Dear Miss Snark,
Even tomboys can dream of Prince Charming. Or maybe it was the Frog Prince.
In Prisses, Kisses, and Fishes, Jacqualyn’s summer had been planned to perfection; win the Big Bass Fishing Trophy, squash her nemesis, Becca, into a pulpy, pink pile, and above all, avoid Ethan, her green-haired new neighbor, before she uttered another classy line like “Hi, I’m Jac. I’m not a boy.” The only trouble is, she’s told Becca that Ethan is her boyfriend, and Becca has a big mouth.
Prisses, Kisses, and Fishes is a 30,000 word fiction novel (ARGH) geared toward nine to twelve year olds. I will mail the completed or a portion at your request. Thank you for your time and consideration. I hope to hear from you soon.
I liked what I read, I'd keep reading despite fiction novel
Water tanks filled with minnows, gasoline, hogs (who, I think are truly wonderful creatures) and under it all the smell of Down Creek in the summer heat. The smell of freedom. The smell of Chuck’s Bait and Tackle.
Every year The Big Bass Fishing Tournament is hosted here, and for the first time, I was a full-fledged contestant.
Granddad Ebo slapped me on the shoulder, his eyebrows wiggling like white willy-worms. “Who knows, Jac. You could be the youngest person to ever win. It’s in your blood, you know?”
I looped my thumbs in my bib-shorts to keep from reaching into my pocket. The registration stub darn near burned a hole in my left butt cheek.
“Too bad that Miriam Henricks won in ninety-eight or you could be the youngest and the first female.” Granddad’s left eye twitched when he said her name.
He’d been the winner every year since nineteen seventy-three. Then she moved to town. He’d taken an instant disliking to her. I reckon her being the first person to beat him didn’t help none. Being neighbors and within spitting distance only made it worse.
“Do you really think I can win?” I asked.
I could picture the gleam on the trophy. The fierce struggle to reel in the biggest fish this town had ever seen. The different ways I could rub my victory in Becca Patrick’s face.
Granddad said, “I sure do. Maybe this year you’ll catch the Big Malloy. Just you set your mind to it, Jac. Anything is possible—”
“—with a little hard work and a lot of luck.” The Hayes family motto. Granddad lived by it. So had my Daddy.
“In your case, you’ll need all the help you can get,” he laughed and winked.
“Ha ha.” Another Hayes family tradtition.
He pointed down the road. “Want to get some ice cream before we head on out for a practice run?”
“Yep.” Like I was supposed to turn down ice cream. Not any time soon.
He stopped by his beat-up Ford Ranger, pulled his billfold from the ashtray, and tucked a few bills into my hand. “Run up and save us a spot. The line’s already forming.”
I zigzagged through the maple trees and cracks on the sidewalk. Kids pressed hot fingers to the smudged glass at Patrick’s Dip and Serve, debating the best flavor slushy.
Sixth in line. Granddad moseyed toward me, but stopped outside Blackthorn’s Pharmacy to chat with Walnut. He said Walnut was lonely. I said he was plain weird.
Granddad would be stuck for awhile, so I turned back and thought about the BBFT (Big Bass Fishing Tournament for those of you who’ve forgotten). The rules were simple. We had five turn-ins within three days. Best total weight wins. The real trick is knowing what is a keeper or a tosser. Daily leaders would be announced on WKLM Real Country. How cool would it be to hear my name announced on the radio?
Even better though was the trophy ceremony. People from all over came for the all-day barbeque. Local bands set up at the marina and played until the fireflies danced alongside us. I’d be hard pressed to think of a better day.
The winner of the tournament got bragging rights for a year and the pooled prize money. A twenty-five dollar registration fee times by at least one hundred people and you get a crap load of money.
If only I could catch the Big Malloy, I’d be sure to win. The Big Malloy was the meanest, smartest, granddaddy of all fish in Lake Chamblin. Granddad and I had almost had him last year when our line busted. Twenty five pound test and it snapped like a twig.
first thing is that the story itself seems to be in a time warp.
yes I live in the 212 but when was the last time a 12 year old inTHIS day and age said "I reckcon" or "burned a hole in my pocket".
It also suffers from over explanation, and too much set up.
I'd pass on this with the standard 'not for me' and keep looking for something that zinged.