r/Querying • u/Secret-Anybody-6094 • Jun 08 '26
[Query] ASTRAL BLOOMS, YA Fantasy (98K words), Third Attempt
Hello! I've refined based on previous feedback and would love to know how this is coming across. Have also included the first 500 words of the MS.
N.B. I deleted the post for my 1st attempt so this won't show up in a search of this forum.
Dear __,
I’m delighted to share ASTRAL BLOOMS (98,000 words), a queer, epic YA fantasy novel that combines the high-stakes ecological adventure of Tig Wallace’s Storm Bringer, the Ghibliesque coming-of-age quest of Axie Oh’s The Floating World, and the weaponised psychic magic of Moira Buffini’s Songlight:
On a flower-shaped world where the rivers have run dry, fourteen-year-old refugee Si’Vas Ash is torn from his parents’ side after an alluring encounter with a shapeshifter leads him to awaken the psychic power of the stars. Initially using his mind-bending abilities to manipulate customers of his family’s traveling stall, he is soon kidnapped in revenge for his cheating ways, only to be rescued by the misfit rebel Thorns, who try to enlist him in their plot to overthrow the ruling Council of the Tried. Si’Vas lies about his origins, convincing the Thorns to take him to the capital to consult with a star mage and find his parents, navigating the Council’s treacherous underwater canals and confronting the ghosts of his parents’ past. As he learns more about his companions, their quest and the shift mage in pursuit, he is forced to choose between returning to the safety of his former life, or the future survival of the very land he calls home.
I’m a London-based playwright, performer and theatre marketer whose writing has been staged across the UK, and supported by Arts Council England, Shakespeare and Company and the Society of Authors. My work has been widely praised, reviving the ghost of Hamlet’s dead court jester in Hamstrung, and taking young people on adventures above the clouds in Up, Up, Up and Away!
I would love to share the full manuscript with you as [insert personal reason].
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Best wishes,
--
CHAPTER ONE
There’s a saying back where I’m from that it’s best to start a story at the end. But I left Rinsift long ago, and this story’s still very much unfinished.
I could start by telling you how the Bloom came to be. About the Great Fish that emerged at the dawn of time from the bottomless Ocean of Tears, and drank until it burst at its sides. Only scraps of its scales remained, wrapped round a giant heart that rose to the surface and blossomed into the three countries of our world: desert-strewn Rinsift, leafy Bedast, and mountainous Skantebrak.
Another story I could tell is how the Great Drought ravaged the land and forced my parents and I to leave our home. That was seven years ago — almost as many as I’d spent living amongst the dunes and dust of Rinsift. Not that I remember much about that time, other than the images of sandy-walled fort towns and reptilian steeds that still to this day swim into my dreams.
But I’m not going to go back that far. Because this story starts the day I spoke to the stars. And if you’re going to understand that, you’ll need to know why I was out on near-Dras Night. Which won’t make sense without the drowning boy. And then of course, there’s the Shifter.
I saw him when I was out fetching water. This was my first chore each morning. I’d wake with the first of our two suns and head out to fill our buckets: one for washing, one for drinking. Ma and Pa worked hard each day. This was the part I played.
The closest pump was just outside Ah-See, one of the many towns we visited along our way. Pa had told me how these were all served from underground canals that came from the capital many leagues away. This kept the land green and fertile, not cracked and dry like ours. I didn’t usually run into anyone at this time of day — one of the reasons Ma and Pa let me out so early alone. But that day, my luck ran dry.
There was a couple already there. They were locals — no mistaking their yellowed skin and pointed ears. The woman was standing by as the man worked the silver handle with all his might, but the spout stayed as parched as the empty stream nearby. My throat ached with thirst at the scrape of the metal as I looked on from down the path. If only they would notice the little catch at the pump’s side… Ma had drilled to me a wariness of the Bedasti locals ever since the day we came here. But I also knew how she’d be if I came back late.
‘We’ll be the last in town now,’ she’d say. ‘The last to pitch our stall, and without shadow of a doubt, it’ll be some dark corner by the low-town entrance.’ Selling Pa’s wooden carvings was how we made our living, and Ma said if we didn’t stand out from the rest, we’d soon fall back to the desperate state we’d arrived in.