“We, too, believe the beauty of art is knowledge,” Lugo said. “With enough skill, the two become one and the same. The most gifted poets know what their eyes have not seen. They make songs of stories yet to come. And with too much of that gift, they know so much that it drives them mad. They live wild, like animals, singing their songs to the trees and whispering the future to the wolves. That is the gift of the poets.” For the first time, his attention seemed to be moved from Briseus, watching the way the firelight glimmered in the cup of mead. “Poetry is a mystic art, and it all stems from this. From this, my brother has learnt the future. From this, our greatest court poets have been raised. From this, all my kind know what manner of monster I will become.” Briseus shivered. Lugo held out the cup across the fire. “Drink, Briseus.” He grasped the stone chalice and obeyed.

1000 years ago, the world was broken. Now, THE CITY OF 1000 ALTARS watches over the scar.

Two strangers vie for the gods' forgiveness, neither knowing the secrets their chance meeting will unravel.

With:
- transgender fallen god
- older coming of age story
- autistic rebel priestess

#pitchfpp

13yo Clio doesn’t believe in fairytales until she & her BFF awaken in 1508 Ireland. Caught between the faerie queen & her wicked ambition, only Clio can prevent the curse that will destroy her own family. But she must choose between saving her BFF & going home. #PitchFPP #MG #HF #FT

“Perhaps it’s like your cargo,” I said. “What?” “Your emotional cargo.” “It’s not cargo,” Clarke said, a broad smile crossing her face. “It’s cargo.” “Those are the same word,” I said. “I don’t understand what you're saying.” "Your translator's eating it,” she laughed. “Eating it,” I repeated. I decided we could discuss that word choice later. “I think you only have one word for cargo and cargo,” Clarke continued. "Yes," I said dryly. "That seems likely." After some trial and error—and a great deal of amusement on Clarke’s part—it became clear: Clarke was using a word that described a small, personal item of cargo that one would carry with them, like her rucksack or her terrible Human cargo pod. Her language made a distinction between those and large pieces of cargo carried in a cargo hold or inside containers, and which might not be accompanied by the owner.  But how did her language even have different, unrelated words for sizes of cargo? Her people had one—one—word for the nine different types of love. It was bewildering.

CARGO #PitchFPP 5/5
Google Translate continues to suck, even when it's inside your head.

“How did you find this?” Clarke asked. “That’s ‘not important’,” Thyllis grumbled. “We’re keeping things need-to-know,” Captain said. “Compartmentalized.” “Why?” I asked. “So nobody can give away the whole plan if someone asks them,” Captain said. I looked around the table uneasily. “Who would do that?” The others stared at me. “I wouldn’t!” I gasped. “We’re still keeping it compartmentalized,” Thyllis said firmly. “And why are you on the station?” Anento said. “What’s your cover?” “Clarke,” Thyllis said, “who we don’t know, is going to OMPC.” “Going to what?” Clarke said. “It’s a conference,” Captain said, showing us a series of advertisements and news articles. “The Ocuul Mercantilists’ Philanthropic Congress,” Thyllis said. “This year it’s hosted on Irnath Freeport.” “We’re robbing philanthropists?” Clarke snorted. To my dismay, I noticed she hadn't phrased it as a refusal to do so. “No, no, that’s just how you’re getting in,” Captain chuckled. “And the ‘philanthropic’ part’s bullshit anyway.” “It’s a whole eightday of rich assholes drinking and inhaling things and talking about buying companies and stolen art and evading taxes,” Thyllis said. “And you’re sticking a Human in the middle of that?” Beskros said incredulously. “They’ll go nuts.” Captain grinned proudly. Beskros threw up a pseudopod in disgust. “Fine.” “Thyllis!” Anento groaned, scrolling through the advertisements, clip after clip of solitary speakers wandering around a stage. “These are those smug asshole speeches you keep trying to get me to watch!” “They’re unconventional thinkers!” Thyllis protested.

CARGO #PitchFPP 4/5
Personally, I've always wanted to rob the TED conference, but have never had the opportunity.

In the common room, Clarke and Captain sat at the galley counter. We had decided I would bring Doctor into the room, walking in together, so as not to upset Clarke’s volatile Human sensibilities. Why were we indulging this bigotry? Why were we letting the Human stay? In Medical, Doctor held a scanner in one of her left hands, and to my shock, was wearing clothing. She had fastened a bright green medical tunic over her abdomen, as if prepared for surgery—an infrequent look for her, to say the least. “What are you doing?” I cried. “It’s psychological, dear,” Doctor said, waving the scanner. “Tool-using people wear clothes.” I scowled. That was an extreme generalization, and an offensive one. “Clarke thinks they do, at least,” Doctor said. “Deep down.” My throat tensed. This was awful. “She’ll react better to this,” Doctor said, leading me to the common room. I wanted to cry. “Doctor, you shouldn’t have to—” “No,” she agreed, matter-of-factly. “I shouldn’t. But it’s easier this way.” I didn’t like it. “Tai, take my hand,” Doctor said. “And for heaven’s sake, smile!” She waggled her claws at me expectantly. I sighed. I took her hand, inhaled, and stepped through the doorway. “And use her name!” Doctor reminded me on the link. “Clarke,” I said, “this is Doctor.” I tugged the elderly woman into the room. The Human took a short breath, her piercing, predator eyes wider than even the first time she’d seen Doctor. It was terrifying. I wanted to run. “Hello, dear,” Doctor signed. She pried her hand from my own and slipped her scanner in a pocket, freeing all her hands for a longer sentence. “I know I look frightening, but I promise I’m not. Truly.” Frightening. She wasn’t! I looked at Doctor, her eight lidless eyes level with my face, the deep iridescence of her dark exoskeleton, a glint of metallic blue and purple in the warm light of the common room. Four many-jointed legs supported her conical abdomen rising nearly to the ceiling, her mouth concealed away below her body wi…

CARGO #PitchFPP 3/5
Tai doesn't always see important parallels.

Mood board/Agent's guide for my novel CARGO - a queer SF/heist/romance - 110,000 words "Did you hear? There's a human on board." A graphic of the wall of a spaceship with sticky notes and polaroid photos taped up. There are twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling. alien ship's cook (fussy, anxious) + terrifying monster (ordinary human)

PITCH: Tai’s terrified of humans. Everyone is. Violent pack hunters, humans are notorious for their strength, sharp teeth, and carnivorous appetites. But the ship’s cook is safe among the multispecies crew of the cargo hauler Coreward Baker: everyone knows the warrior species rarely leave their own space. Then Captain Raz hires Clarke, a human horticulturist. Even after Tai overcomes their fear, they can’t stand Clarke. She’s bossy. Annoying. Useless in the galley, bad in a space suit. She might as well be cargo. Worse, she’s intent on befriending Tai—and why can’t they stop thinking about her, anyway? That’s when things go wrong. As Tai starts to realize their feelings for Clarke, they’re horrified to learn that nobody on their crew of dropouts and runaways is quite who they seem, least of all Clarke. And it’s no coincidence. Raz reveals they’ve each been handpicked for a heist he’s spent years planning—and no one’s allowed to say no. PRIORITIES: make dinner remain cozy haul cargo go for drinks pull off one last score try not to fall in love

FIRST PAGE: “Did you hear? There’s a Human on board.” I choked on my noodles and turned to stare at the diners at the next table. Like most of the restaurant’s patrons, the pair had hidden their profiles, a halfhearted attempt at anonymity. “Gross,” the speaker’s crewmate said, oblivious to my alarm. “I hope it leaves soon.” “Don’t let it hear you say that,” the first worker laughed. She made a show of looking for Humans, her eyes darting from table to table. It. I frowned. I knew the workers’ language distinguished between people and things, and ‘it’ was an unkind choice of words at best. The second worker shuddered. “I don’t know why we let themcome here.” The first laughed. “Are you going to stop them?”

COMPS: Murderbot by Martha Wells Someone You Can Build a Nest In by John Wisewell The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers TROPES: Non-binary narrator masking anxiety with sarcasm lying to themselves non-human perspective (afraid of humans) neurodivergent main characters metaphorically disabled protagonist slow-burn friends-to-lovers and enemies to lovers in the same relationship disabilitynorm and queernorm setting found family loveable pet/terrifying monster

CARGO #PitchFPP 2/5
Everything fell apart when the human came aboard. Instead of nice meals and quiet cargo runs, Tai's stuck with bickering crewmates, sinister criminals, explosions, and worse, a human who wants to be friends.

My SF novel CARGO features:
👽A neurodivergent alien narrator masking their fear of humans with sarcasm
🤷‍♀️A terrifying monster/ordinary human woman oblivious to humans’ reputation
🐌🐙👽🏳️‍🌈A bickering crew of dropouts and runaways
💰🥷A heist
💬An examination of language & who counts as a person
#PitchFPP 1/5

Starting a new hashtag so I can track all the pitches and comments to Flying Pen Press.

Behold, #PitchFPP!

Use it, abuse it, tell me about your book! Feel free to ask questions.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #AskPublisher #AskEditor #MSWL