Fairy Dust Fumble

Less than one month to go before my middle grade romp, Fairy Dust Fumble hits the shelves. My first four books have covered some pretty heavy topics. Not this time, my July release, Fairy Dust Fumble, tells story of Colton Clutts going from third string bench warmer to superstar phenom. And It’s plain silly fun.

Here's the summary:

Twelve-year-old Colton Clutts is looking for a breakthrough. But as the third-string quarterback of the middle school football, he team does himself no favors when he agrees to play the part of the fairy in the school play. Clad in tights, wings, and armed with a wand, Colton achieves school-wide fame after he tumbles off the stage during rehearsals. If that isn’t bad enough, a drafty backside incident on the football field quickly goes viral.

Things at home aren’t much better. Colton’s little sister thinks she’s a witch. She casts protective spells for Colton because she’s convinced he’s cursed. But when she stumbles upon a spell that actually works—turning theater-issued glitter into magical fairy dust—things start happening. It begins with crazy slam dunks in gym class, then Colton runs wild in a middle school football game. Just like that, Colt-the-Bolt is born—a superstar athlete who gallops into the record books.

For Colton, it’s a dream come true. But a feisty school journalist is chasing the story. And Colton’s sister no longer wants to be a witch. His drama crush isn’t interested in a superstar who’s skipping out on play rehearsals and his best friend is tired of being the sidekick. With the varsity coach calling and ESPN proclaiming him a “phenom,” the Colt-the-Bolt trend is nothing but a big glittery mess. And now, with the spotlight awaiting him and the fairy dust dwindling, Colt finds himself onstage and completely out of magic tricks.

Release date is 7/6, but for now here’s an excerpt—after Colton’s little sister has “spelled” his stage prop glitter and he realizes his new magical abilities:

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The blitz comes storming and there is nowhere to go.

Correction. There is nowhere for a mere mortal to go. My

feet, however, have other plans.

They take me left. And when I say they, I really mean it.

My feet are driving and I’m only hanging on for the ride. A

wall of defenders close but I find a crack of daylight in the

middle. I slip between two hefties but more come calling.

At the last second, I catch a glimpse of Harrison streaking

down the sidelines with a couple steps on his guy.

I chuck it with everything I’ve got.


The pass flutters in the wind. Harrison slows, his

facemask to the sky as he makes the adjustment. A roaming

defensive back converges on what should be an easy

interception. What happens next will be discussed for

years.


Doing all that running, I hadn’t put enough muscle into

the pass, so the ball floats like a sagging balloon at a parade.

The safety arrives perfectly on time to make the play, but

it’s like someone has hit the pause button. The balloon

slows to a magical stop in midair. I mean, the football halts

and hangs there, like a cloud, until the poor safety goes

crashing into his own bench.


Only then does the football drop safely into Harrison’s

hands, where he stands stock still, looking down at the ball

like it’s a meteor rock. Hundreds of jaws drop in complete

silence. Finally, Coach Barber cries out for him to run, and

he mechanically jogs into the end zone.


No one chases Harrison. Probably because no one

knows what in the heck they’ve just seen. Me included.

Without peeling his eyes away, the referee slowly finds his

whistle and eventually, cautiously, raises his hands to signal

a touchdown.


Both sides of the bleachers are as quiet as a library