Title: THE DYSLEXIC SPELL
READER
Category: YA
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Word count: 70,000
Pitch:
When Aubrey, age sixteen, discovers her severe dyslexia is a
trait of advanced spell readers, the only person who can help her is Seth-- her
former best friend and current heckler. Unfortunately, the exclusive magical
community constructs “accidents” to end Aubrey’s life because
they perceive her outsider status as a threat. Although Seth claims he wants to keep
her alive and that he can teach her the basics to spell reading, Aubrey must
decide if she can trust him and if she can tolerate his tormenting.
Q1: In
your MC's voice, what costumed character do you most relate to and why?
What’s the female equivalent of a hobo?
Q2: As
an author, what makes your manuscript a tasty treat (unique/marketable)?
My main character is heavily dyslexic and is obsessed with
all the spelling rules she’s memorized and this allows for very unique internal
dialogue. Do you wish you had candy Scrabble letters so you could converse
via sugar without digging out the leftover Valentine’s Day conversation hearts?
First 250:
They’re
discussing my flaws. Again.
Usually
math is the one place where I’m okay.
Or,
at least, I thought I was. Now at this impromptu sister-teacher conference, I’m
realizing that my capacity for failure is endless and that this classroom
smells like stale dry erase markers, pencil shaving, and a fresh dose of disappointment.
I
don’t understand why Nala is so obsessed with finding answers. It’s
an impairment. A disability. A handicap. Something that transforms me from an
average girl to a “slow learner.” I try so hard and never succeed. But I’ve
memorized all the spelling and decoding rules, even if I can’t ever play by
them.
There
are six types of syllables.
1.
Closed. Short vowel sound. Examples include hag, bitch, and many other
derogatory terms, such as ass, that I’m internally chanting on a repeated loop
as Mrs. Manilow politely tells us I’m an idiot. Nala acts
like a bobblehead doll since it’s nothing we haven’t heard before.
“Do
you think this is due to her dyslexia?” Nala asks Mrs. Manilow.
Seriously? What isn’t?
2.
Vowel-consonant-e. The “e” at the end turns bossy and forces the first vowel
into submission, twisting its arm until it screams its name. Like in “grade,”
“life,” or “hate.” My “wires” (“E”: “Say your name, letter ‘I,’ or I’ll end
you!”) are crossed in my head and therefore I have a boatload of
problems.
“She
isn’t asking for help, but that could be due to her speech and language
issues,” Mrs. Manilow says as if she’s explaining something delicate
and profound.
This draws me right in. Care for some gummy bears?
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