ATTENTION: Before reading, get information about the Great Blog Voice Experiment here.

The topic: “A young woman confronts her parents after discovering she has inherited telekinetic powers.”
__________________________

My parents gaped as the fifty-dollar bill floated through the air and drifted over to settle on my open palm.

“Wanna explain that?” I asked.

I’d known it would happen. It had been happening for the last two days. I looked at something, decided I wanted it, and the next thing I knew it was headed in my direction. Without much control of it on my part. When it happened with the lipstick I had dropped behind my vanity and couldn’t reach, it was pretty cool. And I tried it about a dozen times just to make sure I wasn’t imagining it.

When it happened with the answers to the pop history quiz Ms. Jones had on her desk, right in the middle of class? So. Not. Cool. The only way I managed to stop it was to fake a fainting spell–which resulted in a trip to the nurse’s office, giving me an extra day to study for the quiz anyway, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Except that this couldn’t go on. At least not without me knowing what the hell “this” was and how I could use it to my advantage.

So, I decided to ask my dad for money, knowing that with this
newly-discovered talent of mine, I’d have no problem getting something more from his wallet than the piddly little twenty he’d try to give me.

“Um, I have no idea,” Mom said slowly, struggling to maintain her game face. “Frank?”

Dad shook his head. “No clue.”

“Oh, come on! Seriously!” I waved the fifty in the air. “Enough with the secrets already. I know you know something.”

If they truthfully thought I couldn’t put two and two together and figure out that they knew all about this little secret “power” of mine, they didn’t know me very well.

Their tightly-clamped lips made it clear that all the pleading in the world wasn’t going to result in the information I wanted. Blackmail was necessary.

“Fine,” I said, folding the bill in fourths and tucking it into my bra. Whirling, I made my way toward the back door. “I’m going to the mall with Meg. And, if that Coach purse I’ve been wanting just happens to float into my possession–”

“Okay!”

When I turned back and saw my dad’s look, I realized smugly that this was going to be better than I thought.

Maybe now I’d make sense of my earliest memory, sitting on my father’s lap as a toddler, inconsolable about something. Dad stressing out that he couldn’t comfort me. Suddenly my mother came flying into the room like Super Mom, tackling the beer my dad had floating toward him in midair, before crashing into the coffee table.

From the guilty look on Dad’s face–and the glare on Mom’s –I had a feeling my little “gift” came from the paternal side of the family.
_______________________________
To find out more about Shannon McKelden’s chick lit or young adult fiction, check out http://www.shannonmckelden.com or http://shannonmckelden.blogspot.com/ and watch for VENUS ENVY, coming Feb 2007, from Tor .

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ATTENTION: Before Reading, get information about the Great Blog Voice Experiment here.

The topic: “A young woman confronts her parents after discovering she has inherited telekinetic powers.”
_______________________________

It had to have been all the alcohol.

Lots of alcohol. Eight glasses of Pinot Grigio, followed by shots of Jagermeister to be exact. But you only turned thirty once.

Still…all that alcohol had made some weird things happen last night.

Callie Masterson handed over a dollar to the Mass Turnpike toll booth worker and hit the gas as she continued on her way to her parents’ house out in Newton. Her head prickled with traces of a post-party hangover, but at least she’d been smart enough to pop a few Tylenol before passing out on her bed and wishing like hell that she’d feel better in the morning.

And strangely, she did.

Wishing. Hmmm…her birthday wishes seemed to be coming true. At least one from last night that had her so rattled this morning.

Zipping out onto the Pike, she weaved in and out of traffic with the greatest of ease headed west out of Boston. She usually hated the drive out to Newton, but somehow, the cars were literally getting out of her way. Doing exactly what she was wishing…that they’d move.

Just like last night with David McIntyre.

The other brokers from the sales desk at Westerfield Financial Services took Callie, one of the top, most professional sales people, out to celebrate her thirtieth birthday. They started at Whiskey’s on Boylston, went to the Globe further down the street and then ended up at the Foggy Goggle. Foggy was the appropriate word because by then, Callie was way gone on all the free wine, happy, singing, hugging her friends and finally relaxing on a soft couch taking everything in. The group had ended up in the lower bar, doing shots and dancing.

That was when it happened. She didn’t remember some things about the evening, but David McIntyre, tall, gorgeous, shaggy brown hair and dreamy hazel eyes, was something she’d never forget. The fellow broker was already an unrequited crush of hers, but when she watched him moving to the music looking soooooooo damn good, she thought one thing:

I wish he’d rip off his shirt and give me a birthday lap dance.

And next thing Callie knew, he did.

David McIntyre, Mr. Conservative Power Broker with the supply of Brooks Brother’s suits, grabbed at the front of his blue oxford shirt, tugged off his classically striped tie and proceeded to straddle his mile-long legs around Callie while gyrating to the music. His broad chest was covered with a thick, brown mass of hair that she wanted to run her fingers through. She may have. All she knew was David McIntyre, the most beautiful man in the office, was giving her an ultimate birthday present. All because I wished for it.

She shook her thoughts and took the Newton exit, weaving effortlessly through the residential streets to her parents’ house. She parked, got out and padded to the back door, using her key to let herself in.

“Anyone home?” she called out.

“In here, dear!” her mother answered. “Oh, let me see you…”

“Mom, it’s no big deal,” Callie said, laughing as her mother approached with wide arms.

Nancy Masterson gathered Callie to her and squeezed tightly. “My baby is all grown up now.”

Callie felt smothered, breathing in deep. “Mom, stop.”

And she did.

Wow, that’s never worked before.

“Sit, sit, dear…I’ll get you some coffee and we’ll talk.” Her mother turned her back and went to the cupboard.

Feeling experimental and a little wigged out at how the world seemed to be obeying her all of a sudden, Callie focused hard on the kitchen chair, directing it to slide back away from the table. In a quick motion, the chair shook and then catapulted a foot from its resting place.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed.

“Callie Elizabeth Masterson!” Nancy said, like she always did whenever Callie did or said something she shouldn’t.

But Callie wasn’t listening. She was shaking. Hard. What just happened? She’d wanted the chair to move and it did. She’s wanted the cars on the Pike to get out of her way and they did. She’d wanted David McIntyre to rip off his shirt and lap dance her…and he did.

Nancy stepped to her. “Sweetie, you’re trembling. What’s the matter?”

How did she explain this when she didn’t understand it herself?

“I…I…it’s just…things are…weird…I’m seeing things…”

Her mother was attentive. “Like what?”

Callie swallowed hard. She loved her mother, trusted her implicitly. “Things are…moving when I want them to.” She stopped and shook her head. “Maybe I have a hangover, after all.”

Her mother covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, sweetie. It’s happened.”

Furrowing her brow, Callie asked, “What’s happened?”

“The Gift. It’s happened.”

“Mom, what gift? A birthday gift?” Callie was confused.

Nancy pulled over a chair and set her down, taking the one next to her. “Callie, I thought it wouldn’t happen to you, but it has. And if I’d thought of it more, it would make sense because it happens when you turn thirty.”

Callie shook her head as she continued to tremble. “What happens?”

“The Gift,” Nancy explained. “It usually skips a generation in our family, but it seems you’ve gotten it too. I have it and my sister has it and our grandmother had it. Mother never had it, but she knew about it. I’m so glad you’re here so we can talk and I can help you harness The Gift as it’s a very special thing. Oh, I’m so excited for you!”

“Mom! You’re talking Farsi to me. What gift? Please tell me.”

“You’ve finally inherited my telekinetic powers.”

Callie’s mouth fell open. “You’re completely messing with me! What telekinetic powers?”

Nancy continued to smile. “Everyone has the potential to be telekinetic, but the women in our family seem to pass it down as an inheritance. Telekinesis is created by higher levels of consciousness and gives you the energy to move or bed objects by using your thoughts in your subconscious mind. And yours have kicked in on your thirtieth birthday, just like the rest of us, Callie! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Callie leaned back in the chair and tried to steady her breathing. If what her mother was saying was true, then her life had completely changed. Everything would be different from here on out.

And, she owed David McIntyre an enormous apology…and one hell of a tip.
__________________________
For more information about Marley Gibson, visit http://marleygibson.com, and check out the hilarious and infamous Boston-based blog of her character, Vanessa Virtue! Her four book sorority series with Puffin will be a Spring 2008 release.

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ATTENTION: Before Reading, get information about the Great Blog Voice Experiment here.

The topic: “A young woman confronts her parents after discovering she has inherited telekinetic powers.”
____________________

The best thing about Botox is that it makes people incapable of looking as angry at you as they are. My dad rallied, but the most he could muster was a little twitch around the eyebrow region.

“So.” He tilted forward on his leather executive chair and steepled his hands on the carved teak desk. “Care to explain what that was all about?”

I picked at a cuticle and shrugged. “Was kind of hoping you and mom would fill in the blanks for me.”

My mother, beside me on the couch, touched my arm gently. Her fingers felt coarse and callused against my skin. There were tired lines around her eyes and her lipstick had long since worn away. How different she looked from my father, whose face was as smooth (and almost as orange) as a Jack O’Lantern.

“Sweetheart, I know it’s difficult for you these past few months, but your father and I—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Gabrielle interrupted. She pointed at me with a wickedly long, wickedly red fingernail. “Steve, your adult daughter is a menace, not some kid playing a prank because her parents split up. My maid of honor is in the hospital and you two want to treat this girl like she’s a six-year-old who broke her sister’s Barbie!”

“She’s practically a Barbie,” I grumbled. And Gabrielle could have been my sister.

What kind of person dressed for their engagement party like they were strolling Hollywood Boulevard in search of johns? My ersatz stepmom wore a miniskirt cut so high on the bottom and so low on top that I’d wear it as a belt, and her brand new double D’s (25th birthday present from my dad) strained credibility and the flimsy knit material of her tube top.

Above her, my dad’s largest golfing trophy wobbled precariously on its shelf. Ah, looks like I was getting my strength back.

“What I want to know,” my mom said, “is why you people think my 110 pound daughter could topple a thousand-pound ice sculpture.”

“She confessed.”

My mother turned to me, incredulous, which meant it was time for another shrug.

“I confessed.” Wobble wobble wobble. I wondered idly if the trophy would land golfer-up or golfer-down, and, if the latter, if it would puncture Gabrielle’s thick skull. (Hey, don’t look at me. My power apparently has a mind of its own, and a vengeful one at that. ) “You guys would have figured out what happened eventually, seeing as how I’ve been 20 for three weeks.”

My dad shook his head, but his expression never wavered. “What are you talking about?”

“The gypsy at my birthday party. She said I’d inherit my family’s telekinetic powers at 20, and ever since hitting the big 2-0, it’s been Poltergeist in my apartment. I can’t control it. And obviously you guys can. So I want to know how. How do you keep getting all those holes in one, Dad? I turned to my mom. “How are you really weaving all those tapestries?”

For the first time in months, my parent’s eyes met, and, Botox be damned, the expression on my dad’s face was every bit as shocked as my mom’s.

“Um, Gabriellle?” my dad said. “Can you excuse us for a moment, please?”

She threw her hands in the air. “Fabulous! You want me to live with fucking Carrie for a stepdaughter, but I don’t get a say in it. Three words, Steve: Breach. Of. Contract.”

A moment after she left, the marble golfer toppled. Damn. I’d have to work on my timing.

We all three stared at my father’s wreck of a trophy. Then my dad cleared his throat. “You really inherited uncontrollable telekinetic powers?”

“Duh.”

He slammed his fist down. “I knew we got a bargain for a reason. Fine, we weren’t good candidates, but look what you get on the black market!”

“Steve—” my mom said, in that difficult voice.

“No, I knew it. I just knew it. Didn’t I say that we should shop around?”

“What?!?” I looked at my mom.

“Here’s the thing, honey,” my mom said gently. “If you inherited anything, it wasn’t from us.” She bit her lip. “You’re adopted.”
__________________________

Watch for Diana Peterfreund’s debut, Secret Society Girl, out this July from Delacorte Press.

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ATTENTION: Before Reading, get information about the Great Blog Voice Experiment here.

The topic: “A young woman confronts her parents after discovering she has inherited telekinetic powers.”

________________________________________

Lindsey stormed into the living room, where her parents sat doing the only thing she knew—or wanted to know—they still did together. As always, Dad kept the remote aimed at the TV, ready to shoot channel-changing lasers at the first hint of boredom.

She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and tensed all over as she concentrated on that one little button on the remote. Mute . . . mute . . .

Mute mute mute mute—

Her heart leaped and her eyes flew open as the TV fell silent.

“What the—?” Dad sat up, the remote tumbling to the floor as he glared at Mom. “Honey, please don’t tell me you did it again? I know Bill O’Reilly can be annoying sometimes, but occasionally he does make a good—”

“No, I did it,” Lindsey cut in. “So Heather was right! I do have telekinetic powers!”

Mom looked as if she were competing for the title of Ms. Nonchalance. Yeah, right. Last time she’d vied for that honor was right after the Goodwill truck had been to their house, and Lindsey asked Mom if she’d seen lumpy old Mr. Snuffles, who’d mysteriously vanished from his usual spot on her pillow.

Dad said, “Lindsey, haven’t we told you not to believe everything your sister says?”

“Nice try, Dad. This isn’t like the time she told me you ordered her out of the Neiman-Marcus catalog, while you got me at a PTA white elephant sale.” And that, Heather had added, was why Lindsey had such a big butt. “She says we inherited telekinetic powers. And I just proved it. I used those powers to mute the TV. Hey, I can use them to clean my room! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Mom sighed. “That’s the downside. You can use them to mute the TV, rearrange furniture, and even reduce great cathedrals and palaces into rubble. But for some reason, they’re utterly useless against dirty socks and wet towels. And dust.”

Lindsey went limp, gaping back in dismay.

Mom gifted her with a rueful smile. “I know what you’re thinking. So what’s the use of having telekinetic powers at all?”

“That is what I’m thinking,” Lindsey said with a whimper.

Her mother stood up and hugged her. “Welcome to womanhood, darling!”
________________________________

For more information about Karen’s regency romantic comedy, visit http://karenlingefelt.com. Her uproarious debut, True Pretenses, is available now!

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ATTENTION: Before Reading, get information about the Great Blog Voice Experiment here.
The topic: “A young woman confronts her parents after discovering she has inherited telekinetic powers.”
______________

Christina Robicheaux had been in trouble before but was willing to bet that this time her thirteen-year-old hiney wouldn’t recover in time for church on Sunday. She’d thought about how to explain the situation to her parents the entire afternoon – after IT had happened.

Since dark approached and being late for dinner would only add to her problems, she headed out across the marsh to her family’s cabin on the bayou. As she walked in the kitchen, her mom sat rolls on the table and smiled. “Perfect timing.”

Christina nodded. “Is Dad here?”

Her mom gave her an odd look, but then it was sort of an odd question. At this time on a Friday evening, her dad was always in his recliner. “He’s in the living room. Why?”

Before she could change her mind, Christina blurted out, “There’s something I need to tell you both.”

Her mom looked a bit worried but set her potholder on the counter and smoothed her apron. “Well, might as well be now.” She gestured to the door and Christina walked through, already cringing from what would most certainly be her dad’s wrath.

WWF was to her dad’s liking at the moment, so at least the timing was as good as it could get. He looked up from the television as they entered the room and frowned. “Isn’t it time to eat?”

Her mom nodded. “Yes, but Christina wanted to tell us something.”

Her dad grunted. “Well, go ahead, girl. Food’s getting cold.”

Christina took in a giant breath, letting it out with the words she’d been dreading. “It finally happened.”

“You made the football team?” her dad asked.

“A boy asked you out?” her mom followed.

“A boy better not ask her out!” her dad boomed.

“Wait!” Christina put up one hand to stop the barrage. “I mean IT finally happened.”

They both stared for a moment, confused expressions on their faces, then slowly they changed – her mom’s into a broad smile, her dad’s into a scowl.

“Well, hell,” her dad complained. “This is what I get for marrying a voodoo queen.”

Her mom grabbed her in a hug and kissed her check. “That’s great darling. What can you do? I’m sure it’s something wonderful.”

Her dad gave them a derisive look. “Your son belches blue daisies. I hardly call that wonderful.”

Her mom frowned. “Rob is very artistic – and he’s your son too.”

“If he was my son, he’d belch black and red number 3’s,” her dad mumbled.

“So what can you do?” her mom asked, completely ignoring her dad and his lack of “artistic” appreciation.

Christina sighed. “I can shoot lightening out of my hands.”

There was dead silence for a moment and Christina was certain that no one breathed. Two pairs of wide eyes stared at her, waiting for the punch line that wasn’t going to come.

Finally, their expressions reversed, her mom’s into a frown and her dad’s into a huge grin. “Well, hell that is wonderful,” he said. “How did it happen? Not at school, right?”

“No,” Christina rushed to reassure them. “After school. I got my new t-shirt caught on a piece of metal and it ripped. I got angry and when I stared at the metal, a bolt of lightening came out of my hand and blew it to bits.”

Her mother sucked in a breath. “I don’t know about this. It’s a great ability, but it seems so dangerous. Maybe there’s something I can do to tone it down a bit.”

Her dad bolted up from his chair and threw one arm around Christina. “The hell you will. Deer season starts tomorrow. Do you have any idea how handy this will be?” Her dad beamed at her and squeezed her shoulders tightly and for the first time in her life, Christina had her dad’s approval.

It shouldn’t have mattered. Her dad had always been distant, more a minor participant in his children’s lives than a parent. But the overwhelming happiness she felt from finally pleasing him made her proud and giddy all at the same time. She couldn’t help but relax against her dad’s embrace and enjoy the moment. Maybe tomorrow she’d tell him that piece of metal she’d destroyed was his brand new bass boat.

After she lit up Bambi.

__________________________________________

To read more of Jana DeLeon’s hilarious southern fiction, visit http://janadeleon.com, and watch for RUMBLE ON THE BAYOU, available October, 2006.

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So a few weeks ago, there was a flurry of posts on the lit blogosphere reacting to complaints about similar stories by different writers. This is what happened: a reader (Amazon reviewer) or similar would write a scathing piece about how Story A was a total “ripoff” of Story B, usually based on such flimsy evidence as they were both “futuristic lady cops” or “Beauty and the Beast” stories. Occasionally, writers themselves would get in on the action, wondering why the story they had just sold was so wildly similar to another story recently sold to another house by a stranger. Writer reaction to these statements of concern about “ripoffs” and “stealing” were vehement.

“I say the concept of every romance novel is a woman and man who are attracted to each other and eventually end up together. It’s the journey to the end that’s different. It’s the dialogue, the tone, the setting, the characters and their pasts. It’s the voice. Every story has already been written. All I can do is put my own twist on it. Same with other authors.” — Gena Showalter

“My point is…this is a perfect example of how very similar ideas are out there, floating in the muse-ether as I call it, and yet can be executed totally differently. I always hear that there are only a handful of original plots and all stories are some version of those (Beauty and the Beast theme, the Quest theme, Cinderella theme), and it’s true!” — Susan Grant

“I’m weary of seeing Amazon posts where “reviewers” toss accusations of copycatting around freely. In this current market, there are particular types of books that are selling; that’s what editors want. That’s what reader’s want. It doesn’t make the authors’ works derivative. Nor are they writing in a vacuum—they are a product of their times (pop culture, novels, media) like every other author alive right now. Naturally their work bears the stamp of the times within which they live.” — Deidre Knight

“Hello….anyone want to compare that theme to countless others out there? Anyone want to start bitch slapping me for stealing an idea thought up by someone else? Or lots of way famous someone else’s.” — Jaci Burton

The prevailing attitude in these posts is that every story has already been written, and it’s the characters, the nuances, the voice, whatever, that sets them apart from one another, and that there seems to be a group subconscious where complete strangers simultaneously come up with the same idea.

So I thought I’d run an experiment — I’d give a variety of authors the same basic scene structure and let them run with it, and see how many different takes we could get based on the writers’ vastly different writing styles. I got this idea first from the above posts, and second from a fabulous article by Julie Leto called “Ditching ‘The Book of Your Heart’ for ‘A Book of Your Voice,’” which I know I’ve lauded before on this blog, but really, I can’t say enough about this article, and how there are so many brilliant facets to it.

In the article, Leto mentions that a good way to discuss what voice is is to get a bunch of authors to write the same scene to see how differently each person handles the same material. I decided to give it a whirl. I picked authors from a variety of gernes, authors with very strong, individual voices. Almost everyone jumped at the chance. No one knew who else participated, or got to see another person’s scene before they wrote their own.

I asked them all to write a scene on the following topic:

“A young woman confronts her parents after discovering she has inherited telekinetic powers.”

Unfortunately, looking back on it with my fabulous 20/20 hindsight, I realize that the design of my experiement was mildly flawed. Perhaps it was because I asked these writers to write the scene for me, or maybe, as one participant noted, it was because I used the word “parents,” but almost every participant wrote me a contemporary young adult piece, even if that meant straying from her genre of choice. As one participant said when I expressed surprise at her choice, “I wanted to do something erotic but … the words “young woman” and “confronts her parents” made me feel like I was being a pervert.” Another told me that she couldn’t imagine putting parents in a book that wasn’t young adult, even when I reminded her that her upcoming adult romance featured several scenes of her heroine confronting her parent. ::shrug::

However… and this just goes to show you the value of this experiment, I think you’ll be surprised at how much indivduality manifests itself in these scenes –even though many are in the same genre. So perhaps this turn of events actually made my experiment more relevant. Instead of superficial differences like “she is confronting her parents in ancient Hibernia” or “she is 50 and confronts her 90 year old parents” we have much deeper variations in theme and make up.

But we also have some similarities. I vacilated quite a bit between wanting to group the entries according to their similarities or according to their differences. And I finally decided that it would be most amusing and most valuable to show the differences within superficially similar scenes. Remember, no participant knew what another was going to write.

I would like to take this opportunity to express my utter gratitude to all of the participants in the Great Blog Voice Experiment (hereinafter GBVE). I totally owe you guys drinks. You completely blew me away with the scope of your entries, your talent, and your willingness to take time out of your writing to play on my blog.

So, here’s the way it’s going to work. Each day this week, I will post two or three scenes. All work belongs to the author and may not be reproduced. Enjoy, and tell your friends!

And now, without further ado, may the Great Blog Voice Experiment begin…

Part 1 – TV NITE: Karen and Jana
Part 2 – SOME PARTY: Diana and Marley
Part 3 – AT ANY PRICE: Rachelle and Shannon
Part 4 – PATRICIDE: Jennifer and Karmela
Part 5 – DINNER TABLE: Wendy and Sasha
Part 6 – OUTER LIMITS: Colleen and Nalini

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