Amelia yanked her older brother back to the curb as an ambulance wailed through the intersection. He shrieked, “Naa! Naa!” and put his hands over his ears, elbowing her phone into the street. It skidded under a parked silver sedan.
It’s been said the book is dead. As for me?
A device may be quite nice.
But a book?
I am actively seeking representation for my first novel, Uphill Skiing. It's about 16-year-old Amelia, who wants a job as a ski instructor (and wouldn't mind a snowboarder boyfriend) against a background of caring for her older brother with autism. The first few pages are here, along with a couple of other writing pieces.