The Writer’s Voice

The Writer’s Voice is a query competition hosted in part by Monica B.W. The premise is much like The Voice where four coaches (Brenda Drake, Elizabeth Briggs, Kimberly P. Chase, and Monica B.W.) pick teams from a list of 150 queries.

I have entered my story Hidden Hills. Here it is:



Tiny is a troll – the dumb and ugly kind. Except if someone called her dumb and ugly, she would roll up her socks and hit them.

Four years after running away from the troll community, her brother’s girlfriend is missing. He searches out Tiny and gives an ultimatum, either help or be physically forced back into the troll world with no hope of returning to her human friends. Problem is family and friends don’t know about the disappearance and Tiny’s ex-boyfriend wants to assist in order to rekindle their relationship.

As she falls further into troll culture, troubles appear in her human life. She loses her job, misses critical tests, and might lose her scholarships. Tiny must balance her troll life with her human life.

HIDDEN HILLS is a 52,000 word young adult fantasy.

First 250 words:

“Damn and don’t I look sexy.” Jay turned in a circle with his arms out showing off his new tan.

“Yes. As pretty as a peach,” I agreed. I kicked out the chair across from me. He flipped it around and straddled the back. The Union noise ebbed around us with students buying food, doing homework or wasting time.

“Hey, Tiny. Do you want to hear about the peaches?” He held his hand over his mouth and gave me wide, cartoon eyes. “I mean, beaches.”

A guy one table over stole a glance. With all the grace of a star, Jay ignored the look while grinning at the attention. He crossed his arms and leaned on the table.

“So which will you tell me about.” I slouched back in my chair. “Let me think, the bikinis were tiny, and the waves were righteous.”

Jay rolled his eyes at me. “Righteous? Really? No. Besides what fun is righteous anything.” He blew on his nails and buffed them against his shirt.

I grinned. He’d never been to a troll mating ceremony. He’d love being one of the men on display for a first time match.

“And I don’t surf,” he added. “It was family vacation. You know, mom nagging that we never get along. Dad ignoring everything. My brother bragging about his newest string of girlfriends and the car he’s going to buy next year.”

I smiled at him. I had no idea what family vacations were like.


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