Author Topic: Agent Quest  (Read 41489 times)

Offline justwrite

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #15 on: July 25, 2007, 10:28:47 PM »
 :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf:

Hey..do the rest of you want Loth and me to have ALL the fun? Someone else join in. (I know he's a hard act to follow, but try).

Maybe I should give this to that agent as a present to amuse him.

Offline justwrite

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #16 on: July 25, 2007, 10:29:52 PM »
Okay..but I think we need some other hands on this.

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #17 on: July 25, 2007, 10:34:46 PM »
All right, I'll wait and see if anyone else joins in.  Come on, Chelsea, show us your stuff!  I'm calling you out!

Offline justwrite

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #18 on: July 25, 2007, 10:47:29 PM »
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  â€œAn aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."



Lotheus

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #19 on: July 25, 2007, 11:02:19 PM »
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  “An aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."

Montana?  Who the hell lives in Montana?  But who was Michael to question a talking cheerio.  He nodded and took the chalice back to the Vanagon, secured it into the back seat, and then took a hard left.  As he read the road signs, trying to decide which would be the best route to Montana, the cheerio spoke again.
“You don’t have to GO to Montana, you idiot.  Go to the library.  They have computers there where you can access the internet and get on Querytracker.net.  You will find the agents addresses in New York City there.”

“Right,” said Michael.  He pulled the Vanagon back off the nearest off-ramp and headed back into town.  Good thing he had that cheerio.  He almost just drove all the way to Montana!

Offline justwrite

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #20 on: July 25, 2007, 11:18:53 PM »
Yes but he is going to need a hostage. Tension...we need tension here.

Lotheus

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #21 on: July 25, 2007, 11:25:15 PM »
An intern  >:D

Offline Chelc

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #22 on: July 26, 2007, 12:20:01 AM »
All right, I'll wait and see if anyone else joins in.  Come on, Chelsea, show us your stuff!  I'm calling you out!
Naw, seems like you guys have it covered   ;)
Besides, I don't have any experience with feeling the need to get back at agents...I'm just here for the advice :yes:
And to laugh at you all ;D
Though, I may just be able to come up with something for the intern-hostage... >:D

Offline Nostrabuttus

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #23 on: July 26, 2007, 11:38:25 AM »
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  “An aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."

Montana?  Who the hell lives in Montana?  But who was Michael to question a talking cheerio.  He nodded and took the chalice back to the Vanagon, secured it into the back seat, and then took a hard left.  As he read the road signs, trying to decide which would be the best route to Montana, the cheerio spoke again.
“You don’t have to GO to Montana, you idiot.  Go to the library.  They have computers there where you can access the internet and get on Querytracker.net.  You will find the agents addresses in New York City there.”

“Right,” said Michael.  He pulled the Vanagon back off the nearest off-ramp and headed back into town.  Good thing he had that cheerio.  He almost just drove all the way to Montana!

Michael salvaged what he could before the smoke made it impossible to stay inside the vehicle any longer. He looked back at the Vanagan parked on the side of the road, still smoking. Why hadn’t he stopped to check on that smell, when he was still in civilization? He wouldn’t be stranded out in the middle of nowhere, if he had just taken the time to find what led to the cause of the fire under the dash.

Too late now, to worry about it, once published he’ll buy a new vehicle. Michael headed north with his backpack over his shoulder. A car would come along soon, he hoped, looking at the diminishing rays of light as the sun dropped below the mountain range to the west. 
« Last Edit: July 26, 2007, 11:46:32 AM by Nostrabuttus »
Author of humorous short stories, mainstream suspense, mystery, and thriller novels.

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Offline justwrite

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Re: Agent Quest: The Cheerio of Doom
« Reply #24 on: July 26, 2007, 12:40:01 PM »
Hey, Nostra...I think we have him headed for NY, now. Nice twist!

The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  “An aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."

Montana?  Who the hell lives in Montana?  But who was Michael to question a talking cheerio.  He nodded and took the chalice back to the Vanagon, secured it into the back seat, and then took a hard left.  As he read the road signs, trying to decide which would be the best route to Montana, the cheerio spoke again.
“You don’t have to GO to Montana, you idiot.  Go to the library.  They have computers there where you can access the internet and get on Querytracker.net.  You will find the agents addresses in New York City there.”

“Right,” said Michael.  He pulled the Vanagon back off the nearest off-ramp and headed back into town.  Good thing he had that cheerio.  He almost just drove all the way to Montana!

Michael salvaged what he could before the smoke made it impossible to stay inside the vehicle any longer. He looked back at the Vanagan parked on the side of the road, still smoking. Why hadn’t he stopped to check on that smell, when he was still in civilization? He wouldn’t be stranded out in the middle of nowhere, if he had just taken the time to find what led to the cause of the fire under the dash.

Too late now, to worry about it, once published he’ll buy a new vehicle. Michael headed east with his backpack over his shoulder. A car would come along soon, he hoped, looking at the diminishing rays of light as the sun dropped below the mountain range to the west. 

Still reeling over the loss of the sacred oracle, Priest ducked into an all night Shoprite as the sky deepened to indigo. He glanced at the emerging stars and wondered if they were trying in vain to communicate with him through the lost cheerio. He lifted his arms to the sky and waited for the message to enlighten his soul.

Nothing.

Priest trudged into Shoprite, downhearted, yet determined. He would find his way to New York. Cheerio or no cheerio. Vanagon or no Vanagon.
In the cereal aisle, a chubby stockgirl stood on her toes, trying to slide a box onto the highest shelf.

"Here, let me help you," Priest offered.
The girl eyed him suspiciously. The delicate silver wire in her eyebrow twinkled in the flourescent glare.
Electric emotion galloped through Priest. The glorious awakening when the word was revealed to him. The shining moment when the cheerio first commanded his sacred quest. Tears pooled in his eyes. It took him moment for Priest to find his voice, so briiilant was the light coming from this wondrous girl.

It had all led to this.

This chubby pierced stockgirl. She was the one who would show him the way forward.

Offline Chelc

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #25 on: July 26, 2007, 04:48:24 PM »
Argh. I have an idea for this story, but I need a spot to put it...it doesn't fit anywhere yet. You'll jsut have to wait. ;)

Offline justwrite

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #26 on: July 26, 2007, 06:10:34 PM »
wow..the tension builds. You're going to be a great publicist when you're published!

Lotheus

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #27 on: July 30, 2007, 05:34:00 PM »
This reply was getting long, so I didn't copy everything over this time.

“Why are you crying?” the stockgirl said.  Michael hesitated, and then noticed that the box he had helped her push up onto the shelf was a whole case of cheerios.  Again he heard the scared O speak:

“You’ll make them understand, Michael.”

“Umm,” Michael said, scrambling for an answer.  He dropped the pack from his shoulder and pulled out a stained handkerchief.  “My wife left me today, and you remind me of her.  Sorry to bother you.”  Micheal wiped his eyes, blew his nose sonorously, and turned away.

“Wait,” the chubby stockgirl said as he turned to leave.  She was fidgeting with the piercing in her eyebrow and was looking down at the floor.  “That’s about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Well, I meant it,” Michael said.  “She was a good woman, but I’m a bad man.”

“I like bad boys,” the stockgirl said, still not looking up.  She agreed to meet Michael outside the Shoprite after closing time.  The plan was for them to go to an all night diner and get something to eat, but Michael had something else in mind.

Offline justwrite

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #28 on: July 30, 2007, 10:47:52 PM »
wow..great...I'm too brain dead to continue tonight on it, but i promise I will.

Lotheus

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Re: Agent Quest
« Reply #29 on: August 10, 2007, 11:41:21 AM »
It's been two weeks... :zzz: