Even a week after the SCBWI winter conference I'm still psyched about the inspirations I received.  As if I have a jet pack strapped to my back, I have not stopped writing.  Though I've heard or read almost every idea that was spoken last week many times before, the morsels of information that have sunk into my brain have catapulted me to a new level of writing.  So much so that I pulled Kiva and the Stone Nation back off the shelf and revamped her first few chapters.  I want to give this new round of literary agents the very best product I have to offer.  I even rejoined the SCBWI critique group in Naples to receive timely feedback on my work.  Yesterday I provided them with the revised first chapter of Kiva and they loved it.

I believe I have some strong ammunition to lob at the publishing world and in the next few days I will e-mail 5 more agents on my list whom I believe might fall in love with Kiva.  Keep your fingers crossed.

On another note, I just returned from a wonderful stroll along the beach at low tide.  I realized this morning that I plan my entire day of writing around low tides, sunsets and swim schedules.  Can you tell I live in Florida? 

So here's the revised Chapter 1 of Kiva and the Stone Nation.  Hope you enjoy! 

CHAPTER 1

If I had met Scout the year before, when forests still harbored a red caped girl and a devious wolf. In the time when munchkins and elves were still heroes and helpers, not childhood fantasies, I would have foreseen what was about to happen. For with Scout's wisdom I could have leapt beyond the world of the definite, the absolute, and the hard and fast. I could have moved into that place between the real and the fantastic. That place where premonitions are possible. And not just possible, but everyday occurrences.

But I had not yet met Scout. At least not that I remembered. And until that time when her presence was made known to me, l was lost. Lost in a fog of unknowing. A dark cloud of uncertainty. For a great shadow had surrounded my spirit and had muddled every thought in my brain. Blinding me to the mysterious message delivered to me that first day.

It was the day I graduated from elementary school. A day hailed as a rite of passage into a more adult world. A more logical world. And I was proud to be standing on that cliff of sensibility, for practicality flowed through my veins. At least from my father's side anyway. So how could I have grasped what was about to happen. It was illogical.

But logical or not, it occurred. Started right there on the playground. Right in the middle of the big city. Right in front of my teacher, who could not have predicted it either. Nor my classmates. But Hotta could have foreseen it. And most likely did. I would not be surprised if she dreamed the whole incident the night before it happened. With vivid colors, symbolism and metaphors dancing in her slumbering head. And she would have felt how humiliated I was, splayed against the dirt in front of my entire class, my elbows and knees skinned and bleeding. Hotta would have known my horror and embarrassment. Like she did with the other incident. The one at the beginning of the school year. When the merciless teasing had begun and the fanciful beliefs had vanished.

My lungs grasped at the tiny sliver of breath keeping me from passing out. As gravel slid down the back of my throat my teeth crunched on bits of stone and grit. I raised my body off the ground. My kneecaps throbbed. At least the other incident had not physically hurt.

A low growl-like voice whispered, "Are you okay, Kiva?"

I fought to focus on the speaker but could not uncross my eyes. The view in front of me was blocked by something. Several somethings. Long and skinny. And furry?

"Don't move!" cried my teacher off in the distance. Classmates backed away. I heeded the terror in her voice while I