionate prose you could think of? How’s that working out for you? In this day and age, it’s more important than ever to promote our work (like this blog or twitter {you can follow me @writinghoosier}). Now, maybe you want to keep as much cash as possible and have opted to take the self-publishing route. Very cool. Nothing wrong with that. But I, personally, will gladly hand over 15% to someone who’s going to be looking out for my best interest! Heck, I tip my servers 20%. Shouldn’t someone who’s helping me plan and achieve my dreams get a decent cut?

I was going to stop at five, but since I’m preparing for the Midwest Writer’s Workshop (www.midwestwriters.org), I thought I would throw out one more. (PS. It’s not really agent related. Sorry for the false advertising!)

6.       “Why should I go to a writer’s conference? I’m a great writer already.” I can only laugh at this because I said the same thing one year ago. I attended my first conference convinced I was going to walk away with an agent and well on my way to a six-figure advance, 3 book publishing contract. (Okay, maybe I wasn’t that naive, but it was close.) The writer I was then and the writer I am now aren’t even in the same league. I’m not saying that my books will ever be described as epic, but in three days I not only learned that I had a lot to learn, but I left with the tools I needed to overhaul my novel. I took advantage of a manuscript review by NYT Bestseller Marcus Sakey who showed me how I could up my game and really add suspense to my YA fantasy. I pitched an agent and got a partial request. (For the record, I’m still waiting for a reply, one year later… just a friendly reminder not to put your eggs in one basket.) And those two things were great. But what was really helpful is that I recharged my creative battery by being around people who love books and words as much as I do. And, even better: I found three very honest critique partners who have helped me craft my novel over the last year. Now I’m honored to call them friends. Friends who can empathize with the sting of rejection and celebrate finally figuring out how to make your character do what you want them to do. As I mentioned, I’m heading back to MWW next week and I have another pitch scheduled, which I plan to knock out of the park (as long as I don’t knock the table over with my nerves). But the energy that comes from being around other writers: you can’t beat that!

That’s it. There is no more. I’ve espoused all I can muster on this topic. Agree with it, disagree with it, whatever. Just remember to Be Bold in whatever flames your fires of passion!

I Read in Movies

I love film adaptions. Not because I think they are better than the books, which of course they are not, but because they are a writer’s vision brought to “reality”.


I write movies in book form. Each and every scene has been acted out in my head. Dialogue has been rehearsed late at night, when no one can hear me. And casting the characters is a long and daunting process.

As I wait for my chance to see the final Harry Potter movie this weekend, I wonder what JKR thought when she first saw the set of her literary masterpiece. I can only imagine what Stephanie Meyer will be thinking when she sees Bella transform from a waif-like girl to a full on pregnant mom-to-be. And, when The Hunger Games comes out, what will Suzanne Collins think of the arena?

I know it’s going to sound vain, but I want to see my books become movies. I would love for someone to do what I cannot. I am not a screenwriter. The very thought of doing so brings on instantaneous writer’s block. I would never survive in Hollywood. I like writing in my office in Indiana. I like having fireworks on the Fourth of July without fear of starting a forest fire. I would, however, jump at the chance to get to go on set and observe the film making process. Seriously, I’ve thought about writing a book about life on a movie set just to see if I can gain access to the process.

Not only do I write in pictures, I read in pictures, too. It’s not always a good thing. Sometimes, if I can’t get into the writer’s vision, I can’t get into the book. When I read a book set in the south, take The Help, every character has a southern accent, ranging from a hint to a full on drawl. I feel the heat of the day and the tension of the social conflicts send shivers down my spine. The history of Jackson, Mississippi that I learned in school suddenly goes from the past to the moment.

So, after all that rambling about, here’s my question: Can Hollywood exist without books and can the publishing houses exist without movies? Who needs who more?

What I've Learned: A Baker's Dozen

It’s been almost two years since I finished the first draft of The Partizans. It’s been two very long years of agonizing over every single word I’ve committed to paper (and then uncommitted when I realized I used the completely wrong word). After putting the last comment from my betas into the master ms, I started thinking about what I have learned since October 3, 2009. So here we go, in no particular order:

1.       Facebook can be a blessing and a curse. It can inspire you with quizzes and distract you with work on an imaginary farm or the chance to stalk your high school boyfriend.

2.       Writing is a solitary passion, but it will never exceed your expectations if you don’t find someone who secretly hates you to tell you what’s really wrong with your character, plot line, comma usage, etc. (Thanks, mom! LOL)

3.       When starting out on a new project, estimate the amount of ink and paper you will need and then multiply that times five. Anything less is a joke.

4.       To be a better writer, find a critique partner who is better at the craft than you are.

5.       Even if your muse is on vacation, sit your butt in the chair and wait for a long distance burst of inspiration. Likewise, if you are on vacation, expect your muse to show up for work regardless of your plans.

6.       Writer’s conferences are binges for those drawn to prose.  You spend a couple days surrounded by people who love to read and write as much as you do and come home on a mega high, only to crash under the weight of reality. Luckily, your new writer friends can give you the occasional fix through great tweets!

7.       A pitch session really is just a conversation with someone who knows more about the industry than you do. Take advantage of the one-on-one time!

8.       When you start to query your first manuscript, you might want to establish some drinking game rules. It will make the sting a little less painful, at least until the next morning when your muse wakes you up in the form of a four year old screaming for breakfast.

9.       On the subject of agents, even though many requests for a partial and full ultimately end with a rejection, I think each should be celebrated. After all, you made it through the slush pile and that’s more than most people.

10.   When beginning a new project, feel free to look at a situation and wonder to yourself, “How can I really screw over my character?” (You may use more explicit words if you so decide.)

11.   When you think your query letter/synopsis/manuscript is perfect, put it away for a few weeks and then try to read it without picking up a red pen. If you can do that, you’re good to go.

12.    I hate to workout. It’s no secret. I tell everyone. However, nothing shakes the writer’s block off like a couple miles on the treadmill with a good friend. Especially if that person hates working out as much as you do!

13.   Finally, the only way to become a writer is to actually be a writer. Don’t let others determine your fate. A writer has commitment and passion that many only dream about. We are the inspiration of tomorrow and the preservationists of yesterday. Of course, we are the self-loathers of today, but that’s completely beside the point.

Thanks for taking the time to stop by my blog. I’m hoping to keep it more up to date and always entertaining in the future. Until my next post, don’t forget to follow me on Twitter @writinghoosier and Be Bold in whatever you love to do!

The Muse Cometh

In a week, we are heading out for a two week family vacay to Mexico. Between now and then I have to wash and pack summer clothes for three people (DH is on his own), clean up the house so we don’t return home to chaos, do yet another run to Home Depot so dad has plenty of supplies to continue on the remodel while we’re gone, and spend some quality time with my betas… it’s going to be a busy seven days. And, as it so happens, my muse, who must have been at a Muse Convention, has reappeared in the form of my second book. Of all the things I said I have to do before we leave, the one thing I didn’t say was “start a new book”. The real problem is that you can’t turn your back on the Muse. At the very least you have to humor her. I’ve promised two days of writing on the beach, free of the restraints of motherhood (again, DH is on his own), and I’ve allowed her the privilege of walking me through the pre-write synopsis… what more can the woman want. CHAPTER ONE???


I love my muse. She is, without a doubt, a gift from God. But I’ve found that it’s best not to ignore her… she’s very persistent. So here are my options: forget about packing, except for the basics (they have clothes in Mexico) and send the men to the Depot while hiring someone to come to my house while I’m gone and make the messes disappear (personally, I like this part of the option the best); ignore my muse and possibly face her wrath; embrace sleep deprivation (there will be plenty of time to sleep on the plane (this time DH would be on his own with two kids); or appease my muse by striving for balance in everything I do. Now, this last one sounds the most logical. Yes, it means planting crops that take days to grow on Farmville, but that is a small sacrifice. But it also means sticking to a plan, a schedule if you will. I’m not always good at that. But maybe this is why my muse has returned from her hiatus at this time. To help me learn that without balance, there isn’t much hope that I will be able to sustain my dreams of being a published author and front runner for Mother of the Year. (I have to believe it’s that or the only other explanation is that while away at this supposed muse convention, she attended a seminar called, “How to torture your creative talent for enjoyment”, and if that’s the case, she’s starting off with a bang!)

Be Bold, everyone and try to stay warm. I’m going to earn some brownie points with my muse by taking her on vacation!

ENFP+Writer=????

If you are at all familiar with the Myers Briggs Personality Type, then you know that, according to the theory, all people fall into one of sixteen personality type. I am proud to say that I am an ENFP. Say it with me… E… N… F… P. I love being this personality type. We love people and we love ideas, as long as we aren’t expected to focus on the details. In short, we are horrible writers! Sitting alone with a computer is a challenge… thank goodness we have out characters to keep us company. We love an idea of a book and get started, only to find the pull of another story catching our attention. (And of course by “our” and “we” I mean “I”.) But here’s the problem with me being me. When I have been focused on one project for a long time, I tend to get distracted by… um… anything else. I once read a list of bumper sticker slogans for the different MBPTs and the ENFP goes something like, “Yeah, I can get that to you… oh my, what a pretty bird… anyways, what were we talking about?”

Why am I rambling about my personality type? I have this new book… the beginning of a new series, and while it’s still YA, it’s a total departure from The Partizans. It’s kind of a thriller/pre-dystopian plot, and I am totally obsessed with the structure of it right now. I think it may have more to do with the fact that working on my query letter and writing my synopsis is more about the technical side of getting published and less about hanging out with my characters. It’s taking all kinds of control to attempt to stay focused on finishing up all the loose ends of the book and getting it ready to go out to agents. I keep wanting to just send it out so I can say I did it and move on to the next project. I suppose this is good training. Once I get an agent and eventually a contract, I will have to stay focused regardless of my personality tendencies. After all, I don’t think a publisher or agent would accept the “My ENFP made me do it” excuse.

You know the old saying, “What doesn’t kill us will make us stronger?” Yeah… I think, when I get through all the crossing “I”s and dotting “t”s, that I will be able to lift poor plot structure from the abyss and carry shallow characters to the point of redemption without breaking a sweat. Unless, of course, I see a pretty bird.

Happy Superbowl everyone!!! Be BOLD!

Sabotage

There is a saboteur at work today! I have taken a short break from working on my novel to accommodate for some life changes and now, as I return to work, I am left with a mind-numbing lack of motivation. I know what I need to do, but it’s like I have work block… much bigger than writer’s block. So, being who I am, I decided to try to figure out the root cause of why my get up and go is in the corner blowing strawberries and I have come up with one answer. Being a writer is hard. I’m not complaining. I’m just stating a fact. Coming up with an idea, for me, is easy. Creating back story is a breeze. Even sitting down and pounding out the first draft comes as naturally as breathing. And that is where it ends. From that point forward, being a writer is a labor of love. Stray but a little from your focus and you begin to wobble under the weight of it all. I’m bored with doing research on agents, though I know it’s important to ensure my chances of finding the right match. Editing has become a bad word around my house and forget about the word syn…syn… synopsis. (It took a lot of effort just to type the word.)


But here’s the thing. The difference between a published novelist and an unpublished writer is persistence. Pushing through the negative thoughts, the mental and physical fatigue, making time in an already hectic life to repay those who have offered crits, and making sure that no one gets left at school because I’m living in a writing bubble are just a few of the things a writer must deal with on a daily basis. And I wouldn’t change it for anything. I was born to write. I am destined to be published and I am blessed to have the support carry on.

So it’s time to call back the muse, fire up Pandora and pull that writer’s fedora tight to my head and be who I am meant to be. Saboteur be damned!

Chapter One Teaser

I swore I wasn't going to do this, but I'm caving. Here is the first chapter of my book, The Partizans. Please, please, please feel free to give feedback either on this post or on the facebook link! I hope you like meeting my people!

Sarah

Chapter One

Hannah Slaughtery knew she didn’t belong here. While other girls were joining sororities and going to parties, she had spent her first semester of college studying in her room. Alone. And while she was arguably one of the smartest students in the Bio-Chemistry program, she was sure the invitation to attend a leadership seminar sponsored by the mysterious Institute had been delivered by mistake. Still, here she sat, afraid to drive up to the foreboding gate that guarded her destination.

With a nervous sigh, Hannah examined her reflection in the visor mirror. She had never given her appearance much thought, but her fashionista roommate had insisted on giving her a make-over the first week of classes. She touched up the smudged eyeliner below her pool blue eyes and tucked her short, blonde hair behind her ears. Finally convinced this was as good as it was going to get, she snapped the cover shut and started the engine.

A key pad illuminated as she pulled her car into the private drive and she punched in the access code that had accompanied her invitation. The imposing barrier creaked open and she steered down a tranquil, tree lined road. Being inside the Institute presented a unique opportunity for Hannah. She’d heard rumors the fabled laboratory occasionally offered internships to top students in her department and she hoped her participation this week would increase her chances of being selected.

A security checkpoint with dark tinted windows appeared and a guard with a military haircut looked down at her through aviator sunglasses. “Good afternoon, Ms. Slaughtery. May I see your driver’s license and student ID?” he asked as he surveyed the back seat.

She fumbled for her wallet. “You know my name?”

He looked at her, amused. “The code alerted us to your arrival.”

“Oh, right.” Hannah handed over the cards, her face flush.

After a quick examination, the guard returned her information, along with a sleek phone and map and Hannah caught the faint scent of coconut coming from his hand. “Most carriers don’t have reception up here,” he explained. “You can use this to make calls. The route to Garrett Manor has been highlighted on your map. If you need assistance, dial star-nine-nine.”

Hannah thanked him before she asked, “Is anyone else here?”

“The first participant rolled in about fifteen minutes ago, but we expect the others shortly,” he answered and Hannah smiled, relieved not to be the first to arrive.

The winding road that led to Garrett Manor was flanked by hearty vegetation and thick trees that parted as her temporary home came into view. The tall columns and semicircular arches reminded her of early Renaissance architecture and as she drove through the stone entrance, she was surprised to discover the parking lot was actually a converted piazza, complete with a large marble fountain. Carvings of saints peered down at her from their protective niches. Clearly out of place in the rustic peaks of Colorado, the romantic imagery made her smile as she shoved the phone and map into her purse.

When she finally emerged, a grey-haired man in a black suit greeted her. “Welcome, Ms. Slaughtery. May I assist you with your bags?”

“That’s okay,” she stammered. “I can get them.” She yanked her suitcases and backpack from the trunk and added, “Call me Hannah.”

He nodded. “My name is William. Please, follow me to the lounge. You can leave your luggage in the foyer.”

Hannah scurried up the steps behind him. William’s quick gait took her by surprise and she was slightly winded by the time they reached the mahogany entry way. An arched door frame led to the lounge and the view from the tall windows took her breath away. While the clouds of the anticipated storm loomed in the distance, the last rays of sun cast a warm glow over the Rocky Mountains.

The sight added to the grandness of the room. A roaring blaze in the large fireplace complimented the deep red walls and black leather furniture giving the space regal elegance. A table, piled with food and drinks of every variety, was set up nearby. Another participant stood next to the buffet, an empty plate in his hand.

He was boyishly handsome with sandy blonde hair, and though his tanned face looked familiar, she knew they had never met. “Mr. McKenzie,” William called out and the man glanced up. His easy grin reached out to welcome Hannah and she couldn’t help but smile back. “I would like to introduce Ms. Slaughtery,” William continued. “She will also be taking part in the seminar.” With the brief introduction complete, William turned on his heel and left the room.

“Thanks, Billy,” the young man called as he walked toward Hannah, his faded blue eyes bright with laughter. “I bet, if you get a little drink in that guy, he’s a riot.” He extended his hand. “Rafeerty McKenzie, but everyone calls me Rafe.” Hannah shook his hand and managed to murmur her name. He gestured to the table. “That is a quality spread. You should try some.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied and sat down on a long couch near the fireplace.

“Suit yourself. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m starving.” After making his selection, Rafe joined her and skillfully balanced his overflowing plate of food. “So, what do you know about this seminar?” he asked.

“Nothing, really,” she admitted. “I have no idea why I was invited. I’m not exactly a social butterfly.”

“Social butterflies are overrated,” he muttered before he cleared his throat. “I thought it was some clerical error. In fact, I was going to skip it until my buddy got a new job and bailed on our kayaking trip. Didn’t you have plans for break?”

“My family normally leaves for vacation the day after Christmas,” Hannah replied. “Mom was less than thrilled when I told her I wanted to come here instead.”

“Where’d they go?” he asked between bites.

“Hiking through the Austrian Alps.”

He let out an appreciative whistle. “And you voluntarily chose to come here?”

“I’m guess I’m not real outdoorsy. I’m more of a nature girl.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I like being in nature. I just don’t want to hike, sail, ride, or bike through it like the rest of my family,” she explained.

“Do you get along with them?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re just different. I blame it on the fact I’m adopted,” she replied self-consciously.

“Well, their loss is our gain. Still, it sounds like a fun trip. Give me a campfire, some ice to climb, a little hypothermia and I’m in heaven.”

Hannah laughed. “Speaking of weather, I guess there’s a blizzard heading our way.”

“When isn’t there one?” Rafe continued a steady stream of chatter despite her silence. Without warning, his attention was drawn to something behind her and his mouth gaped open. Hannah turned to see what had distracted him and felt her stomach tighten.

Shayne Westmoreland’s long, lean physique lounged against the door. Everyone on campus knew Shayne, or at least knew to stay out of her way. In addition to being rich and beautiful, she had a reputation for using her sex appeal to get what she wanted. Her gaggle of friends secretly loathed her and her enemies probably ended up keeping Jimmy Hoffa company.

The way the vixen’s sharp violet eyes took in every detail of the room reminded Hannah of winged predators who appeared peaceful and bored until the moment came to swoop down and snatch up an unsuspecting rodent. The new arrival twirled her raven hair around her finger and zeroed in on Rafe. A slow, seductive smile spread across her sun-kissed face. “Why Rafe,” she said. “As I live and breathe. I never dreamed I’d find you here.” Her southern drawl clung to each syllable.

“Shayne.” His voice matched the hostility etched on his face. “I’m surprised you aren’t out buying a small island nation. You could have legions of loyal subjects to work your succubus magic on.”

The debutante’s eyes narrowed and any pretense of good will disappeared. “You know, I would think, after all this time, you would have recovered from our little tryst.”

“When your girlfriend cheats on you with a professor in order to pass a class, it leaves a lasting impression,” Rafe retorted.

Shayne rolled her eyes and turned to Hannah. “He’s exaggerating, of course. It was a grad student. Hi, I’m Shayne.” A territorial warning reverberated in her simple introduction. The light-hearted atmosphere was replaced with palpable tension until William reappeared escorting another student.

Even Hannah, who rarely ventured out of the library, knew Marcelo dela Cruz. Since his arrival at Sanguinity College, the Division II football team had become a conference powerhouse. The tall, broad shouldered Filipino moved toward the trio without waiting for an introduction. “How’s it going?” he asked, with a broad smile.

Shayne batted her eyes and linked arms with the football star. “I can’t believe our big man on campus would be relegated to a mid-break seminar with the commoners,” she gushed.

“I would hardly call you common, Shayne,” Marc laughed as he nodded to Rafe. When he saw Hannah, he detangled himself. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand. “I’m Marc.”

She gingerly accepted his greeting and said, “I’m Hannah.” After a few awkward moments, he turned back to Rafe and Shayne and rubbed his hands together. “I hear there’s food around here.”

Rafe gestured to the buffet. “Help yourself. It should tide you over until dinner time.” On cue, Marc’s stomach growled and everyone except Hannah erupted in laughter.

“I doubt that,” the football player replied with a chuckle.

Marc and Shayne walked away to survey the array of food and Rafe moved next to Hannah. “Sorry about her,” he offered through clenched teeth. “Long story.”

Hannah nodded sympathetically and changed the subject. “How do you know Marc?”

“We were roommates freshman year. We get along okay now, but back then,” his voice trailed off.

“Too much ego?” she teased.

“Maybe,” Rafe admitted. “He’s a good guy, just a little too intense.”

Hannah nodded and looked at the darkening western sky. “I would hate to be stranded in the mountains tonight.”

“Billy-boy said there were five of us total, so I guess we’re waiting for one more.”

“One more what?” Marc asked, as he settled into the chair across from Hannah.

“Another participant,” Rafe answered.

The football star began to devour his food. “Yeah, what’s the deal with this seminar?” he asked. “I wasn’t going to come, but somehow I ended up three credits short for graduation. Unless I want to stick around this summer, which I don’t, this is my only option.”

“You’re getting credit for this?” Rafe asked in disbelief. “Must be nice to have friends in the athletic department.”

Marc shifted uncomfortably. “Technically, it’s an independent study. Before the end of the semester, I have to turn in a paper about my experience.”

“Dude,” Rafe said. “I was just messing with you. You’re the one who was always complaining about the fluff classes your teammates take to maintain their full-time status. Just wanted to make sure your morality compass was still pointing to righteous.”

“Any idea who our fifth is?” Shayne interjected. “I hope it’s a guy,”

“Watch out, world. Shayne’s on the prowl for another victim.” Rafe said under his breath.

For a moment, rage flickered across Shayne’s face. Instead of detracting from her looks, the reaction only served to intensify her beauty. “You really need to get over it. I did.”

“Obviously,” Rafe snorted.

As if sensing the impending conflict, William appeared and everyone turned to see the final member of their party. Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. There was sadness in the new arrival’s dark brown eyes and her initial instinct to look away was over-ridden by the intensity of the connection that surged between them.

“I would like to introduce Finn O’Connor,” the older man said, though his words sounded muffled to Hannah’s ears. “Now that everyone has arrived, I’ll show you to your rooms,” Someone will meet you in the common room of your living quarters in an hour. Dinner is served promptly at six. That should give you plenty of time to unpack your belongings.”

Unaccustomed to being kept out of the loop, Shayne moved close to their guide. “It seems this seminar is a bit of a mystery. Maybe you could give us a hint of what to expect.” Her voice was sugary sweet and yet, it had no effect on William.

With a stern face, he replied, “All your questions will be answered in time. For now, follow me.” From his steely response, even Shayne recognized it was a battle she wouldn’t win.

Rafe fell in step with Hannah and whispered, “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I saw a horror movie that started out like this.”

“Great,” Hannah whispered back. “The first person killed in a slasher flick is always a girl, and since it’s obvious Shayne is the killer, my moments are numbered.”

Rafe burst out laughing. “Look at you, getting your funny on. I think this may be the beginning,” he started.

“Don’t say it,” Hannah giggled.

Rafe grinned. “Of a beautiful friendship.”

“You really said it,” she groaned. Without warning, Finn pushed past them.

“Watch it,” Rafe said. “What’s his problem?”

Hannah shook her head in stunned silent. What Rafe had missed was the unprovoked look of jealousy on Finn’s face. A look directed at her.