Okay, I'll try to tone down the disappointment at not getting my entry within the 100-entries limit at the #GUTGAA... I'm not trying to justify my lateness, but I do live in a different continent. Here where I am I sent it on time, but at Deana's location it was an hour too late. Anyway, now I've learned and hopefully it won't happen again in the coming weeks.
For those of you hopping to my blog, I've got nothing but thanks. Someday, I just know, I'll be able to give you all huge hug and maybe even some chocolates. I love you from the bottom of my heart for helping me out a little here.
Okay, now that the tears are wiped, let me share the body of my (late) e-mail in case you feel like giving me your thoughts on it. Here it is:
AUTHOR'S NAME: Johana Vera
TITLE OF MANUSCRIPT: The Curse of the Seven
WORD COUNT: 70.000
When the former Threader, the ultimate magic wielder who rules the Empire of Aragua, dies with no female heir as her successor, sisters Aria and Mara find themselves caught in the middle of a political power play that cares little about who weaves the magical threads of the world together.
After learning about the curse set upon the seven sons of the the previous Threader by a vengeful goddess and the loss of parts of the world that untangled from the original thread, the girls embarque in a crusade to put their world back in one piece, helped by two of the cursed brothers; arrogant, handsome Jael and sweet, caring Liam. Forced to face dangerous trips to unknown parts of the world, Aria finds that not only the fate of her world depends on the success of their mission, but her only sister’s life as well.
Complete at 70,000 words and with characters inspired on an old guarani tale, the story explores the doubts of sarcastic, quick-witted Aria about coming to terms with what she thought was her true call as a Sentinel, the volatile relationship with her mother and the loyalty she feels toward her sister.
First 150 Words
The day the Threader was buried, attendance to the funeral was mandatory for every citizen of the capital. Although it was supposed to be a bright early summer morning, even the sun dimmed its resplendor in respect to the person who, one way or the other, made sure its light reached the entire empire of Aragua.
As I made my way through the crowd of silent mourners, I had to struggle not to let go of Mara. My mother would kill us if we lost each other in the throng of people. She had been ridiculously reluctant to let us come to the Capital alone in the first place. That the Threader happened to die while we visited had been an unpleasant coincidence. I conveniently forgot to check in with her this morning because something in my gut told me she would not be pleased to know we came to the funeral.