Title: I WISH I HAD A . . . DANG YOU AUTOCORRECT!
Genre: MG contemporary fantasy
Word Count: 37,000
My Main Character's Most Fearsome Obstacle:
Luke's most fearsome obstacle is that he's never sure what his cell phone's Autocorrect will change his words to and what will appear. Dragging to Dragon! Sent More to Centaur! There are so many possible problems that he's afraid to say anything. Then one day Luke doesn't even have to ask anymore. Autocorrect changes words on its own.
Query:
To keep himself from becoming locker-stuffing, Luke Walker uses his mad, mother-board fixing skills to repair electronics for the roughest kids in middle school. When Luke’s little brother destroys his cell phone, his dad asks him to test a prototype phone his company’s been working on. It has a faster chip, better apps, and P.H.I.L., an extremely accurate, very funny personal assistant. But, it also has a secret: due to a high-tech accident, P.H.I.L. can grant wishes.
Wait! What? The three most brain-shatteringly awesome words a thirteen-year old can hear are Can Grant Wishes, and after his head is finished exploding, Luke and his friends test the new wish-granting ability to see exactly how mind-blowing it can be.
But with Autocorrect, even a simple wish can have catastrophic consequences.
Wishes to Witches! Civil Servant to Civil Serpent! Luke stops wishing, but Autocorrect continues to change words on its own. Luke and his friends must devise a plan to destroy the witches, fix the phone, and survive seventh grade. If they fail, Autocorrect will continue to change everything and the witches and other monsters the phone has summoned will either rule the world, or destroy it.
First 250 words:
My name’s Luke Walker. I’m in the seventh grade and I have a great business. Well, a great business model, anyway: repair laptops, tablets, and phones for the roughest kids in school and I don’t get taped to the outside of my locker, hanging three feet off the ground. They get electronics that always work, and I get left alone.
But sometimes, one of the Mansters forgets about our agreement.
I opened my locker and a year’s worth of crap exploded into the hallway. Scrambling around on my knees to pick it up, I felt a pair of legs the size of tree trunks plant behind me.
“Dude,” a voice grumbled.
From the one-syllable and the voice that sounded like he was gargling with rocks, I knew it was Jonsey, all two hundred pounds of him. I was still working on his laptop, so he wouldn’t kill me. Well, at least, not yet.
“Your laptop isn’t ready,” I said quickly.
“Why not?” he snarled.
I wasn’t sure if I should stand up and face him, or have the conversation with my butt the height of a kicking tee.
“The interface is screwed up . . . ”
“What’d you say about my face?” Jonsey growled.
I looked up, remembering whom I was talking to. “It’s really broken. Bad.”
His chest inflated and his hands flexed into fists.
My whole body tightened, bracing for impact. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“It’s not gonna hurt,” he snarled. “Pretend I’m helping you find a quiet place to think.”
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