Dead Girls Aren’t Passé in YA and I’ll tell you why

I’ve been doing a lot of learning about the business of young adult publishing. And I am fascinated by it. After receiving several query responses from agents that included the notes: we like the voice, the story, the quirk of your world but it’s not right for my list (translation, I like it but don’t love it enough to sell it) I wanted to find out why. And the other day I learned something new from Lorin Oberweger, and it was reinforced by another friend who sold a book similar to mine a few years ago (dam and I thought I was completely original!) that the “paranormal” genre is done, passé, not interesting enough to sell unless it offers something new. First off, I never categorized What Death has Touched as paranormal. Liv isn’t a ghost, she’s a soul lost and trapped in limbo unaware of the fact she was killed. To me it was always clearly high concept…Liv is dead but doesn’t know it and is having one hell of a day figuring it out…in other what if words: what if a girl died and didn’t know it but thought her mother died then set off to save her from deteriorating into a maternal apparition that would haunt her forever and  gets the chance to save her from dying in the first place?

I believe this story serves a higher purpose. 

Our country is grieving murdered children, innocent victims of a terrible bombing and unimaginable “why did it have to happen” deaths. People, no matter what their age, need help processing grief. They need to be reminded each day is precious and to live without regret. What Death has Touched, gives the reader an opportunity to save one life, a mother’s life, and gives a seventeen-year-old girl a chance to say “I love you!” for the first and last time. It’s empowering and inspiring, and dare I say it…has a spiritual message as its subtext.

Dead girls in YA aren’t passé because our country is dealing with the horror in Boston, Sandy Hook, Texas, and all the senseless  horrendous shit life deals out with and dead girls are one way to deal with it.

I believe What Death has Touched is an important message to share. I hope to find others who agree with me soon. #whyiwanttosharemystory

Husband featured in The Charlotte Observer

Russell is featured in the Charlotte Observer today, Sunday, March 24, 2013, for his Leukemia & Lymphoma Society fundraising work. Check him out in the South Charlotte News section page 3SN. Thank you Karen Devereaux Scioscia!

Anyone who wants to help can start by going to his website at:www.mwoy.org/pages/nc/clt13/rhughes.

Hughes personal goal is to raise $50,000 from March 7th- May 18th, which of course means involving his whole family, but luckily, people can donate in many ways.

Leukemia

We are still working hard on the Leukemia Lymphoma Society fundraiser.

Please, don’t wait for a better time, tomorrow, or later to donate. It doesn’t take much effort to help, might as well do it now.

http://www.mwoy.org/pages/nc/clt13/rhughes#.UUcpwZzNiGE.facebook

Follow the link and click the green button
DONATE NOW
then click
OTHER
and fill in any amount you are comfortable with. You’d be amazed at what a difference $10 or $20 dollars can make in the life of a family dealing with Leukemia
Thanks for the support!

Leukemia & Lymphoma Society

A few years back, a very powerful person repeated a slogan that ignited the hearts of many, that slogan was:

Hope and Change

The intention to make a difference in the lives of others can easly slip away as the demands of life pile up and we each pursue our goals. I am proud that my husband is a man of his word. He wants to make a difference in this world at a community level and I’m hoping you will support his efforts.

He is participating in the North Carolina Chapter of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society‘s (LLS) annual Man of the Year campaign. The funds raised will go towards the LLS mission to cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin’s disease and myeloma and to improve the quality of life of patients and their families.

Would you please take a moment and click on the link below to learn more about his passion, love of family, and his determination to facilitate CHANGE!

And possibly donate?
http://www.mwoy.org/pages/nc/clt13/rhughes#.UTiS8fJ4ouE.facebook

Thank you!

Waiting

I vaguely remember dating and the anxiety over waiting for a phone call after the first date. If the date was good, I’d fixate on how the first kiss was. I’d remember all the sensory sensations of being near him, how his clothes fit his body, his smell, the taste of his mouth, how swollen my lips were after kissing him, how my skin was electrified by a new touch, and then I would wonder, was it the same for him?

Would he call in 3 days or one week? I dated in LA so all bets were off regarding dating callback etiquette. Beautiful girls were everywhere models and actresses literally lined the streets, I was neither. I wasn’t so much into playing games. If I liked someone I liked them a bit too much at first. I was the nicest version of myself. I could take nearly three months for the real me, the moody, ever so slightly bitchy girl to emerge. The one who didn’t want to pamper the new guy. The one who was like, seriously you’re boring me- let’s do something fun. I feel the same anxiety now, as I impatiently wait to hear back from a literary agent.

I’m here now, at my desk thinking of all the busy work I can do to keep my mind off an agent calling, emailing, texting, twittering, anything asking me for more pages, and wanting to represent me. I’m not good at this part. I should keep writing and revising. I should dig in to book 2. Instead, I think about how:

1. I need to sort out my taxes.
2. I need to go food shopping.
3. I need to get my hair colored.
4. I’d love a mani.
5. I need to clear the clutter off my desk.
6. It’s nearly my birthday and I am freaked out about turning 44.
7. Gray it is outside.

All these things are weak distractions. I’ve got to refocus.  Insert sound of my nails strumming the wood on my desk and the image of me biting the inside of my right lower lip.  I can do this. It will happen. Yes I can.

Sneak Peek

Hi there. Guess what? I’m working through copy edits on my book and trying to write an interesting synopsis to help sell it. I’ve been dreading the synopsis since I realized I was writing a book. How would I boil hundreds of pages down to so few? I put off worrying about the synopsis until it was time to do the deed.

I never thought I had a book in me. Surprise, surprise, I did. And since I don’t do anything half-way and because I like my story and love the characters I created, I want to try to sell it. I’m going through the traditional publishing process of submitting to agents and finding a publisher one day soon (soon in publishing means years. It isn’t that quick but you get the idea) I sincerely hope you too may enjoy LIFE-LIKE by Holly Raychelle Hughes before 2015. And I could not have even started the process if it wasn’t for Kimberly Griffiths Little. She is my guardian angel guiding my way.

In the meantime, here is my synopsis for your reading enjoyment. I don’t think I’m done working on it, so your feedback is appreciated. Please let me know if anything is too vague or confusing. Remember this is a YA novel. My synopsis is meant to tickle an agent’s curiosity bone and make them ask to read my manuscript. It is not a beat outline and it does not reveal the end of my book.

Thanks for your help!

Synopsis of LIFE-LIKE

By Holly Raychelle Hughes

Most people assume that when they die they’ll see their life flash before their eyes prior to arriving at heaven’s pearly gates where their loved ones will greet them. But when Liv dies, she doesn’t go anywhere. Not heaven, not hell. At first, Liv doesn’t even know she’s dead.

On Tuesday, December eighteenth, Liv’s mother Maude is killed in a car accident. Maude tells her daughter this grim fact while ignoring the gaping hole in her head and complaining about the sensation of cold stainless steel against her bare ass at the morgue.

Despite her initial shock and denial, Liv is determined to save her mother from deteriorating into a maternal apparition that will haunt her forever. No flying, ethereal angels lounging on white puffy clouds come to assist Liv. But angels do appear. Unfortunately Liv can’t recognize them or their attempts to help her. To Liv they materialize as bothersome ravens, a girl with a drinking problem, a Goth, a stalker, and an undead man trying to take her mother away from her forever.

Liv remains oblivious to her circumstances. Not only is she dead, she’s trapped in limbo. Liv must wake up to the opportunity fate has given or risk dying with regret suffering a horrible eternal afterlife. She takes the risks to design the life before her eyes.  First she manipulates the day in an attempt to save her mother. Changing events doesn’t save anyone but it does reveal her true feelings toward her best friend. Liv is beyond irritated. How can her life be over now that she’s fallen in love? Liv’s journey is an emotional ride through the perilous waters of love, shame and ultimately forgiveness.

ICLW

Hi ladies of ICLW. This morning I am trying to breathe through some serious cramping. I know these are serious because I’ve taken an Aleve and a PMS pill and still the pain radiating from my right hip flexor through to my back has me wanting to say, “Mercy!”

On days like this I think my body knows what to do. It knows how to conceive and hold a child. It just refuses to do it a second time. I don’t know why either. I enjoyed being pregnant the first time. I loved the anticipation of meeting my daughter. I was fascinated by what my body was doing. I was less fascinated by it after having my girl and wishing to have it under my control again, but that’s another story.

Perhaps I’m not listening to my body. http://www.detourtomotherhood.blogspot.com visited and I read her post. It struck a chord. She said she wasn’t listening to her body. That she pushed herself farther than she should have is her pursuit to have a child. I’ve been there. I’ve taken the drugs, gotten poked by needles, gone insane on hormones and the singular goal of having a baby.

I thought if I had such bad pain and PMS didn’t I deserve another child? I love my little girl with every fiber of my being so why won’t the universe give me another somebody to love.

On the good days the answer is, it’s not going to happen. And I accept it. On the bad days, the answer is, it’s not going to happen and it hurts like a bitch.  This is the one thing I can’t control no matter how badly I wished it, no matter how hard I prayed for it, and no matter how hard I worked toward it.

This week I finished up putting the precious things on Craigslist. Her 4-in-1 crib and the Orbit infant car seat, base and stroller. When my girl talks about having a baby brother I play along with what she thinks it would be like, but I don’t cry because she won’t have one.

Today I will be the best Mommy I can be to her, right after I lay down and breathe through these brutal cramps.

Letting Go

I did it. I packed up the last of the precious baby things I held on to and gave them away. The tummy time matt. Her crib bedding. The fancy felt blocks, BPA free bottles, and Sofie the giraffe.

Deep breath.

I think I’m settling back into accepting my reality: Hi, I’m Holly, and I suffer from secondary infertility.

My daughter won’t field calls from her sibling when she’s older and cousel him or her on their love life or job. She won’t be able to bitch about her aging parents and how stubborn we are or deaf we are becoming. She’ll stand on her own. She’s stronger than me, and I handle everything. She’ll be fine.

Besides she’ll tell you all about her other family if you ask, and even if you don’t. She has older sisters who live in space. She has other parents that live in a different house. She has a mean mommy and sister. She’s has an amazing imagination. Perhaps she’ll be a writer one day too.

But this is about me. I learned a friend is pregnant this week. She is in her 40′s. It happened naturally for them. No fertility treatments. No sex on demand or obsessing on conceiving for three years. They are a very lucky family. But they are not us.  That is not my path.

What is very natural for me is to feel a pang of grief. It does not diminish my joy for my friend. But I am honoring myself by acknowledging that I am sad that we could not share the same news. So instead of holding on to what once was, or what I wished would be, I let the past and dreamed of future go in a large wardrobe box labeled baby stuff.

Secondary Infertility Devistated My Friend–Why Didn’t I Feel More Compassion?

My friend Lisa wrote this article for the Huffington Post. It caught me a little off guard because the more I read, the more “Cassie” sounded like me. So I asked her, “Is Cassie me? Or am I being vain?”

She admitted it was me. So here you are, an honest look at our shared stories about dealing with infertility and how infertile women judge secondary infertility.

Secondary Infertility Devastated My Friend — Why Didn’t I Feel More Compassion?

www.huffingtonpost.com

Irony= Going back on the pill when I’m infertile

Met with my OBGYN yesterday. It’s been practically five years since I went to see one for a regular PAP smear. I thought, after giving up on ever getting pregnant again, it was time for a check up and PAP.

My new doctor, Jack Lucas, MD at Eastover Obstetrics & Gynaecology Associates was wonderful. He took time to sit and talk to me before getting down to the business at hand. If you need an OBGYN in the Charlotte, N.C. I’d suggest seeing this man.

During our conversation I brought up my irregular cycle. I was curious if going back on the pill was a good option. He agreed that it was, and told me more about Seasonique, which is a low estrogen pill that gives women the option to only have a period four times per year. This was appealing to me. My period may show up anywhere from day 21- 35 so, knowing that my periods would be much farther apart sounds heavenly.

Of course after discussing birth control the, I wanted to conceive and have another baby, part of my brain hit the alarm button.

“What if you have some kind of miracle? If you go on the pill that will quash any chance of that ever happening. And why spend all that money on the pill when you’re infertile? Isn’t ironic to spend money on tricking your body into thinking it’s pregnant when it can never be again?”

“Ouch, bitch that hurts.”

“Just saying.”

“Well don’t say.”

“You’re the one thinking it. Let it out. You don’t have to do it this month. Wait, just one more month.”

“Do you know how much I hate the idea of “waiting one more month”? I’ve lived like that for three years. It’s a miserable way to live!”

“It leaves room for hope and miracles.”

“Exactly, it’s a fucking miserable way to live.”

“Fine, then go get the pill.”

-

-

“The silent treatment, really?”

“Not the silent treatment. Just, it still makes me sad. It still hurts knowing that I can’t have another baby. And the hurt doesn’t surface until it’s triggered. Thanks, for triggering it.”

“Come here. I’ll give you a hug. Everything will be okay.”

“I know. Thanks. Hugs always make me feel better.”

“I’m here for you.”