New Project – Petra Hamilton

Project for Sale

Attempts to Fly

by Petra Hamilton

Fiction Manuscript – finished and edited

Words – 88K

Genre – Coming-of-Age

(Women’s Fiction, Chick-Lit, Upmarket, Book Club, Commercial, Contemporary)

Language – English or German

Query, Synopsis etc. available

18-year-old Helene jumps out of a plane to test her courage before leaving her small Swabian town in Germany to seek a bigger life in New York. She barely speaks English and meets a new friend in model Tiana, eight years her senior, who is on her way to stardom – or so it seems. Helen, as she is soon called, follows Tiana to the city to become a model and famous herself. But the rules in ’80s New York are tough, and the friends embark on a road trip through the dirtiest neighborhoods and the richest areas – partying and working hard and trying to survive together. As their friendship is put to the test, a rescued dog helps Helen figure out what’s important to her.

From lush suburbs to the Bronx to nights on stairs and life in luxury apartments on the East River – rich scenery is accompanied by a young, sometimes self-ironic voice, and the beat of the city and the ’80s. ATTEMPTS TO FLY is a fast and powerful novel, full of risk-taking and female friendship. It is about the search for success, love, the power of men, women, and money, overcoming whispers from the past, and how we are changed by our decisions when we think we have a choice.

Petra Hamilton wrote diaries and letters during her time in NYC from 1984 to 1986. After years as an executive secretary, author of articles, and training as a screenwriter and novelist, she presents ATTEMPTS TO FLY, her first novel. She hopes to inspire young women to take risks, no matter what others say, dare to ask for more, and go for it.

The book has been written in German, my mother tongue. Ms. Heide Lutosch PhD was my editor. DeepL was used to translate it into English. From there, it took another five weeks of daily work, touching every sentence and every single word again to make it whole and complete. Not saying, there can’t be more editing. Just, that is has been worked on diligently and for quite some time. The appearance of the scenes below does not represent the setting of the manuscript which is, of course, formatted as it should be.

Wide highways took me past shadowy suburbs and into the dark countryside. Black metal skeletons of burned-out cars sat stuck on the shoulder at irregular intervals. A faint musty smell of old plush spread through the air conditioning. Windshield wipers squealed their weird song. Green signs with foreign names flitted above us in an irregular rhythm: Mamaroneck, White Plains, US1. They promised unknown worlds to be discovered.

I sat down next to her on the dock and tried to keep the dog from licking her face. In the process, I noticed that she was crying. “Hi,” I greeted her curtly. I looked out to the sea. Even though I might have been unwanted, I didn’t want to leave. It was a decidedly beautiful spring evening. The sun was setting behind a horizon that could only be guessed at in the distance. Tiana nodded, sniffling, “Hi, how are you?” Funny question that is always asked and never answered honestly.

Tiana looked at me. “Are they at least nice to you?” “Well, it’s okay. It’s okay.” The first few days had been exhausting. People mumbled their cryptic requests in rapid New York slang that I had to decipher for myself, before I could jot down what they wanted on a narrow pad and pass it through the counter as an order to the irate cook. But most times, they were nice enough to look up once when I asked. And none of the mostly male guests had ever touched my butt. “That can still happen.” “Oh, don’t say that.”

Brown eyes looked at me hollowly. “Jesus, Helen! You’re alive…” “But yes… Come out of there.” I held out my hand to her and pulled her up. Her hands were cold as ice. “I thought you were going to jump. I thought I could never watch you jump. That’s why I crawled under the table.” “Sorry.” “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?” “No, I won’t.” “Promise me.” “Yes.” “Say it.” “I promise.” David came out of the bathroom, his hair sticking out in all directions, and he had taken off half of his three-day beard. “Do you think this is right? I look like a little boy.” I stroked his cheek. “Why don’t you leave the other half like that, David? Maybe you’ll create a new look.” Offended, he turned and left us standing. “When I already ask something…”