Query Event: Post your Query for Agent Moe Ferrara! (all YA + sci-fi/fantasy)

Dear Ms. Ferrara,

Before attending the giant music magnet school in Newburyport, Connecticut, awkward fifteen-year-old Jason Cervantes’ primary social outlet had been the Prickly Pears, a gang of geriatric, guitar-picking, banjo-plucking virtuosos in ultra rural Redridge, Texas. That’s about to change.

Arriving at his new school, Jason immediately meets manic gymnast Sarah Elliot. Though tiny, she’s tough as nails, and straightaway rescues him from confrontation with a gorillaman. Impressed by each other’s talents, they teeter on the brink of love. But Sarah is too young and is terrified by her emotions. She makes Jason into the big brother she never had. Then she decides he should date her former student mentor Elizabeth Franklin, the school’s most talented singer.

When Jason becomes Elizabeth’s music theory study partner he notices the signs of abuse. Music is her only escape. He takes her under his wing (and into his bedroom), and convinces her to audition for the nationally televised vocal competition Sing Out! The trio’s convoluted friendship grows as they prepare for the show. At their brink of triumph, Elizabeth’s world explodes into violence. All they have left is their music and each other.

My 87,000 word contemporary young adult novel Sing Out!’s melancholy tone is similar to Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I believe it has crossover appeal to fans of Pitch Perfect. The novel’s peculiar first person dialog-based narrative style, terse, unadorned, and direct, reflects Jason’s mixed Hispanic-American upbringing in tightlipped and dry southwestern Texas.

I am the married father of two teenaged musicians, both strong girls, and a PhD candidate in Climate Science at Penn State. Thank you for your consideration.

Warmest regards,

Rob Ceres

  1. A New Song My banjo land, so long gone, piano chords replace her song. Here at last, at journeys end, and we begin, anew again. Finished. Blasted song had tortured me for days. Wistful and melancholy, it matched my mood. But about as exciting as a potato sandwich. And passion? Intensity? Guts? All missing. Not even a pickup truck. Crap. Even that rhymed. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, fingers denting leather, vision blurring… “Jason, Earth to Jason, a little too fast. Be careful,” Mom said. “Turn left. You can park the car right over there.” Relax. I turned, careful to avoid swarms of kids in backpacks, tees and jeans. The place was freaking huge. “Exactly how many students are there?” “Almost twenty-five hundred. A bit bigger than Redridge I’d say.” “Damn straight.” I glanced at my buttoned sleeves. “They dress different.” “You okay?” “Sure… no, I’m fine. Been a whirlwind week is all.” “You’ll do better this year, park there, with the music program and all. You’ll fit right in. But we’re late. Come on, we can’t rest until this afternoon.” I hopped out, locked the car, and tossed her the keys. We entered via a side door, crossed to the front of the library, and she kissed my cheek. “Mom.” I yanked my head away. “See you later, or drop in if you get a chance. Hurry off, you’re late. Love ya.” I rushed down the crowded hall trying to read the map. Big mistake. Rounding the corner I smacked into an immovable ape. “Oomph.” Gorillaman was not amused, and shoved. Hard. Papers and cellphone flew. I flattened my back to the lockers, shrinking down. He was shorter, but had fifty pounds on me, not to mention two looming buddies. But behind them, a trio of angry girls charged in. The eerie trumpets from Patton’s soundtrack sounded inside my head and I leaned right to follow the action. Gorillaman spoke, “Dumb Spic. Watch it.” “Oh, I’m watching.” He followed my look, but too late. The lead girl lashed out, hooked his fingers, and twisted. Viciously. It hurt to watch. “Back off.” She stepped sideways into a fighting stance, fists to cheeks, voice pitched impossibly high. G-Sharp? “I swear I’m gonna kick your ass.” Hitting high C? “I mean it. Leave him alone.”
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