Dear Ms. Literary Agent,
Turns out my billionaire father is like 300 years old. I have five older siblings (seventeen-year old quintuplets) and it turns out mental powers run in our family. Maybe because, as it turns out, we’re descended from Nephilim, fallen angels – like in the book of Genesis.
Anyway… some time in the past, like lifetimes ago, my father made a terrible mistake and some really bad people came looking for him. And not just one group, but a whole bunch. Like the Verticiles: high-tech pagan commandos, the Cobles: soil-borne demons, and the Nepheel Inquisitors: something worse than the other two combined. And lets not forget the mass-freaking-media – they’re a whole special kind of evil themselves. Long story short: they blew up our mansion on stilts, took our father away, broke into his secret lab to steal our bassinet (that one’s a little tough to explain), and now they’re after us.
I don’t know why, we never did anything to them, but they want us bad. The only thing we’ve got going for us is a few fake credit cards, some tae-kwon-do training, and our vicious, sarcastic wit. Yeah, we’ve got mental power too, but they’re nothing compared to that wit thing I mentioned.
So okay, we’ve also got a backpack full of ants. Sounds weird, I know, but it turns out to be important. You’ll see why if you take a chance and read our story.
FIERSOM’S BROOD is a one-hundred-fifteen thousand word urban fantasy for teens. It’s my tenth novel, all juvenile to young adult, and while they’re all unpublished, I did win the top prize in a short story contest that publishes in anthology. I’m a thirty-seven year old surgical technologist who proudly stands for God, family, and country. I’m a former children’s pastor, a blissfully married father of four, and an infantry combat veteran from Desert Storm. On the less intense side, I love Spiderman, Playstation, guitars, and yo-yos.
With many sincere thanks,
(that last paragraph there is probably the biggest thing I'll change)