Age and Genre: Adult Women's Fiction
Word Count: 82,000
Query:
Jane is sitting on the floor of a tiny New York City apartment that she hates, trying to put together a crib by herself. There’s a problem though. Jane isn’t pregnant—not anymore, at least. Daniel, her hyper-logical, math teacher husband walks in on this scene and struggles with how to comfort his angry, grieving wife, especially since he’s the reason they can’t have a baby.
IMPROBABLE GIRL is a dual narrator, dual-timeline love story that begins in the middle as a marriage cracks under the weight of infertility. The story bounces back and forth in time, connecting the dots between the excitement of first dates and budding love to the turmoil of needles and ultrasounds. In the present, Jane, a former dancer who’s always been in control of her body, is so consumed by getting pregnant that she neglects everything else in her life. Daniel, a hyper-logical math teacher, can never say the right thing, so he retreats into silence. Round after round of expensive fertility treatments brings their marriage to a breaking point. Daniel is unfaithful and Jane packs a suitcase and walks out, barreling forward with her third egg retrieval. She’s unsure of what she wants more, her marriage or a baby. When doctors discover a tumor on Jane’s ovary, Daniel's fear of losing her for good impels him to find her and earn her forgiveness. For Jane, more than a baby is at stake now, and she recognizes that she can’t do everything alone. Reunited, they face the uncertain outcomes of Jane’s surgery together.
First 250 Words:
I counted the stairs on the day we moved in. There are 60 steps to our apartment on the fifth floor, so every six steps is equal to 10% of the trip to the top. That is, if you ignore the 6 steps on the stoop. If I count those, then every 6.6 steps is 10%. I’d have to break the steps into fractions, and therefore divide the rise of my foot as it travels between one step and the next. After teaching three sections of sixth grade math, two of seventh, hall duty, and a faculty meeting, I can’t achieve that level of precision. So we’ll disregard those first 6 steps.
Tonight as I walk up, I count by ten percent as I always do. It’s a nice rhythm as my foot strikes each step and my shoe scratches across the surface. One, two, three, four, five, ten, one, two, three, four, five, twenty.
I like to know exactly where I’m going and how long it will take to get there. Beyond these stairs and their six-beat rhythm, I don’t know where Jane and I are going or how far away it is. That distance is undefined.
One, two, three, four, five, fifty. Fifty percent is nice, but my legs are burning a bit. By seventy-five, I’m getting close, and I normally start taking the steps two at a time. Not tonight. I just want to keep counting tonight.


