The Writer's Voice Entry -- THE TROLL DIARIES -- Upper Middle Grade Fantasy

Query:

River has always been a misfit among trolls. He prefers the open sky to the muddy underside of a bridge, and he’d pick Brussels sprouts over bone-bread any day. On top of that, he’s the ugliest troll in the entire forest of Mystwood, but at least his unusual characteristics make him the perfect spy against the enemy fairies. When his father, the Troll King, entrusts him with a dangerous mission, River hopes that this time, finally, he will make his father proud. 

Things take a turn for the worse when River is captured by a fairy hunter--a girl, no less--but he realizes that Astrid is different, unlike the terrible stories of winged monsters that go around snatching troll children from their beds. She doesn’t want to kill him, and her reasons for sparing him are more terrifying than the fierce crystal blade she wields, revealing a truth that could land River on his family’s dinner table. But to discover the truth of his origin, River will have to enter the heart of enemy territory, and bringing that truth to the light of day will unleash war and chaos throughout the forest, putting everyone River cares about in mortal danger. To save those he loves, River will have to choose between what he was born to be, and who he really is.

THE TROLL DIARIES is an upper middle grade fantasy complete at 46,000 words.

First 250: 

I know what you’re thinking. Trolls; nasty, ugly creatures that live in caves and under bridges. And you’d be right, for the most part.

I come from a long line of proud, ugly bridge trolls. It’s what we do. We guard bridges, take tolls, and occasionally grind bones to make our bread.

I’m kidding.

Well, sort of.     

See, I’m not really a normal troll. I guess you could call me the black sheep of the family. Maybe not a sheep though, since my family eats those. I’m pretty sure they don’t want to eat me. I’m a vegetarian, which doesn’t sit well with them at all because the main staple of troll life is bone-bread. Made from…you know…bones.

Truthfully, I prefer to eat things that didn’t scream in fear when they died. Like berries, and mushrooms, and whatever I can poach from the farmer’s crops at the edge of the forest. I’m not proud of stealing the food, but at least I’m not trying to eat the farmer. One night I took my baby sister, Ivy, with me, and things got a little ugly. She’s three, and big for a troll of her age. Anyway, the farmer’s dogs chased us out of the tomato patch, and, well, my sister was hungry. Let’s just say the farmer has one less dog now.

I won’t make that mistake again.