2014 Breakthrough Pitch

GIRL WITHOUT BORDERS
'breakthrough novel award pitch, 2014'

Will is headed for the great American psychotic break, at the glorious dawn of the new millenium. Whoever convinced him that having two women instead of one was the best problem he could have, left him a window seat on a slow train through hell.

Drama has a queen. Will cannot resist the allure of the sexy girl with a punk attitude and Borderline personality. She sends her snakes out to find him, charm and release. She always leaves him spinning. His best friend offers up a voice of reason, but Will is not listening. Meanwhile, another young lady is crushing on him, hard.

 In an subculture running on hip-hop and high fructose corn-syrup, a sensitive young man hoping to find himself, gets lost in relationships and urban landscapes. He paints himself into corners, then fights his way out.  Non-violently, whenever possible. Experiencing life at the center of an unrequited love triangle.

When life becomes overwhelming, Will retreats into his internal world where dreams are still possible. He often wishes he could turn back time and heal a broken relationship with his ex-girlfriend.

'k street tag, midtown' by k

Something has to give. How long will he continue to prioritize this patterned madness of poorly chosen attachments over his emotional stability? His spirit flags. Even his ring-tailed cat, Raccoon, tires of him. She cuts him up with her claws, hoping to awaken him before something terrible happens.

Girl Without Borders is a coming-of-age, character-driven story set in Chicago at an historic moment in time, exploring the fragility of youth and identity in a counterculture embrace, holding on for dear life, in the vortex of big city urban chaos.

Rolling Allostasis -vi)

She was a history junkie. A doctor. phd.
Examining old cultures and wars was her rush.
Anthropology was her fix.

She found what she needed to know while tabbing through her cerebellum's internal ledger, set to siddhartha style scrolling, which kept her mind rolling. Her attention was set to its highest ceiling, steady conscious, you know the feeling. Urgent were these matters she had to attend. She wanted to bum rush the majora with the minora. Do the hundred yard dash toward the cash money stash.

She liked to focus on that heated point where marginalized culture unite, center of the heart of the body of any creative work in motion. After studying each slide of her mind, she would leave it behind. Leave no trace. She set fire to the scrolls after thumbing through the seat of memory with a fine-toothed gnosis comb. You know, right beside the garden gnome. They both stood there, in the corn rows of her dome. And watched the paper separate at its perforations, fold up toward the center as the edges caught fire. The scarecrow shuddered. The crows, they flew away. The margins moved in to drop trails of smouldering ash. The paper chase got chased right out of town.

The revolution was on, like a wheel that's been trued. Effortless and unglued. This was where her mind joined the mind of the people. Territorial boundaries became blurred like some communist conspiracy coming into view. Empowerment via numbers was mathematically guaranteed. They hunted the bloated dumpster raccoons until they were treed. Reduced odds down to one, aka: no other possibility.

She prepared herself for rain. Premonition kept her sane.

Rolling allostasis -iv)

She was in her twenties, when she surfaced from the midsection of an iceberg, the frozen contents of some formerly fluid collective subconscious experience. In the middle of nowhere, mind you. A slow drip of unhappening. Congealed into living memories (consistency of molasses).  So she thawed from her heart out, and the ice around her began to soften in her light and heat, and collect supine at her feet. Aqua devotion. If water had hands... then prayer beneath her dry eyes. So rare did this sorta manifestation occur. The glaciers melt in their natural way before her. And she takes her damn time. You don’t hurry a glacier. You age it, like wine. Or wait for her to melt, to reference empirical evidence of global warming. Melting butter at room temperature. She never left the kitchen table. Painting her daily bread. Turning and turning yellow over time with the wallpaper. Gotta get worse before she gets better. Baby blue with white flowers, soft and malleable. Almost vulnerable, fallible – almost human again. As she wishes. As they want her. Sorry says the fight inside her, delivering the roundhouse Queen Anne Victorian style. Round one...TKO. From a frozen warrior #2 asana. Feel the heat. Sauna.