Genre: Science Fiction Thriller
Word Count: 75,000
I’d like to tell you about my latest novel, LOGOS (75,000 words) a Science Fiction Thriller. It’s based on a true life event that happened thirty years ago, when my husbands uncle got on a plane and was never seen again. (This story was featured on “Unsolved Mysteries”.)
Eve was nine when her grandfather boarded a commercial flight and disappear. He left behind a single clue, locked and hidden inside her cross pendant. Thirteen years later, Eve took the same flight to her new home. Rome.
Rome was supposed to be a fun, new adventure. Eve was going to be a modern day Indiana Jones, finding ancient artifacts and exploring. Her reality is altered forever, once she discovers an ancient Sumerian tablet stamped with a symbol matching the medallion secreted away in her locket. She learns the truth behind her grandfather’s disappearance and discovers that an ancient power is being harvested and smuggled within artifacts bought and sold by her employer. This energy is being used for genetic engineering and as a weapon by a powerful and mysterious organization. They have sacrificed thousand –her people. From the watery streets of Venice, underground Rome, the mystique of The Vatican, Eve must race to find her grandfather and to prevent a weapon of mass destruction from detonating inside St. Peter’s Square.
I have written short stories that have been featured in Go Read Your Lunch and the IDAHO Magazine.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
My grandfather boarded a commercial plane and didn’t get off; he just disappeared.
It happened thirteen years ago; I was nine. I spent that Sunday, like any other Sunday, with my grandfather and family. That was before he disappeared; before I became an orphan.
Every Sunday after church there was a guarantee of two things: food and family. Our family wasn’t prolific compared to the rest of the families that attended Our Lady of Peace Catholic Church. It was just me, Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, but anyone who broke bread with us was considered family.
Our house was a white and brick, blue-collar colonial in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania. Back then, we left our doors unlocked and the wooded lot across the way was our playground. On this Sunday, neighbor kids weaved in and out of doors as my father argued with Father Halpin whether the Phillies had a chance against Boston. It was an old argument because every good Catholic knew that God was on the side of Boston but my father’s loyalty was to his hometown. The women were in the kitchen stirring bubbling pots and frying dough while I was where I always wanted to be, with my grandfather.
I breathed in the smell of Italian gravy, fresh bread and the black licorice smell of my grandfather as I gripped his hands tighter pausing mid-climb. This was home.
“Evie, act like a lady,” my mother scolded as she caught me climbing my grandfather like a jungle gym.