Query for CLOSER THAN SISTERS

Get out the red pens! This is query version number... ack, I hate to think of it. The query has been making the rounds, but I can't leave it alone because it hasn't produced the expected result! Any and all (especially detailed) comments greatly appreciated. Looking forward to reading yours.

Dear M. Nificent:

Teen astrological time twins become closer than sisters until ghosts, guardian angels, and the charms of a boy force them to choose between bonds that unite and faith that divide.

Sixteen-year-old Laynie McAllister thinks her ditzy mom's paranormal beliefs are cracked. Then she meets Gwynne Rath, a newcomer born on the same day... at the same minute. The time twins share creepy, amazing life parallels. With this supernatural gift of the sister she's always wanted, her mom's New Age beliefs suddenly make sense.

Gwynne adores her new BFF, but not Laynie's weird supernatural theories. She doesn't know who or what to believe when haunting incidents uncover the truth about her parents' deaths years before. Confused, she writes off her remaining family and clings to the sisterhood. But still she falls for Declan Lake, the boy Laynie has loved forever. The love triangle tears the twins apart.

Laynie summons her guardian angel for counsel, but two show up. Laynie believes the lost one is Gwynne's. To restore their friendship, the twins need to confront Declan and reconcile the angels. Laynie insists transferring the lost angel will seal their sisterhood forever. Gwynne has adopted twinship, wondered about ghosts, and felt the feathers -- but she isn't sure a guardian angel is her thing. When Laynie talks her into a paranormal meditation, it becomes a dangerous showdown. Gwynne must decide if she can accept the beliefs that are not her own -- or lose the closest family she's ever claimed.

Thank you for considering CLOSER THAN SISTERS, Contemporary YA in alternating first person. The manuscript is 65,000 words. The opening is below.

Happy reading,
Lori Ehrman Tinkey

Testing, testing... is this thing on?

Hello everyone and yes, I'm aware 'everyone' is pretty much... um, me. Well, there's always the proverbial 'myself and I' to add, but why would I want to be clever just for me?

The other day I posted on Facebook, wherein I've invested a good deal of my momentary social time without leaving my computer or saying a word, "I'm officially rejoining society." Why? All my Facebook friends know, having lovingly commented their cheers through each chapter until the final middle-of-night announcement of a completed second novel. As my kids used to say an eternal couple of years ago, yay for me! Jk, as they say now.

But then I got to thinking -- am I ready to rejoin society, the kind with the ordinary leisurely pursuits and time-sucking rationalizations? For one, I wrote this book to read -- for other people to read, that is. That takes some doing, and all these crowding ideas for more stories seek the light, too. Secondly, is it the physical society I'm looking to rejoin, or an existential band of like-minded folks in similar pursuits (as mind-bending as those pursuits may get?).

I remember how much fun it was last time around, blogging for fitness and tweeting in connection with the writerly world until The Novel usurped the air for even a solitary chirp. It was a mountain-top experience, all of it. No regrets. And now on this second rotation of the wheel, indeed the society I wish to rejoin has altered from the one I left behind... and it's better than ever.

In Memoriam of The Godmother

Dear Aunt Anne, I wrote in childish script from my assigned post at the kitchen table, thank you for the Christmas tree ornaments. They are very pretty. And they were lovely -- four petite, white porcelain angels trumpeting and heralding in joy. I'd suspended them separately by their thin gold strands on the enormous Douglas fir scraping the family room ceiling, careful to hang them just high enough so the dogs couldn't knock them down. Each little angel felt like my very own treasure sent from far away but dear-to-heart Godmother Anne. And so it was, every year.

"Is that all you're going to say?" my mother would ask from the stove as I paused over the thank you note. "Tell her what you're doing."

So I would, filling the front, back, and sometimes side spaces of the card with my momentary adventures. While I wrote, I always felt she loved me and absolutely would nurture this only child of only-children parents if tragedy should separate my small family. I could tell she cared about the piano competitions of a young Jersey girl and would eagerly read the sprawled accounts. And I wondered why she sent angels and other keepsakes, faithfully early enough to cherish each wrapped package in its place under the tree before Christmas, even long after she danced on my wedding day.

Remembering Aunt Anne brings a smile. She was full of warmth and light in my mind, sweetly supportive and happy to connect. I spoke with her last on the phone about a year ago, and we smiled to each other long distance as we caught up on family doings. She encouraged me in my pursuits even as I was insisting, "But tell me about you." And she did, about her family she adored and their shared closeness. When we hung up, I inexplicably found tears in my eyes... but of happiness.

This year, there will be a pause when my family lifts the angels out of their box, just as there's a stop when I handle the door pillow announcing "The Prince is Sleeping!" Anne humorously sent at Luke's birth four years ago. And when we place the special ornaments at their usual tippy-top spot on the tree (nothing above them but the treetop angel, is the rule), I'll tell my four perfect little angels -- Amanda, Madeleine, Brielle, and Luke -- about my darling Godmother all over again... like I do every year. Or maybe the oldest, Amanda, will tell it this year.

Love you, Aunt Anne. You are missed. Look down on us, watch over us, and know you are sweetly remembered.

Lori