Pitch Wars, Writers, and WINNERS... Oh my!

You know when you do something spur of the moment that ends with you pulling your hair and laughing manically? Yup. 

On November 26th Brenda Drake posted a contest called Pitch Wars. It's all about creating the ultimate hook, or pitch for a book. Thirty-seven coaches (agented/published writers/editor/industry pros) put themselves out there and asked for unagented/unpublished writers to pitch their completed manuscripts to them. 591 writers answered the call. Each writer could select 3 coaches to pitch. Each coach selected 3 manuscripts to champion--one pick, and two alternates (in case their first choice falls through). These coaches will work with their writers to strengthen their pitches for a final round (January 23-24), when all the teams will pitch their manuscripts to a panel of 16 judges/literary agents. The winner will be the person who receives the most requests for their book. 

I saw the contest and thought, "Hey, I have all the requirements and I've been querying. Why not?" So I vetted out the coaches, picked the three most stellar ones (for my genre), and tossed a few pages at them. 

Response #1: "I really enjoyed reading the material you sent me for DARK MOON. ... you have a really great story here ..." But ultimately, she went with other manuscripts.

Response #2: "You made it into my top ten (out of a LOT of submissions) ... For what you are writing, you do it very, very well. ... I am assuming this will be snapped up quickly..." But again, she passed, offering to help if I don't find this baby a home immediately.

Response #3: "I can't gush enough about your pitch. ...we can wipe the floor with everyone at Pitch Wars then celebrate with Cheese!" 

I GOT PICKED!! 

Was I surprised? Um, more like dumb-struck. So here's my wonderful teammate who is currently bulldozing through DARK MOON so we can pitch it, and wipe the floor with our competition. (Which we will.) 

Meet Sharon: a writer of YA and NA weird fiction and contemporary fiction, a blogger at YAtopia, Writing Teen Novels, Down Under Wonderings, a regular speaker at The Whitsunday Voices Youth Literature Festival, and a NA/YA intern for Entangled. She has a habit of posting weird profile pics and has been stalked by women because of her great taste in shoes.

Together we are the Grimm Writers, and although I never could have anticipated being picked, I couldn't have a better partner. Sharon is AWESOME! 

So I guess the moral of the story is, you can't be a winner without trying. Take a chance. Do crazy things. Jump before you look. You never know what will happen. 

Super Short

I'm participating in the Second Summer in the City Blogfest, which is basically a "let's set some goals for June and all support each other" blogfest. =)

So, my current WIP's are Immortal the Musical, Dark Moon, and my kids, of course. (Goals as follows:)
         1. Revise Forever into a blow-your-mind piece of music (-with the help of our kick-trash producer).
         2. Finish revising Dark Moon to third person (as opposed to 1st).
         3. Smooth and submit The Kiss of Death to a writing contest.
         4. Create our home school plan for 2011-2012. (3 kids, 3 grades.)

Is that enough? What are your goals?

Made of Awesome Blog Contest

They come in twos.

I swear this is the last blog contest I'm going to enter for a while, but this one by Shelley Watters is all about strengthening the first 250 words of a completed novel, and I have one story with 4 different beginnings that could really use a few external opinions.

Title: Dark Moon, 90K words

Genre: YA Historical Fantasy

Blurb:

Devonshire 1768. Noble-born Alexia has never been “attractive.” Far from. Avoiding Father’s push toward betrothal (before the unfortunate prospectives catch sight of her and think better) has been the only concern of her dull existence…until the night she meets him, the night she witnesses an unbelievable murder, the night her own impossible beauty stares back from the mirror, the night she realizes her entire life is a facade. Now she has a choice: step blindly into the unknown, toward him, or spend the rest of mortality wondering about red-eyed wraiths on moonless nights. 

I pushed myself off the ground. Dizziness rushed upon me in waves. The swelling in my ankle had returned, only now it throbbed in agony.

The hedges guarding the house from the road blotted Miles from view. He wouldn’t return even if I screamed for him, and I had to return to the house, to safety.

I turned.

A shrouded form stood between me and the lighted doorway. I fumbled backward, staggered, tripped on my skirts, and rolled.

Another creature appeared from around the side of the house, black robes limp in the absence of a breeze. More raven forms surfaced in the night following the first, murderous eyes, a great rolling tide of black.

I had only one course to follow.

Scrambling blindly away on hands and knees, I veered to my right, to the left, landing on my elbows, tearing my skirts.

Why hadn’t they overtaken me? They could move so much faster! Did they enjoy my flight? Perhaps they mocked me with the hope I might escape?

I lunged between gateposts that marked Father’s property and froze.

Multiple crimson pupils burrowed into me from the wooded shadows—hungry, piercing. How many? Forty maybe?

Miles stood only a couple paces ahead of me, whimpering in terror.

They circled us, eyes crushing down.

This is how it would end. I had seen it a hundred times in the prophetic nightmare, but never wanted to believe…

Thank you for reading! Suggestions?

Oh yes, before I forget...now for the random cheese fact of the week: Did you know there are over 1000 types of cheeses in the world? In fact, there are 400 types of French cheese alone.

Anyone who would like to read the final entries to this contest, go here.

ACTION!

Why are action sequences so hard to get right? You can spend hours pounding out the exact moment, and still come away with it all wrong.

I dabbled in film once upon a time, and I realized cinematography can be compared to writing. Both arts require that we depict a world, create the right mood, and engross our audience. What are some elements of cinematography? Shot length. Saturation/Coloring. Angle.

Have you ever noticed the length of camera shots in any given film? Try it. Pull up your favorite movie and count how long the camera remains in one place. Ten seconds? Three? Now compare an action sequence to a panoramic scene. See the difference? As a writer that’s exactly what you have to get your reader to feel—but your tool is not a camera, it’s sentence structure.

Choppy sentences engender urgency. They demand we pay attention. They speak volumes. What’s not said is as important as what is said. Word choice is paramount.

Saturation and hue are another important aspect of cinema. You may not notice it initially, but compare Pushing Daisies (awesome old TV series) to Underworld (for all you vampire fans). Do you see it? The over-saturation of brilliant colors in Pushing Daisies immediately communicates to the observer the mood—chipper, and primed for smug comedy. Contrarily, the dark, luminescent coloring of Underworld instantaneously tells us this film is serious, potentially brooding, and timeless.

In our sequences, how do we see the scene? Bright? Dim? Comedic? Serious? The more directed the tone, the better an image the reader will form. Again, word choice is paramount. Do we use “downhearted” or “devastated”? “Pulchritudinous” or “Beautiful”?

Angle=perspective. These are so important in film that directors, cinematographers and writers frequently confer to get it just right. You can show someone being beheaded several ways. Imagine a falling blade and an observer’s reaction. Or, you can actually witness the gruesome episode. I find not seeing is terribly effective. From the third person you have the power to show the reader everything, but limiting that omniscience and honing in on what is most important will strengthen your voice. From the first person perspective you are limited to what the main character perceives. In writing action sequences we have to remember that, to hold to it. Think how the character would think. Say what the character thinks. Nothing more.

Imagine your action sequence as a film. How long would your shots be? What angles would you take? What color saturation? Now, paint your scene exactly. Make it flow, or not flow to create the mood you want.

And now, the example:
-->

Sunset…

She stopped. This felt familiar, too familiar.

She shook it off. Father had certainly gone mad with worry by now and planned to quarantine her to the house with a constant nanny-watch. She would not find him. She should return.

She turned and stepped into a puddle. Her reflection rippled.

She backed away, landing against a tree. Last night came back in a rush, hazy images of half-perception, rushing glades, panting as she moved in fear…

Threshing in the clearing pulled her about. An animal? Deer perhaps?

“Hello?” she called shakily.

Nothing.

The sun set. Intimidating branches twisted toward her. Odd shadows played over the swaying leaves, shifting in the most disconcerting way.

Quiet.

If she could hear the chatter of birds or scurrying of rodents—even if it made her jump, that at least would feel ordinary. The breeze ceased. In the sinister light—or absence thereof, she felt eyes burning into her…

Alexia shook the impression away and focused. She imagined it. She personified the dream into reality.

Still…

“Is someone there?” she breathed, little more than a whisper.

Wheezing gurgles met her ears. She rounded.

Nothing.

The sound died as quickly as it had come. What kind of creature made noise like that? Did she imagine it too?

She swallowed. The thump of her heart echoed into her ears. “Hello?”

A snicker rippled in a circle about her. She followed it, twirling about, but only caught snatches of something—something moving, fast!

A growl sounded. She needed no greater motivation. She dashed headlong.

Movement ruptured behind her.

Her skirts caught. They snagged and tore, scratching her legs. She ran harder, one arm before her face to fend off the branches. They raked across her sleeve. She gasped as they cut into her flesh.

Her feet slapped the ground in rhythm, echoed by another set of feet, faster ones.

Her chest heaved. She sucked in air, but could not draw enough. Invisible fingers squeezed at her airways. Her lungs pulsed like she was being sucked under a great watery swell. The whoosh of leaves turned her head. A silhouette crashed through her periphery. Blackness blinked at the corners of her vision. Her muscles burned.

She would faint before she’d been outrun!

Air rattled through her lungs. Perspiration chilled her skin as though trying to stiffen her already impregnable limbs. The rasp of her own breathing filled her ears.

She should be screaming. No, she should conserve her air…

“Help!” she screeched. Father had to have taken up a search by now. He’d track her. “Father! Anyone!” But she’d gone miles. Even if he’d begun looking, she’d wandered onto someone else’s property.

A bough slapped her across the face. White light flashed. She blinked it away, uncertain whether her legs were still under her.

She couldn’t outrun it. No one would hear her. It was an empty plea. “HEELP ME!”

Something pummeled into her back. She flew forward. Her head smacked a rock, wind jarring painfully from her lungs. A cry wretched outward as warm liquid eased down her cheek…sickly, wet…

Sight threatened. It blinked out and back. Pounding echoed through her ears, growing louder. Pressure crushed down through her spine. Pain. Piercing, searing, tearing into her back… A scream—hers?

Blackness.

No, she couldn’t give in! She sucked in a deep breath. “Please…” It sounded meager. She forced her eyes open as fire tore through her vertebrae, another shriek wrenching free. Tears wet her lashes. She watched in slow motion as one drop fell to the ground and spattered in a beautiful ribbon of translucent fingers. “Please…”