So I’ve finished my first draft of my young-adult fantasy, Quiver. Word count: 62,241. If I was writing one of the Elemental Assassin books, I’d need about 30,000 more words. But I think 62K is a good start for a YA. I’m thinking the final book will be between 70-75K.

After about six false starts, I finally think I’ve nailed down how I want the story to go. My main character, Gwen, is sort of a Scarlet Pimpernel meets Robin Hood type. With magic. Here is something resembling a blurb:

After her father’s murder, Gwen Frost has taken up his legacy as the Hood, an outlaw who haunts the forests around the capitol city of Cadogan. Gwen has a Talent or magic for sight, which has led her to become one of the best archers in all the Thirteen Kingdoms. By day, Gwen robs the corrupt nobles who travel through the forest and gives their money to those who need it. At night, she masquerades as Lady Gwendolyn, a spoiled, wannabe princess who seems to care for nothing but spending her inheritance on her extravagant wardrobe as fast as she can.

But when Gwen inadvertantly thwarts on assassination attempt on Prince Percy St. John, she finds herself working to stop a scheme that threatens the entire kingdom — and vows to finally bring her father’s killer to justice …

I don’t know why this draft was so hard for me to write. Maybe because I’ve never written a YA before, so I was unsure about the voice. Maybe because my first plot sucked out loud. Maybe because it’s been winter, and I’ve just felt sluggish and lazy.

Anyway, here’s the first chapter for your reading enjoyment. (And please excuse the formatting if it is wonky or if there’s a word or two missing. I had to go through and delete all the code, and I just never know what WordPress is going to do to the type until I hit post). Happy reading! :ww:

QUIVER — CHAPTER ONE

You could say that I was born to be an outlaw. That it was in my blood. That it was my calling, my destiny. Just like it had been my father’s before me.

You could claim that I’d done everything I could to follow in his footsteps. That I’d been eager to learn every single thing my father could teach me about thieving, fighting, spying. That trouble always seemed to find me whether I wanted it to or not.

And it had all started, innocently enough, deep in the forest with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. Just like now . . .

“You’re going to miss.” The gruff, feminine voice sounded close to my ear. “And miss badly.”

I blocked out the voice. Blocked out the damp, mossy ground beneath my booted feet, the gloomy words of doom, the warm breath tickling my nose with its sharp flavor of liver and onions. I blocked it all out until there was nothing left but the smooth bow in my hands and the brown smear of my target in the distance.

I lifted the bow, notched the arrow, and drew back the string with one fluid movement. A comforting motion, as familiar to me as a waltz or reel might be to any other young noble lady.

“You’re going to miss,” the voice repeated, but it was a mere murmur now, a buzzing bee in the background.

My green eyes narrowed, and I studied my target, using the spark of magic I possessed to pull it into focus, until the brown smear filled my vision with crystal clarity. A breeze gusted through the forest, bringing with it the rich smell of damp earth. Barely a whisper against my cheek, but I adjusted my aim accordingly. My fingers rested on the bowstring the way a musician’s might on a cherished violin.

“You’re going to miss—”

I let go.

The arrow sliced through the air, a flashing silver blur, before hitting a small wooden knot on a tree two hundred yards in front of me. Dead center.

I grinned and turned to face the ogre behind me. “Does that look like a miss to you, Olivia? Because to me, it looks like a bull’s-eye. Which means you owe me five gold crowns. In addition to the two you lost ten minutes ago when I speared that leaf at a hundred yards.”

Olivia Oglethorp straightened up to her full six-foot-five height, crossed her arms over her chest, and gave me a sour look. “So you’ve proven once again what a fine shot you are, despite my attempts to distract you, killed another unsuspecting tree, and emptied my purse at the same time. Hardly noteworthy achievements, Gwen.”

A familiar scowl pulled down Olivia’s lips, and she scrunched up her button nose in displeasure. The ogre’s eyes gleamed like two pieces of silver set beneath the dark brown of her hair. Her skin was a pale gray. A bow not unlike my own hooked over Olivia’s right shoulder, although her weapon was much taller and thicker than mine, given her height and enormous strength. Olivia looked toward the tree. Another breeze ruffled the silver feathers on the end of my arrow.

“Still, there was a bit of wind,” she said in a kinder tone. “Well enough to earn my money, I suppose.”

I hid a smile. Olivia Oglethorp might appear to be a grump, but she was really a softie at heart. No matter how many times I bested her with my bow and arrow, she always took it in stride, despite the fact that at twenty, she was two years older than me and several leagues stronger.

“Come on, Gwen,” Olivia said. “Let’s go get your arrow and get into position. The coach is supposed to be coming through here any minute.”

The ogre headed in the direction of my arrow, taking care to step lightly through the snaking vines and autumn leaves so she wouldn’t leave an obvious trail marking her passage. I didn’t know how the ogre did it, since she was almost twice my size and weight, but she could vanish into the thick foliage even better than I could.

“What’s the cargo today?” I asked, walking behind her. “More gold crowns to line Bishop’s fat pockets? Exotic spices for his kitchen? Expensive silks for his wardrobe?”

Olivia shrugged. “Celia didn’t say. Only that a coach carrying some noble was coming this way. Celia thought the Hood would want to know so she could lighten the noble’s purse, like usual.”

My heart ached with a familiar, bitter pain. The Hood. That’s what they’d called my father. The mysterious outlaw who haunted the forests around the capital city of Cadogan, stealing from the rich to feed the poor, righting wrongs, and generally thumbing his nose at corrupt nobles like Lord Bishop, whose only desire was to increase his own wealth and power—no matter who got hurt in the process.

My father, Tarrant Frost, had always told me that somebody had to stand up to Bishop and those like him, that somebody had to watch out for those who couldn’t defend themselves, that somebody had to do the right thing, even if his methods seemed wrong. After Bishop had murdered my father six months ago, that job had fallen to me.

Now, I was the Hood. A notorious outlaw. A clever thief. A tough fighter. And a lonely, angry girl who still very much missed her father.

We reached the tree I’d skewered with my arrow. Olivia grumbled under her breath when she realized I’d hit the very center of the tiny knot. More sadness filled my chest. My father would have been so proud of the difficult shot.

Olivia looked at the silver projectile, then at me. “It’s not going to explode in my face if I touch it, is it?”

“Nope, this one is just a plain old arrow. No fire, no ice, no webs, no explosions.” I grinned. “I’m saving the good stuff for the coach.”

Olivia snorted, then reached forward and pulled the arrow out of the tree. She handed it to me, then moved through the forest toward our usual ambush spot.

I stayed where I was, my fingers lingering on the slick surface of the arrow. The silverthorn projectile matched the composite long bow slung over my shoulder. They’d both been gifts from my father, Tarrant, the last ones he’d given me before he’d died from Bishop’s poisoned blade. My father had been a renowned archer, one of the best in all the Thirteen Kingdoms. My favorite memories were of walking through these woods with him, as he taught me how to anticipate the wind and thread my arrows between the thick trees and leafy foliage.

“Come on, Gwen!” Olivia called out. “Or you’ll miss your chance to humiliate Lord Bishop yet again.”

“We can’t have that, now can we?” I murmured.

I slid the arrow into the quiver strapped to my back. The black leather case had been another gift from my father. The same one he’d used for so many years, stamped with the Frost family crest—a tiny ring of jagged silver icicles circling the letter F, also made of icicles.

By the time I reached Olivia, the ogre had already grabbed hold of the vine rope that would spring our trap—two large trees in the middle of the path that ran through the forest. Olivia pulled down the rope, and the two trees lifted into upright positions, as though they were just as strong, sturdy, and straight as those around them. The trees each weighed several hundred pounds, but Olivia used the rope to hoist them into place as though they were nothing more than slender saplings. All ogres were strong, but Olivia Oglethorp had a bit of magic as well, a Talent for strength that would let her pick up and throw houses, if only she could get her hands underneath them to try.

Once the trees were in position, Olivia tied off the rope, and we settled into the underbrush to wait. When the coach arrived, Olivia would release the rope, and the trees would fall, blocking the track. I’d spring out from the shadows and demand money from the nobles for safe passage through the forest. If they refused, they’d have to backtrack for hours to find a way around the fallen trees. If they agreed to pay my toll, then Olivia would lift the trees once more, and we’d collect their purses and send them on their merry way.

It was a simple scheme I’d learned from my father that Olivia and I had run dozens of times before in various spots throughout the thick woods. Much to Lord Bishop’s consternation, since the safety of travelers through the forest was his responsibility—and those I robbed were his noble friends, each one as crooked, greedy, and power-hungry as he was.

While we waited, I brushed my fingers against my cloak pin—a small bit of silver shaped like the Frost family crest. Touching the metal was my own little good luck ritual, something I did before every battle, no matter how big or small.

Then, I pulled up the hood of my hunter green cloak to hide my wavy black hair from sight. The garment was something else that had belonged to my father. A cloak wasn’t much of a disguise, and Bishop would have discovered my real identity long ago, if this had been an ordinary cloak. But the enchanted fabric always blended in perfectly with whatever shadows or background surrounded it. More importantly, the hood cast the wearer’s face in darkness that no light or magic could penetrate.

Hence the nickname my father had been given—the Hood. The outlaw mantle I’d taken up after his murder. And the very last thing Lord Bishop would see before he died on the end of my blade.

Beside me, Olivia pulled up the hood of her own cloak. In addition to obscuring Olivia’s features, the enchanted fabric also had the effect of hiding her true size, making her seem much shorter. The cloak was something Celia Cruz had made especially for the ogre, after she’d recruited us to work for her.

Olivia cocked her head to one side. “Here it comes.”

The ogre’s hearing was sharper than mine, so it took a few seconds before I heard the creak of wheels churning against the forest floor. I nodded, reached back, and drew an arrow from my quiver. Unlike the one I’d shot at the tree that had ordinary feathers on the end, this one featured a thick, sticky substance that resembled maple syrup. When fired, the end of the shaft would explode in a shower of spider webs strong enough to hold most creatures. I had only a small knowledge of spellcraft, but I’d learned how to mix together certain potions and powders to give my arrows something extra.

A minute later, the coach squeaked into view. The vehicle was smaller than I’d expected, little more than a wooden cart with a roof over it, pulled only by a single horse. My eyes flicked to the driver, a large, muscled man with a shaved head and a thick scar that ran down his left cheek. I used my magic, my Talent, to pull him into sharper focus, searching for any sign this might be a trap. Lord Bishop had recently raised the price on the Hood’s head to one hundred gold crowns, and I wasn’t going to take any foolish chances. Celia Cruz’s orders or not.

Another breeze whistled through the forest, pushing back the driver’s black cloak. I spotted a broadsword strapped to his belt, along with a brace of daggers. Unease twisted my stomach.

“Something’s not right about this,” I whispered. “That doesn’t look like a noble carriage to me. And he certainly doesn’t look like a common driver. He’s too well-armed.”

Olivia shrugged. “Maybe Bishop’s getting more creative with his traps.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

To my surprise, the coach slowed to a stop about fifty feet away from our hiding place. The muscular driver hopped to the ground and opened the door. Another man stepped out of the vehicle. He threw back the hood of his black cloak, revealing dark, chocolate brown hair, and turned in my direction. He was young, about twenty or so, with ruddy cheeks, midnight blue eyes, and a slightly crooked nose that had obviously been broken at one point.

His cloak covered his tunic and trousers, so I couldn’t get a good look at them, but the fabric didn’t seem to be particularly fine. No gold or silver thread adorned the edges of his cloak, and no jeweled rings sparkled on his fingers. He didn’t appear to be a wealthy noble at all.

“We shouldn’t be stopping,” the driver grumbled, his brown eyes scanning the forest. “We can make it to the castle by three if we push on.”

“We’ll be leaving in a minute, Gareth,” the young man said in a deep, baritone voice. “I just needed to stretch my legs a bit.”

The young man turned, reached back into the coach, and pulled out a small wineskin. He unscrewed the top and took a long swig from it.

Gareth, the driver, arched a bushy black eyebrow. “Just wanted to stretch your legs, eh, Percy?”

“And wet my throat, of course.”

The young man, Percy, grinned and took another sip of wine. He reached into the coach once more and came out with two pink apples. He tossed one of them to Gareth, then sank his teeth in the other one. I could hear the juicy crunch of the sweet fruit even from here.

Olivia nudged me with her elbow. “What do you want to do? Shall I lower the trees?”

The young man didn’t appear to be any kind of threat, but appearances were often deceiving. If he’d been alone, I might have considered going through with my scheme. But my gaze kept drifting back to Gareth, the driver. Even as he ate his apple, Gareth kept his hand near his sword, his brown eyes peering into the forest, searching for any sign of trouble. Just the way a trained warrior would. And that wide, slashing scar on his left cheek told me that Gareth had seen at least one fight in his life—and lived to tell about it.

“No,” I whispered. “He seems too eager to draw his sword for my liking. Let them pass.”

Olivia and I remained in our hiding spot watching the travelers. After the two men finished their apples and tossed their cores into the trees for the birds, Percy turned back to Gareth.

“All right, Gareth,” the young man said. “I’m ready to go—”

That was all Percy got out before an arrow whistled by his head and buried itself in the side of the wooden coach.

So what do you think? Good, bad, indifferent? Share in the comments.